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    A Dozen Steps Through Hel

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    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
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