Read A Dozen Steps Through Hel Page 1


A Dozen Steps

  Through Hel

  By

  John J. Beach

  ~~~~

  Published By

  A Dozen Steps

  Through Hel

  Copyright © 2012 by John J. Beach

  ~~~~

  License Notes:

  ~~~~

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. The Hel-skór Linden

  2. The Waters Before Gjallarbrú

  3. The Deficiency Beneath The Precious

  4. Happened, Happening, Ought To Be

  5. The Aurochs Horn Forged In Gold

  6. Wells Within Us

  7. Son and Sacrifice

  8. Hoddmimir’s Holt

  9. Heimdallr Ponders Mothers Day

  10. The Mouth Before the Nine Caves

  11. Bilröst

  12. The Hall Beyond Glasir

  About the Author

  Introduction

  The terzanelle is a poetic form that combines elements from the terza rima and the villanelle. Terza is italian for one third (of three equal parts), while rima means rhyme. Each stanza of a terza-rima poem contains three lines—often ten syllables each—and the poetic structure uses an end-rhyming pattern: ABA, BCB, CDC, and so on. A terza rima poem consists of any number of these interlocking tercets, but it usually concludes with a couplet (or a single line) rhyming with the second line of the last tercet. The subject matter can be about anything, but anecdotes or descriptive portraits are popular.

  The villanelle began life as a loose, ballad-like song in France. As it matured, the villanelle gained more formal structure: five tercets and a concluding quatrain. It uses the end-line rhyming structure of A1bA2, abA1, abA2, abA1, abA2, abA1A2. The A1 and A2 lines appear four times each, end-rhyme with each other and with four other a lines. In between are five rhyming b lines, which end-rhyme only with themselves. Due to the regular repetition of lines, a villanelle tends to showcase obsessions.

  The terzanelle combines the interlocking transitional mechanism of the terza rima with the obsessive, yet not-as-obsessive nature of the villanelle. It features five tercets and one concluding quatrain, 19 ten-syllable lines (ideally using iambic pentameter), and only four of the poem’s lines do not repeat. However, since no single line is echoed more than once, the poet has some increased flexibility over using the villanelle. A terzanelle often uses the end-line rhyming structure of A1BA2, bCB, cDC, dED, eFE, and fA1FA2.

  The twelve terzanelle poems in A Dozen Steps through Hel are based upon Norse myths and folklore, specifically those regarding the afterlife in Hel (which was considered a lush, if somewhat boring paradise for those people who had led good lives). Fallen warriors and princes, however, merely passed through Hel on their way to Valhalla, while those who had led wicked or unproductive lives were condemned to second death (and eternal suffering). Those thus doomed had to witness paradise firsthand so that they could see what their evil lives had cost them. My thanks to Viktor Rydberg whose work from the late 1800s I wish I had discovered three decades earlier. However, it’s also good that I didn’t and was able to reach many of the same thoughts independently.

  ~~~~

  1. The Hel-skór Linden

  We hope to see compassion on display,

  the truthful garments of the inner form.

  At the beginning of the thorny way,

  we’ll gather at the gate, a growing storm

  set to depart along the common path.

  The truthful garments of the inner form,

  our soul possessions, represent the math

  of life, and always it’s flimsy to those

  set to depart. Along the common path,

  we’ll lot with a doom prepared to foreclose

  based upon who’s stood with us at the end

  of life (and always). It’s flimsy to those

  who rely just on the gift of a friend

  dangling there from the tree extending

  based upon who’s stood with us. At the end,

  as the gate yawns to dark dales descending,

  we hope to see compassion on display

  dangling there from the tree extending

  at the beginning of the thorny way.

  2. The Waters Before Gjallarbrú

  Beyond the wasteland of elk-sedge and heath,

  the departed reach a river rushing

  venom cold with edged iron underneath.

  It mangles the merciless, blood gushing

  from wounds equal to those we’ve inflicted.

