(Originally published on LiveJournal)
I need to re-motivate myself to get back on track on various creative projects. And there’s nothing like “public exposure” to assist in that.
Much of the opening third of the book takes place on Midsummer. The ceremonies and mythology of the day are important to the story as a whole, which is the principal reason for that focus. The following poem was (inside the story) composed by Caoin Il-lyran (one of Darael’s sons) for the celebration.
Now, since Caoin is supposed to be an exceptionally fine poet, I’d really set myself a challenge here. I needed to create something that could believably come from a master poet, which meant I needed to find a sophisticated prosody to work with. In grad school, I’d taken 2 semesters of Old Irish, and had become somewhat acquainted with some of the forms of Irish poetry. One trait is that the first syllable, word or line of a poem is also used at the end of it.
So, I hauled out my trusty copy of The Book of Forms: A handbook of poetics by Lewis Turco. Therein I found the form for the Rannaigheacht mhor. Here’s the description of it —
Rannaigheacht mhor is a quatrain stanza of seven-syllable lines consonating, not rhyming, abab. There are at least two cross-rhymes in each couplet, and the final word of line three rhymes with a word in the interior of line four. The internal rhyme in the first couplet may be slant-rhyme. In the second couplet the rhymes must be exact. Two words alliterate in each line, the final word of line four alliterating with the preceeding stressed word.
Turco then gives a simplified schematic of this quatrain form, but I won’t copy that here. I did copy it in my work notebook, however. It was tricksey and required me giving various lines trial runs. On top of that, the whole poem needed to hint at the mythic narration that “inspired” it.
In the end, I’m pretty much satisfied with what I produced. Using the Irish form in the English language gives the poem enough of the difference I was looking for, to distinguish a serious work of a Fynlar as different from that of a mortal.
So, here goes. I’ll be interested in the reactions. (Ask questions if you have any.)
Light lay soft in dreaming gloom.
Darkness then did roam and drift.
No sudden shift in blue dome
Where morning-foam made light lift.
Softly sighing sleep of birth,
There the breaths of dark times slip.
Dorchaile walking whips his mirth,
Dearth of knowing gleams he grips.
Darkness deep in heart and mind
Bids him bind himself to dark.
Dart of envy, anger bends,
Rends til blood in streaming starts.
Aelianus struck in eye,
Streaming light in sky and smoke,
By the stroke in heaven high
Gave a cry from kindling cloak.
Flaming blood upon sky Step,
Down the steep streaming fire came.
Maimed, did Aelianus weep
That darkness deep should bear blame.
From grief came glory to glow,
From foul blow to mountain cleaved,
Brief earth-bound tor where flames grow,
Then sunshine shows to light leaf.
Dorchaile in flight sees gold sun.
None of shadows soothes his spite.
For the bright deed which was done;
As one, the Powers lifted light.
****
Well, there you go. I suppose it’s not really fair to toss this out without explaining the myth. But I can always do that in another post. 🙂
Comments
sartorias – Oct. 14th, 2007
Some of those images are pretty in deed, but some puzzle me (I can’t make sense out of Dearth of knowing gleams he grips–and I don’t respond to a kindling cloak, or the repeated image of light lifting–it makes light sound heavy. There is so soar in that particular verb, no burst of incandescence. Also, ‘bright deed’ and ‘darkness in heart, etc’ are pretty worn in human terms, so I’d want to see something Gerald Hopkinsish with imagery from these higher forms of being. I did like, very much, the ‘dart of envy, anger bends’ and except for the dark bit again, I loved this line: Softly sighing sleep of birth, There the breaths of dark times slip.
FWIW
scribblerworks – Oct. 14th, 2007
Well, in this case, you could indeed say that light was “heavy” – in the mythology, the Sun is the peak of the highest mountain in the world set aflame by the spilling of the blood of one of the Attondar, Aelianus (also known as Adonel) in this case. It was destructive to the world that way, so the Attondar took the top of the mountain off and cast it into the sky. Hence the Sun. In referencing the hymn I posted earlier, because it was set alight by the blood of Aelianus, it is called the Gift of Aelianus.
In the story, I have my “clueless newbie” ask what it means, so it can be explained some.
You did latch onto the line I’m least satisfied with, though — Dearth of knowing gleams he grips. I haven’t figured out a way around it though. Basically, it’s meant to signify that Dorchaile doesn’t understand some crucial things, and he proudly clings to his lack of understanding. I’ll have to give that one some more thought … and see if I can make it work in the prosody. (Now, that’s a challenge. Heh.)
sartorias – Oct. 14th, 2007
Ah, now I see! I like that myth imagery.
kalimac – Oct. 14th, 2007
The prosody is what interests me here. Some of the use of internal rhyme, particularly where the exact rhyme in the fourth line is on the second beat and there are no unstressed syllables between the third and fourth beats (e.g. the first and fifth quatrains) remind me of the Pearl meter and Tolkien’s employment of it in “The Nameless Land” (though that doesn’t use internal rhyme, the cutting of the end-rhyme line structure across the phrases gives a similar effect).
