Winifred Hodge Rose
Songs, prayers (bedes), poems and calls to our Holy Ones. Some of these have experiences or thoughts lying behind them, which I describe in prologues.
Contents: “The Winds of Odin’s Will”; “Werthende: Song of Becoming”; “Skadhi’s Forest”; “Nerthus”; “Call to Frigg”; “Call to Frigg the Silent Knower”; “Frige Boast”; “Heimdall’s Call.”
Most of these are songs or chants, but except for the first one, the tunes as well as the words are all composed or adapted by me and I don’t have them scored. So they can be treated as poems or chants of your devising.
The Winds of Odin’s Will
This song tries to capture a spae-seeing I had of Woden’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn (“Thinking” and “Remembering”), and of how they are linked to Woden’s will. I saw “reality” as though it were a huge blanket spread out over the landscape, with the ravens flying across. Then I saw Woden take up one edge of the “blanket” and shake it as though he were Frau Holle airing her celestial bedding! When Woden shook the blanket, a series of ripples spread across the landscape of the blanket–big ripples in the part closest to him, and eventually growing smaller & smaller as the blanket passed out of sight over the horizon. From this sight, my understanding is that though Woden cannot–or perhaps chooses not to–change the entire fabric of reality according to his will, he nevertheless is prone to giving it a good shaking up and airing out! The “parts” of reality “closest” to him (the terms in quotation marks are not very accurate for describing this, but I can’t think of better ones) are of course the most affected, those farther away from his point of concentration, less so. Then, I saw Woden’s will itself as though it were a wind emanating from his being and keeping the ripples of the blanket in motion, flowing across the landscape of reality in the direction of his will, like ripples blowing across a lake in the wind. Huginn and Muninn ride the tides of this wind, which always takes them in the direction of Woden’s interest and involvement in reality and the ways he is working upon it. (Though again, “direction” is not the right term to use…it is difficult speaking of these things, even in metaphor!) The rest of the scenes in my song, I also perceived in my seeing, but they are self-explanatory.
- Let fly two Ravens forth from thee,
Singing Thought and Memory!
Naught in any world from them can flee.
Fare ye forth!
Hear one of them call to his mate,
Seeking out the strands of fate,
Crying, “Come! Fare we now on winds of Odin’s will!”
2. Upon yon distant stone-girt peak
Singing Thought and Memory!
There stands an ancient mossy seat.
Fare ye forth!
There, rooted in eldest might,
Thou sendest forth thy winged sight.
Crying, “Come! Fare we now on winds of Odin’s will!”
3. Through worlds of darkness, worlds of light,
Singing Thought and Memory!
Two night-hued Ravens, swift in flight:
Fare ye forth!
Gather ye news of each wight,
See what goes ill, see deeds of right,
Crying, “Come! Fare we now on winds of Odin’s will!”
4. Now sinks the Sun in misty vale,
Singing Thought and Memory!
Thou biddest them hence to tell their tale:
Fare ye hence!
From Hlidskjalf thy call echoes forth,
Spanning the Worlds from south to north,
Crying, “Come! Fare ye now on winds of Odin’s will!”
5. As Night’s soft arms embrace bright Day,
Singing Thought and Memory!
Two shining Ravens wend their way,
Faring hence!
Winds bear them to mountain crown,
Upon thy great shoulders gliding down,
Crying, “Hark! Wisdom borne on wings of Odin’s will!”
Heed we well the wisdom borne on wings of Odin’s will!
Sung to the tune of the Medieval English song–“Three Ravens.”
Werthende: Song of Becoming
Werthende (Verdandi in Old Norse) is one of the three Wyrdae or Norns, who ward the Well of Wyrd and nourish the great Tree of the Worlds. She rules the domain of Becoming: the very instant of time when a being or a deed ripens from the layers Wyrd has laid, and springs forth to lay new layers and respond to Scyld’s tuggings, faint or strong, upon its thread of life. I see Werthende dressed in red, here, because she bears the blood of new life coming into being. Her name is pronounced WARE-then-deh, or VARE-than-dee.
Red the threads of Werthende’s weaving,
Blood of birth and life brings she.
Her needle’s point, a world unfolding:
The endless Now of budding deeds.
The wave of Time moves on unmoving,
Just as a wave moves not the Sea.
All flows past that point of shaping:
What is becoming, what should be.
Pierced with knowledge no words capture,
Thread on which worlds hang like pearls,
The soul is strung, that seeks to venture
Within the Well’s green-shaded furls.
Cupped in moss, the deepest wonder
Of all that is, lies hidden here.
Drops of dew, the Tree’s deed-plunder,
Fall through boughs like sweat and tears.
A mighty maid, come from the East-lands,
Gowned in red sits spinning there,
With sisters two; their threefold shaping
Weaves a web both dark and fair.
And over all, the great Tree arches:
The shape of all that has been won.
Life flows through its limber branches:
Thread that Werthende’s hands do spin.
Note: There’s a little oddity in the last line of this poem, where it would have rhymed better if I’d written “Thread that Werthende’s hands have spun.” I made a gentle vow to Werthende that when I speak to her or about her, I speak only in the present tense, to honor her status as the Norn of the present moment of coming-into-Being. (She did allow me to use the past tense in order to explain this!)
