THE MOON MAIDEN’S SONG
Sleep ! Cast thy canopy
Over this sleeper’s brain,
Dim grow his memory,
When he wake again.
Love stays a summer night,
Till lights of morning come ;
Then takes her winged flight
Back to her starry home.
Sleep ! Yet thy days are mine ;
Love’s seal is over thee :
Far though my ways from thine,
Dim though thy memory.
Love stays a summer night,
Till lights of morning come ;
Then takes her winged flight
Back to her starry home.
Ernest Christopher Dowson
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SPRING
Our spirit must be so agitated on the outside how much is it inside our body. He stirs in indignation when we think In the void.
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My own experiences as a woman tell me it's very possible to be mistaken for monstrous when one is only doing as men do: providing for and defending oneself.
Maria Dahvana Headley (trans.), Beowulf (Introduction)
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Northumbrian Rune Poems is now officially available for purchase. Digital and physical copies available here.
Inspired by the Old English Rune Poem, Northumbrian Rune Poems centres its focus on the Early Medieval English Futhorc runerows with additional attention paid to the four runes that were in use in Northumrbia. Mixing free verse poetry with kennings found within Old Norse and Old English poetry, Northumbrian Rune Poems is a magical read that breathes new life into an otherwise neglected runerow. Alongside each poem is an Old English adaptation written in a Northumbrian dialect using Old English alliterative style to capture the spirit of the poems in a new light.
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"We all know a boy can’t daddy until his daddy’s dead."
Holy f*ck I love this version already.
- Beowulf, Unknown, translated by Maria Dahvana Headley
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She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year. Her own birthday, and every other day individualized by incidents in which she had taken some share. She suddenly thought, one afternoon, that there was another date, of greater importance than all those; that of her own death; a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it?
~Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles
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