~*~
Beowulf's Women
1. The Saxon Slave
I wake
when the moon
still shines on the white-peaked waves.
Sometimes I think that instead of
stoking the fire,
boiling the clothes,
killing the lamb,
tending their every want,
and suffering every shame,
I'll walk into that water
until I reach my home
across the seas.
2. Modthryth's Song
I tamed them.
Many shield trees, like him,
have come here.
They have been hewed down.But every warrior has a weakness
grown from the soil of fate.
Dragon's blood could not soak through
the linden leaf on Sigurd's back.
The forgotten mistletoe
blindly stabbed Baldr.He planted his glory-twig
in my womb.
It bloomed.
3. A Saxon Wedding Song
In ancient days when Romans ruled
women had no say.
Their song was sung
In dumbshow.
Their listeners were blind and deaf.
But now we call upon our men
to hold us hot and hard.
We demand our nightly naughtiness.
We take back the bridal bed.
Don't think the blushing virgin
hates her husband's heat,
For women savor their moments
of desire, deep and drear.
But if you come to us
with laughing eyes and eagerness,
don't leave us languishing anight
to pillage and rape
or else your child may have
the cobbler's eye
or the tailor's chin.4. Hygd's Song
No deed or exploit
could subdue
the insolence of that hero.
Before his lord, my husband,
he murmured to me
tender nonsense,
senseless mutterings
in my ear,
warm with his breath.I hate that youth
for his brutality
for his bold ways
for his foolishness.He gave me that shining torque.
His hands laid it against my skin.
They lingered on my white flesh.
My bosom is warm.
5. The Mother's Lament
Son, o son,
where are you now?
You sailed away from me.
Then you were a sturdy lad,
a waxing warrior.
I am forgotten,
lost in your drinking horn,
usurped by a honey-haired maid.
But once I held you in my arms,
you sucked my breast for milky mead.
My honey love,
sweet, eternal, my dear boy,
Come home to me.
I lie here sick.
Your father's dead, killed by kin.
Perhaps they will return to disgrace me.
My boy, return!
Your mother pines.
Forget your lord's great hall!
Are mead benches softer than
the bosom of your mortal mother?
Will they love you when you're defeated,
a solitary sea-stalker,
chilled and damp with briny spray?
My heart is always twinned with yours,
for I remember when you first walked, then stumbled,
and cried.
I kissed those salt drops away
from your downy cheek.
6. Hildeburh's Song'Here lies my brother,
king of the Danes,
king of his people,
king of my people.
Killed by the enemy
killed by the Frisians,
killed by my people.Here lies my son,
prince of the Frisians,
prince of his people,
prince of my people.
Killed by the enemy,
killed by the Danes,
killed by my people.Who are my people?
Where is my home?
In the land of my roots
or of my blossoms?
With the men of my father
or those of my husband?At least my man lives,
Finn, king of the Frisians.
Peace-gold will be offered.
My grief will find solace
in the end of blade play.'She did not yet know
the new Danish king
would lift the brightest of swords
to slay her shining warrior.
She will return home,
her dark silhouette
against the golden flames
of the pyre.
7. Wealhtheow's Death Song
I wasn't first.
Hrothgar won me as peace booty.
Helm, false protector,
gave me away.Even that hero,
who killed my sons' rival,
didn't return to protect us.
His smiling eyes
were his vow,
his lusty whisper
was his oath.
All was promise,
none fulfilled.Now Hrothgar is gone.
One son is killed.
The other is doomed.
Treachery abounds.
The sea boils
with ships and men
glad to betray,
eager for fame.Only we women can
preserve the past
for future killers
and their pawns.
I pass around the cup,
laden with mead,
drink of the peace
promised by traitors,
poisoned by memory.
8. The Geatish Woman at Beowulf's Funeral
Now he is gone,
our breakwater against aliens,
washing ashore.
The flood will not ebb.The armies will come,
spilling over the beaches.
Their heavy boots
will sink in the sand.
They will pull them out
with a sucking sound
like the wind before a storm
which lays waste to the land.The long boats
bring terror.
No one will be spared.
The luckiest
is the girl whose rapist
decides to keep her.
At least she will not die
or become a slave.Tonight, the moon is full.
The tide will be high.
~*~