  The departed reach a river rushing

  in search of the floating planks predicted

  to convey safe passage. But all must bleed

  from wounds equal to those we’ve inflicted

  while living. Only then may we proceed

  upon a fourteen-foot board, which steadies

  to convey safe passage. But all must bleed

  enough as we wade through bladed eddies.

  Anguish measures our own validity

  upon a fourteen-foot board, which steadies

  us for judgment of our morbidity.

  Beyond the wasteland of elk-sedge and heath,

  anguish measures our own validity

  venom cold with edged iron underneath.

  3. The Deficiency Beneath The Precious

  This covered bridge reflects our golden mean:

  the divine ride over darker forces

  as dawn lights life upon meadows in green,

  it resounds the footfalls of proud horses,

  challenges us, spans beyond our belief.

  The divine ride over. Darker forces

  are waiting, wanting untrimmed nails and grief

  they can sail when the twilight of the gods

  challenges us, spans beyond our belief

  we cannot be strong. Instinct is at odds

  with our conscience. A fear blows through our lungs

  they can sail. When the twilight of the gods

  encroaches, our mouths are cold with stiff tongues

  unable to voice for ourselves. We wait

  with our conscience. A fear blows through our lungs.

  As we’re passing beneath each gilded plate,

  this covered bridge reflects our golden mean.

  Unable to voice for ourselves, we wait

  as dawn lights life upon meadows in green.

  4. Happened, Happening, Ought To Be

  The road forks from our birth toward mysteries

  woven into roots as time unravels.

  A man’s shadow holds fast his histories

  until that shade is measured. Our travels

  will end here within a circle of stones

  woven into roots. As time unravels,

  the benches populate before the thrones.

  When final judgment is pronounced, mankind

  will end here. Within a circle of stones,

  our life’s attorney speaks her mind—our mind

  she has followed, and, as psychopomp, serves

  when final judgment is pronounced. Mankind

  best listen to this vestige. She preserves,

  where we illuminate the future. While

  she has followed, and, as psychopomp, serves

  as guide, she’s also our innermost smile.

  The road forks from our birth toward mysteries

  where we illuminate the future, while

  a man’s shadow holds fast his histories.

  5. The Aurochs Horn Forged In Gold

  The doomed swallow poisonous rescission

  of spirit and image, and leave their soul

  draining. The horn with serpent’s incision

  harbors the dri
nk of strengths, which may console

  the mind from sorrow, gain an uplifting

  of spirit and image, and leave the soul

  able to sing. The doomed will sink, drifting

  to Niflhel where they cannot divorce

  the mind from sorrow, gain an uplifting

  pause, nor feel anything that is not coarse.

  They’ll parade through paradise in the sun

  to Niflhel where they cannot divorce

  their appearance from the wrongs they have done.

  Yet those judged for bliss will be united.

  They’ll parade through paradise in the sun,

  bathe in cool sea, be always delighted.

  The doomed swallow poisonous rescission,

  yet those judged for bliss will be united

  draining the horn with serpent’s incision.

  6. Wells Within Us

  Bubbling cauldron, cold breath of the ghost,

  mingles with soul, conciliation’s Son.

  The Wyrd is blood, blooming hue for the host,

  a pool of consequence from actions spun.

  The intuitive know truth of the self

  mingles with soul. Conciliation’s Son

  accepts a body of teaching yourself

  control, an emotional acceptance

  the intuitive know truth. Of the self,

  our fair complexion reflects song and dance,

  a creator’s appetite. Our desires

  control an emotional acceptance

  tempered by intellectual fires.

  Shivering within, our poetry knows

  a creator’s appetite. Our desires

  are the mill of the world, whose walls enclose

  bubbling cauldron. Cold breath of the ghost,

  shivering within our poetry, knows

  the Wyrd is blood, blooming hue for the host.

  7. Son and Sacrifice

  Monsoons of magma meet the rimy sea.

  Howling, whining, tearing free from the womb,

  this