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Robert C Howard Jul 2015
Boethius wrote his tripartite definition of music
in a prison cell awaiting execution.

Musica Instrumentalis

Supple tunes with dulcet harmonies,
echoing through hills and forests
soothe, enliven and assure us all
with nascent thoughts of unity.
Deep within its tonal weave
a soft voice whispers, *“there is more.”


Music Humana

Bound within our pliant shells
with pumps and bones and sinews joined
chants an elemental litany, “You are one”!
Spun from helices of DNA.
our throats and tongues are set to motion
raising pleas to heaven, “Tell us more!”

Musica Mundana

Harmony reigns in interstellar space
with all in motion – all in place.
Celestial choirs with essence energy,
tuned and voiced to gravity's cosmic chords,
intone with interstellar euphony,
*“We are music of the spheres from which all others spring.”
Included in Unity Tree - Collected poems
pub. CreateSpace - Amazon.com
Michael R Burch Jun 2020
Deor's Lament

(Old English/Anglo-Saxon poem circa the 10th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Weland endured the agony of exile:
an indomitable smith wracked by grief.
He suffered countless sorrows;
indeed, such sorrows were his ***** companions
in that frozen island dungeon
where Nithad fettered him:
so many strong-but-supple sinew-bands
binding the better man.
That passed away; this also may.

Beadohild mourned her brothers' deaths,
bemoaning also her own sad state
once she discovered herself with child.
She knew nothing good could ever come of it.
That passed away; this also may.

We have heard the Geat's moans for Matilda,
his lovely lady, waxed limitless,
that his sorrowful love for her
robbed him of regretless sleep.
That passed away; this also may.

For thirty winters Theodric ruled
the Mæring stronghold with an iron hand;
many acknowledged his mastery and moaned.
That passed away; this also may.

We have heard too of Ermanaric's wolfish ways,
of how he cruelly ruled the Goths' realms.
That was a grim king! Many a warrior sat,
full of cares and maladies of the mind,
wishing constantly that his crown might be overthrown.
That passed away; this also may.

If a man sits long enough, sorrowful and anxious,
bereft of joy, his mind constantly darkening,
soon it seems to him that his troubles are limitless.
Then he must consider that the wise Lord
often moves through the earth
granting some men honor, glory and fame,
but others only shame and hardship.
This I can say for myself:
that for awhile I was the Heodeninga's scop,
dear to my lord. My name was Deor.
For many winters I held a fine office,
faithfully serving a just king. But now Heorrenda
a man skilful in songs, has received the estate
the protector of warriors had promised me.
That passed away; this also may.

Footnotes and Translator's Comments
by Michael R. Burch

Summary

"Deor's Lament" appears in the Exeter Book, which has been dated to around 960-990 AD. The poem may be considerably older than the manuscript, since many ancient poems were passed down ****** for generations before they were finally written down. The poem is a lament in which someone named Deor, presumably the poet who composed the poem, compares the loss of his job and prospects to seemingly far greater tragedies of the past. Thus "Deor's Lament" may be an early example of overstatement and/or "special pleading."

Author

The author is unknown but may have been an Anglo-Saxon scop (poet) named Deor. However it is also possible that the poem was written by someone else. We have no knowledge of a poet named "Deor" outside the poem.

Genre

"Deor's Lament" is, as its name indicates, a lament. The poem has also been classified as an Anglo-Saxon elegy or dirge. If the poet's name "was" Deor, does that mean he is no longer alive and is speaking to us from beyond the grave? "Deor" has also been categorized as an ubi sunt ("where are they now?") poem.

Theme

The poem's theme is one common to Anglo-Saxon poetry and literature: that a man cannot escape his fate and thus can only meet it with courage, resolve and fortitude.

Plot

Doer's name means "dear" and the poet puns on his name in the final stanza: "I was dear to my lord. My name was Deor." The name Deor may also has connotations of "noble" and "excellent." The plot of Deor's poem is simple and straightforward: other heroic figures of the past overcame adversity; so Deor may also be able to overcome the injustice done to him when his lord gave his position to a rival. It is even possible that Deor intended the poem to be a spell, incantation, curse or charm of sorts.

Techniques

"Deor's Lament" is an alliterative poem: it uses alliteration rather than meter to "create a flow" of words. This was typical of Anglo-Saxon poetry. “Deor's Lament" is one of the first Old English poems to employ a refrain, which it does quite effectively. What does the refrain "Thaes ofereode, thisses swa maeg" mean? Perhaps something like: "That was overcome, and so this may be overcome also." However, the refrain is ambiguous: perhaps the speaker believes things will work out the same way; or perhaps he is merely suggesting that things might work out for the best; or perhaps he is being ironical, knowing that they won't.

