I
Hear my words, | o, Heimdall’s children,
o, Odin’s offspring, | born in Babel
in days of destruction | and great distress;
I am the soothsayer, the seer, | the sister of Jared.
You’ve woken the witch, | wily Coriantumr,
bidden me from sleep, | summoned me from bed;
made me recall | sagas now past,
made me prophesy | of stories to come.
I remember the giants | of Jared’s age:
our kin, they kept us, | clothed us, fed us;
I remember the making | of Midgard, of Asgard,
of the Nine Worlds, | of the known wonders.
I saw the sowing | of Yggdrasil’s seed;
I watched it sprout, | spread out its roots,
reach out its branches, | broaden its trunk;
the everlasting ash, | the home of all.
Before the people, | there was the prophesying brother;
before the strife, | there was the seeing sister;
before the journey, | there was Jared the mighty;
and the Worldtree wove | the leaves we wore.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
The folk of Babel | fell in sin;
turned their backs | on the Lifetree’s bounty;
turned their ears | from holy Aesir;
turned their eyes | to evil idols.
They shattered with hammers | the hallowed shrines;
they took the stones | from Ymir’s temple;
they used its bones | to build a tower;
they mortared their bricks | with Audhumbla’s blood.
Risen in pride | they built their pillar;
human bridge | to bypass Bifröst;
vain and haughty | bound for Valhalla,
honorless cowards, | climbing to heaven.
The tower’s shadow | began to touch
the wandering folk, | free in the wilds;
it blotted out stars, | it blocked the light
of strong Máni | and mighty Sól.
I bear my witness: | I watched our world
drop into darkness, | dread, despair;
parents exploited, | oppressed their children;
brothers did battle, | killing their kin.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
The earth couldn’t bear | the burden of evil;
she shuddered in fear, | shook in fury,
razed the tower, | ruined the town,
scattered the townsfolk, | twisted their tongues.
Afraid for our family, | our friends, our tribe,
Jared the great one | gathered the elders
to plead for our lives, | to pray that our language
not be confounded like that | of the Babel folk.
We fled our home | with flocks and herds,
with grains and goods, | with grief and mourning;
we followed after | the fiery cloud,
the shrouded ghost, | the unknown god.
My brother recounted | his curious conference:
seeing the finger, | the face of his friend:
the lord of the Aesir, | Asgard’s chieftain,
our rescuer, our caretaker; | our keeper, our rearguard.
We walked widely | through lonesome wilderness
until we reached | the raging sea,
where the Aesir | ended our wandering,
taught us to build | boats for the crossing.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
I stared steadily | at the glowing stones
lit by the finger | of a loving Lord,
shining their light, | driving out shadows;
Sól’s blaze | burning in darkness.
I saw the Valkyries | riding the skyroad
over the realm | of Aegir and Rán,
shielding our barges, | our dishtight ships,
as we rode beyond | the rough whaleroad.
I remember the snake, | the Midgard serpent,
the Aesir’s foe, | fearsome Jörmungandr;
he thrashed his body, | buried our boats,
but the monster couldn’t | mar us or break us.
The lord of the worlds| watched over us,
protected our path | to the promised land;
the eagle Hraesvelgr | hurled his storms,
heaved us onward | at Jehovah’s command.
We landed our ships | on sandy shores,
then bowed our heads | in humble thanksgiving;
we cried with joy | that Jared’s god
fished us from Ginnungagap, | the godless abyss.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
II
I see you now, | knowledge seeker,
King Coriantumr, | cunning and shrewd;
heir of our worst, | our evilest error,
you wish to keep | control of your kin.
I see your doom, | deep in the future:
Jaredítarök, the downfall, | the day of gloom;
Jaredsfolk are thrust | into the thralldom of death;
the kings’ chronicles | close with disgrace.
I see the armies | assembled in mist:
the hordes of Hel | released from their holdings;
the hosts of Valhalla | hold the battle-line
as Fenris-wolf stalks | the frightened fighters.
Loki the liar | is lying in wait,
leading his children, | leading the charge;
Muspelheim’s forces | stride through the fens;
Jotunheim’s monsters | march through the fields.
Surtr the swarthy, | his sword aflame,
slays the noble | son of Njord;
then, Midgard’s champion, | charges the serpent,
strikes it down, | but dies in turn.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
I smell the reek | of rotting corpses
strewn on the battlefield, | bathed in muck;
I smell the smoke | of smoldering fires:
Yggdrasil’s branches | blister and burn.
I taste the salt | of the sea as it rises,
eats up the earth, | swallows its entrails;
I taste the salt | of splattered blood,
gushing, shooting | from Shiz’s neck.
I feel the rumbling, | the roaring of earthquakes:
the Nine Worlds | wail in grief;
I feel you quiver | and quake from loss
of blood, of family, | of folk, of all.
I see you weeping | as you wander southward,
cowardly fleeing | the flames and the fumes;
I see you bowing | before the barbarians,
begging for shelter, | a haven for shame.
I hear the groaning | of my great grandnephew;
his sorrows resound | from secret caverns;
I hear him in the deepest | dwarven tunnels:
Ether’s screams | ascend to haunt you.
Now, do you know | enough, o king?
I remember the end | of all ages,
and the beginning, | going and coming;
another world, | another lifetime;
watch for the dragon, | dreadful Nidhogg.
I saw it in the stones. | And now I sleep.
D. A. Cooper lives in Houston, Texas, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in Light, L’Italo-Americano, Ships of Hagoth, and the ARCH-HIVE. He also has some poems forthcoming in Dialogue. He was awarded the LDSPMA’s 2023 Praiseworthy Award for his poem “Talking to Dante in the Spirit World” (originally published in Irreantum’s “Long Poetry” issue). In his free time, he likes to read, write, and ponder.
