Bestowing Missions

Dimwald est growen and liven in blaec und light,
Folk moven in und out wending thru trees,
Dimwald est foe but friend - mist und bight.

Warrior walks, feet upon leaf-litter soft und sloe,
Dimme in stille, dowen in gowen of wet:
Rain fallen wit water drippen frae trees auld und close.
Warrior runs, eyes set far frae here thru gloamen,
Swifte on rifte, risen on wingen of hope:
Green showen wit sunlight frae sky wide und free.
Warrior watchen, stille in blaec of woods,
Brauw in beauw, resten on hilten of swaerd:
Flashen in daercen wit night fallen frae on high.

Of high power dost swaerd spaec loud und strang:
Of laeders, taels und dares that dareth not.
Frae mists und waters und swamps he spraeng:
Form'd und fold wit width of blaed rots not.
Held low as safeness fast on roots to claeng:
Fastness gaenst ungnawen cept about.

Yunge in yaerde did Aelthred cumen wit Peter,
Lucen erst this wae und that - wan wit woods
Aers open but eyes lidded to be wit truncs of elders.
Undergrowth moven wit craetures graet und smal
Some cem for to see some for to hide
But Aelthred haerd them wit no seen of them.
"Hush" spaec aulderman as baerd hid lips "Fast."

Fast they stud, fast they stand, and he seen it
Tho it were darc he seen it,
If eyes lied he seen it,
If twur naught he seen it.
Suncen low, moldren und staem risen
As if water seec'd escap frae eville.
Rank, it smell'd; insult tae God und wood,
Und Aelthred smelt deep of it to better gnaw it
Better tae remove it
Better tae kill it
Better tae tek his birthright.

My quest

I speac un speac un speac but nane lysten.

I've known from the beginning of my plan to write an epic poem for the Boy that I would have to use a language that was not standard English and had an inkling that I would be using Middle English or something very similar simply because I like the sound. However, I have somewhat stalled on how to do that. Until I came across this video on Unbound:

Watch it. You'll see and hear what I mean.

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The Journey - Part 3

Seriously?  I'm writing a Part 3?  Haven't we all learned already that there is no continuity on this blog?  Apparently this isn't so much Owain's journey as it is one on which we try to discover what the chuff is going to be left for my son on his coming of age.

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The Journey - Part 2

J. R. R. Tolkein could do it.  When he wanted to create a mythic history he created prose and used the epics of old to influence his writing style - hence the slightly stilted dialogue and the long apparently pointless asides and tangents.  Maybe this ought to be a heritage of prose rather than a heritage of poetry.  A father leaves to his son what is best about the father, not what he would rather leave, after all.

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The Journey - Part 1

So, this blog was supposed to be a place to create an epic poem for the Boy, so I'd best get back to that then.

Read on for some actual attempts at poetry.

The Tales of the Dimwald: the children

Whilst reflecting on identity and fatherhood in company, my interlocutor was expressing angst at his function that would also serve as his identity, when function was not available: that is: when he had been unable to get a permanent job as a teacher he had been unable to juxtapose this with his internal identity as a teacher.

Musings follow, would you like to know more?

On Safe Places and Mindfulness...

It is, perhaps, fitting that the arena I have chosen for the story I hand to my son is also doubling up as a mental safe-place.  I had a chance to flesh it all out and it gave me opportunity to start creating the mythology that I'm planning to hammer out.  Now we have the 'Wild Wood', beyond Dunstanane to the north and west, in which there are many creatures and sources of food.  It is majesterial and a place where one can meet with God on a formal setting.  There are rivers and wolves and deer and groves.  Berries and thorns and brambles and clearings.  Wild pigs and chickens and foxes.  It is a good place, I think, for reflection.  A place to go at night when there's a clear sky and a full moon.

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Epic Poetry

The whole point of this blog is to publish extracts from a potential epic poem so that my son can have it when it's done, and I shall attempt to write it in an interesting script.

Does it matter so much if I base it heavily on Beowulf?

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Time and Talents

This is not really one of those blogs.  It was supposed to be about the epic poem that I want to pass on to my boy, a place to post the verses as they occur and to slowly refine them until they become something of which he can be proud.  Or, at least, less embarrassed by.  It was never really supposed to become a place for me to talk or write about things.  I have enough avenues for that kind of thing already.

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The Tales of Owain, King of the Dimwald

Walking has always been a source of pleasure and an activity that gives the time to ruminate and discuss things with God. Lately, however, I've not been doing that. The Boy and I tend to walk in silence, companionable perhaps, through the trees whilst I make things up in my head. As the winter draws in we spend less time doing this and the last few evenings haven't been used at all for this activity.

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Part Two

It is my belief that we lack a certain element of myth-making in our lives as they stand. There is a sad gap in our understanding when we view everything as it is rather than looking at what we may wish to have been there once.  Take the woods out the back of where we live, an area covered in gnarled, but not terribly old, trees that my son and I walk through quite often. We usually walk them together in companionable silence, he looks at the leaves and watches for aeroplanes and I simply watch my footing over him, he's in the baby-carrier, and keep an eye peeled for free fruit of some description. Occasionally we'll see wildlife like grey squirrels, hedgehogs or various common types of bird.

But what if I told him stories about the woods? About the great and terrible things that took place there in days gone by. I know they didn't, he will learn that they didn't, but what will have been lost?

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The Saga Begins...

This blog is intended to form the spine of the story I write for my son. I make no bones about its cheesy nature or poor attempt at grandeur. I appreciate any and all criticism, please don't be offended if I don't respond or don't follow all your advice - I still appreciate your time!

In the meantime I may well write about other things. We'll see.

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