Interpretation

My personal interpretation of the poem is that the poet is employing irony. All the previously-mentioned heroes and heroines are dead. I believe Deor is already dead, or knows that he is an old man soon to also be dead. "Passed away" maybe a euphemism for "dead as a doornail." But I don't "know" this, and you are free to disagree and find your own interpretation of the poem.

Analysis of Characters and References

Weland/Welund is better known today as Wayland the Smith. (Beowulf's armor was said to have been fashioned by Weland.) According to an ancient Norse poem, Völundarkviða, Weland and his two brothers came upon three swan-maidens on a lake's shore, fell in love with them, and lived with them happily for seven years, until the swan-maidens flew away. His brothers left, but Weland stayed and turned to smithing, fashioning beautiful golden rings for the day of his swan-wife's return. King Nithuthr, hearing of this, took Weland captive, hamstrung him to keep him prisoner, and kept him enslaved on an island, forging fine things. Weland took revenge by killing Nithuthr's two sons and getting his daughter Beadohild pregnant. Finally Weland fashioned wings and flew away, sounding a bit like Icarus of Greek myth.

Maethhild (Matilda) and Geat (or "the Geat") are known to us from Scandianavian ballads. Magnild (Maethhild) was distressed because she foresaw that she would drown in a river. Gauti (Geat) replied that he would build a bridge over the river, but she responded that no one can flee fate. Sure enough, she drowned. Gauti then called for his harp, and, like a Germanic Orpheus, played so well that her body rose out of the waters. In one version she returned alive; in a darker version she returned dead, after which Gauti buried her properly and made harpstrings from her hair.

The Theodoric who ruled the Maerings for thirty years may have to be puzzled out. A ninth-century rune notes that nine generations prior a Theodric, lord of the Maerings, landed in Geatland and was killed there. In the early sixth century there was a Frankish king called Theoderic. But the connections seem tenuous, at best. Perhaps the thirty year rule is a clue to consider the Ostrogoth Theodoric, born around 451. He ruled Italy for around thirty years, until 526. Toward the end of his reign Theodoric, then in his seventies, named his infant grandson heir. There were rumours that members of his court were conspiring against his chosen successor. Furthermore, the Catholic church was opposing the Arian Theodoric. As a result of these tensions, several leading senators were arrested on suspicion of conspiracy, including Boethius. It was while he was imprisoned and awaiting execution that Boethius wrote his famous Consolation of Philosophy. Theodoric's final years were unfortunately marked by suspicion and distrust, so he may be the ruler referred to by Deor.

Eormenric was another king of the Ostrogoths who died in about 375; according to Ammianus Marcellinus, he killed himself out of fear of the invading Huns. According to other Old Norse Eddic poems (Guðrúnarhvöt and Hamðismál, Iormunrekkr), Eormenric had his wife Svannhildr trampled by horses because he suspected her of sleeping with his son. So he might qualify as a "grim king" with "wolfish ways."

Deor has left no trace of himself, other than this poem. Heorrenda appears as Horant in a thirteenth century German epic Kudrun. It was said that Horant sang so sweetly that birds fell silent at his song, and fish and animals in the wood fell motionless. That would indeed make him a formidable opponent for the scop Deor.

Keywords/Tags: Deor, Lament, Old English, Anglo-Saxon, translation, scop, mrbtr, Weland, Wayland, smith, exile, fetters, dungeon
Faded/wasted,
There's yet enough
petrol left
to score.
Have sought more before
but it hath brought us places
we'll not remember/I'll not return.

