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Thorir’s Daughter Speaks
Grettir Asmundarson, wolf’s-head,
Snake in my father’s mountains
Will you think on me fondly
When my hollow back gapes open,
After the morning sun creeps up,
thief-quiet, to remake me in stone,
So swiftly, so suddenly?
Poet and liar, made strong by ill-fate,
Your door-high body so much like
Mine—troll-killer, ghost-layer!
Glam’s eyes pursue you through darkness,
Drove you into my arms.
You will do many foolish things before the end
So as not to lie lonely:
Kill men, cripple cattle, swim frozen miles
All for cold company.
Even now, as I stiffen, I see
the sack your head will hang in
Already woven—see
How the broken axe-blade’s poison
Will turn your long leg black
and sweating with ruin.
Everything you touch will redden.
Yet I have no part in your downfall,
Though you used me cruelly;
I expected nothing more, or less,
Than to be only the cave you took shelter in,
As our son still hides inside
My womb’s glacial embrace.
Remember what your mother told you: It is
The curses of human women
Which should be most strongly avoided.
In other news, I’ve done maybe 1,000 words on a new story, "Spectral Evidence". One of those ones that’s supposed to be short and easy to write…well, it may eventually turn out to be the former, but the fact that half of it’s coming to me in footnotes makes it unlikely to be the latter. Oh well. At least it’s something beyond wiping snot and listening to Cal blunder around like a moth ina jar, screaming with boredom.
Grettir Asmundarson, wolf’s-head,
Snake in my father’s mountains
Will you think on me fondly
When my hollow back gapes open,
After the morning sun creeps up,
thief-quiet, to remake me in stone,
So swiftly, so suddenly?
Poet and liar, made strong by ill-fate,
Your door-high body so much like
Mine—troll-killer, ghost-layer!
Glam’s eyes pursue you through darkness,
Drove you into my arms.
You will do many foolish things before the end
So as not to lie lonely:
Kill men, cripple cattle, swim frozen miles
All for cold company.
Even now, as I stiffen, I see
the sack your head will hang in
Already woven—see
How the broken axe-blade’s poison
Will turn your long leg black
and sweating with ruin.
Everything you touch will redden.
Yet I have no part in your downfall,
Though you used me cruelly;
I expected nothing more, or less,
Than to be only the cave you took shelter in,
As our son still hides inside
My womb’s glacial embrace.
Remember what your mother told you: It is
The curses of human women
Which should be most strongly avoided.
In other news, I’ve done maybe 1,000 words on a new story, "Spectral Evidence". One of those ones that’s supposed to be short and easy to write…well, it may eventually turn out to be the former, but the fact that half of it’s coming to me in footnotes makes it unlikely to be the latter. Oh well. At least it’s something beyond wiping snot and listening to Cal blunder around like a moth ina jar, screaming with boredom.