Skadhi’s Forest
Skadhi’s Forest, to me, means many things. Among them, it is the primeval root and source of wildness, and a doorway that stands between life and death, this-world and other-worlds, being both and neither at the same time: a liminal between-land. There one stands at the moment one meets death, and yet in that place, it is not death only, but life also–the dark and deep gift of Skadhi’s arrows, which are really doorways. Wildness is a great source of life and strength for the world and the soul, yet often brings about the death of the lich (body) in the process of constant renewal. This is a song about what the moment of death might feel like, when Skadhi in her fierce grace of wildness presides over that moment.
Eerie, ice-eyed Lady, utter strangeness,
Thy silent challenge calls me with the harshest wildness,
Sending the winds of my breath echoing
Across great landscapes of being:
Seeking a way out of
Seeking a way into
Thy Forest.
Crag-etin fierce, stay thine arrow’s flight,
Hold thy fingers from the string of thy great bow’s might:
But a moment would I speak with thee,
Ere thou lettest swiftly fly,
Dark shaft striking
From thy wild soul
Into mine.
Cool breath of Forest, breathe thou upon my face!
Touch thy hand to my brow and leave thine icy trace.
Let thy wildness heal the ravages
Wrought by a world too grimly tame,
Ere thine icy arrows
Set my soul adrift.
Skadhi!
Nerthus
A song in honor of the Goddess of the Earth, she of many names: Nerthus, Erda, Erce, Hludana, Fjorgyn, Rinda, and many more.
Nerthus, Erda
Thy might and main
Are spent for our gain
From field and hearth
From orchard and garth
The signs of thy grace.
Of thee we are born
To thee we return
In blood and bone
In tree and stone
Thou leavest thy trace.
Ground of the world
Thy beauty unfurled
In meadow and glade
In sunlight and shade
We see thy face.
Nerthus, Erda:
Mother of all
Give heed to our call
For always we turn
Toward thy fullness we yearn:
Our holiest place.
Our holiest place.
Call to Frigg
Lady Frigg, most magnificent,
Asgard’s Queen in your cloak of stars:
We call to you: Be with us now!
Send your mighty maidens to us:
Swift Gna, bringing grace and good fortune;
Golden Fulla with her overflowing gifts;
Eir with her healing wisdom;
Gentle Hlin, giving comfort and strong warding
Against all grief, despair and evil
That assail the heart.
Teach us your wisdom, Mother,
To order our lives, homes, and folkways rightly,
For the good of all,
And to reflect your grace and brightness.
Call to Frigg, the Silent Knower
Lady Frigg, in your misty halls at Fensalir,
On far-seeing Hlidskjalf, shared with Odin,
From the deepest wells of knowledge,
Share with us the silent wonder of the world!
All-knowing Frigg, Norn-wise,
You know there is no tongue in which to tell
Of all that is, and was, and shall be;
To sort the spinning strands of possibility
Into a span of words.
Yet with your spindle and your well-strung loom
You weave the airy clouds
And send the winds to shape them,
Writing your wordless wisdom-runes
Across the ever-changing valleys of the sky.
Teach us, Lady, to heed
The wisdom that lies beyond all words.
Frige-Boast
This poem or call uses English translations of many phrases from Anglo-Saxon poetry that describe queens, heroes, and other great folk. Frige’s name in all its forms means “Beloved.”
Frige I boast Lady all-holy,
Woden’s loved companion Wonder-working Queen
Shining Lady Splendid Queen of Tribes
Blessed in triumph Binding folk together
Lover of your people Lady bright-minded
Bridler of kin-strife Bourne of kin-courtesy
Protector and frith-weaver. Friendly Goddess
Your blessing give us To babes and brave men
Mother kind Of mind most excellent.
Great-hearted Queen Holding secret counsel
With god-touched soothsayers To the wise-minded
Giving rede and wisdom Discretion and prudence.
Key-keeper mighty In your starry cloak
Silver adorned Shining Heaven’s Queen
Bid us blithely together To your benches
At Fen Hall sitting Offer us the cup
Of frith and joy Frige Queen beloved
Frige our Beloved.
Heimdall’s Call
Great Warder of the Bridge, he stands foursquare,
The Ase with icy eyes and gleaming hair.
Sounds of life he senses with hidden ear,
For Gjallar-horn is calling:
Heed ever the soul-deep song!
The son of nine great mothers, Heimdall wise,
He fathered sons of Man in hidden guise.
He lights the path of wisdom into our ways,
For Gjallar-horn is calling:
Heed ever the soul-deep song!
Bright Heimdall bars the bridge against all ill;
No force in all nine worlds can bend his will.
With steadfast strength our breast he always fills,
For Gjallar-horn is calling:
Heed ever the soul-deep song!
Rig’s main calls to our mind and to our Mod,
His song awakens heavy heart and mood!
His rainbow glows against the darkest cloud,
For Gjallar-horn is calling:
Heed ever the soul-deep song!
Hail Freya’s champion and Loki’s bane,
Bring gift to offer at his holy fane,
That Heimdall’s might may wax and never wane,
For Gjallar-horn is calling:
Heed ever the soul-deep song!
Words: Winifred Hodge Rose
Tune: “The Angel Gabriel from Heaven Came” (Basque carol)