I'm glad though, of what I've had; as
the vicissitudes of outrageous fortune
spin the great wheel of Boethius.
Taibhsear Nov 2012
Man's literature surveys the landscape of
life with such care that
the passionate man is merely a
caricature of innumerable minds.
The self-created man is as such
according to the connections of his own
experience to that of the volumes
adorning the world's shelves.
Mine eyes of passion are the reincarnation
of the angel Edmund Dantès; anguish
the respondent ripple of the Creature born in
Ingolstadt. Burns teaches humility
as Boethius the ambitions of Lady Fortune, both
under the whims of fleshly confinement.
To bear further testament, Nabokov
brands the sublimity of the individual as
the lost, old soul Taibhsear
calls Love out on the street holding the name
not of his greatest desire but that of her's.
Eons hold the grandest wealth that is the build-up
of the "drops in the ocean" that
are the whims of man and his
written word.
Matt Nov 2021
Crows caw
And the women chatter
While trees saw
A thousand matters
And a cats claw
And the wind carries
Whispers old and new
While, there, married
The fools who haven’t a clue
The voices within
Die in ignorance
Surface sighted men
Are idiots to patience
A thousand voices quieted
To the world rested in palms
As no appetites are wetted
We’ve forgotten old psalms
Gone is what matters
Supple sustenance for soul
Replaced by glass shattered
Yet the heart still grows
Nay it starves
For sustenance denied
Chosen laws’ Harvard
And empty A.I.
A thousand voices quieted
Craving cars within
Superficially saturated
Inside your Gods’ light dims
And restless is Morpheus
Emptied is Khemenu’s basin
Writing to your inner Boethius
And the day is out
I’ve been here since night
Watching the thoughtless come about
Enter prison, now returned in sight
Back are the chattering women
Gone is the silent respite
Abandoned is Gods Heaven
Be it not for the last flicker of light
But the Old Ones have spoken
Hymns of liberation
Visions be woven
Songs of man’s abomination
Dance and joy
Lust and pride
Forget the inner boy
Behind left a sight wide
Traded for shallow waters
Cyclopean cities of nigh
Tapped by the unbothered
Phantom of the dead city R’lyeh
Your newfound liberation is devolution
Freedom is your cage
For thoughts ceased their convolution
Once again bound by animal rage
Inward no
Outward tempts
Surface grows
Depth nonexistent
Pretentious know it alls
Who know nothing
In their selfish muse they fall
Without an original thought of something
And the wild kingdom
Expands its reign
Filled by blind fandom
And Zealous feign
The Old One herds it’s sheep
Eyes turned off
Their minds gone to sleep
While the unwilling scoff
They count their days
But the unicorn finds arrogance
For to the cattle they’ll fall prey
For they’ve abandoned their righteous penance
Forget the last as you commit the next
Crime, how soon until the ultimate crime
Hope not for the fallen, for let’s
Wash clean our soul in brine
But prey not fall to the Beast
Of the sea
Ready for your soul feast
To devour your faith and dreams
But still His word you pervert
And winged demon still steals
As His will you subvert
Your life turned into its meal
For they’ve abandoned their gift
Of independence
The point has been missed
And we are all so dependent
God is in the TV
Question and answers that are hard to solve
Oh Darling, please believe me
The darkest hour is right before the dawn
Yourself forgotten
A thousand faces in your mirror
Each day a new allotment
Not your voice, but theirs you hear
Valorless galore
Against the Krakens tide
Because their thoughts matter more
Your true self hides
The bird has rid its wings
A bird it is no more
And forgotten how to sing
A bird it is no more
Lions Pride becomes Hordes Chant
They’ve died and returned a Lich
Not a King, just a scamp
Just another stitch
There, there lies bones apart
Empty within
How can your revolution start
When with yourself you can’t begin
Turn back time
Reach into before
Bathe with the swine
Across a barren shore
Take your hatred out of me
I don’t have to listen
Campaign speech of liberty
Theatre masks gone missing
Love and joy
War and peace
Meat and soy
Sinner and the priest
You are everything
And I am one
Your hate deliberating
Murdered is the one
I am the animal
Who will not be himself
Thought unfathomable
Unrealized hell
Demons whisper in your ear
And I start to hear them
Your will a fulfilled fear
From you, Baal stems
Pride and humility
A spectrums range
Greed and charity
Perspectives change
Across the water
Unfairness praised
Unjust no bother
Open eyes hazed
What’s it then if I find my demise
A number for their ends
Begone to those who dare question
Just a means to their end
Jon Shierling Sep 2014
Premises:
1. Identity (or virtue if one wants to be an old-fashioned stoic) takes primacy in questions of morality and judgment. Concept is highlighted by Boethius in The Consolation of Philosophy, ca 534. "She (Lady Philosophy) contends that happiness comes from within, and that one's virtue is all that one truly has, because it is not imperiled by the vicissitudes of fortune."

2. If this supposition is true, then it stands to reason that, as the struggle for identity has been one of the overriding conflicts in my life, all decisions made must be deferred to my own concept of right and wrong.

3. Why? Because to compromise one's beliefs is to compromise one's self. In doing so, one betrays that which defines them.

Problems which arise as a result of this perspective:
1. Openness to new experience and ideas is somewhat curtailed.
2. Tendency to stagnate.
3. Conflict with other pillars which make up my belief system, namely radical acceptance of loved ones.

In other words, I hold my identity to be the one inviolate thing that no one can take away from me. However, I've had to fight tooth and nail to figure that out, therefore I'm extremely reactive to perceived threats to my belief system. Source of Cognitive Dissonance > trying to reconcile absolute judgments on good vs. bad with acceptance.
I know this isn't art in any way, shape or form, but I've got to put this down in some sort of logical form.

— The End —