A Bard's Blog

Below is the entire text of a work begun over 7 years ago for the Jararvellir Fool's Guild to perform. It makes use of many "in-jokes" at the time and was meant to be a sort of musical/entertainment. As it happened, the guild when further into the direction of Commedia del Arte and more period entertainment and never gave this a go. Not Another Fairy Tale By The Honorable Lady Aliénor Hathaway, Inspired by and collaborated with the Jararvellir Fool’s Guild (first and third incarnation) With special thanks to Lady Saerlaith for editing. Narrator 1 Narrator 2 Lady Katherin Count Martin Duke John Duke André Prince Hamlet Hera (or Harold) the Herald Messenger (Philippa) Count/ess Body Guar Guards/Clean up crew The Player Somebody Act I, Scene 1 (While the Narrator is talking, Martin comes in, obviously acting drunk, staggers...

My favorite French poet is François Villon. He was a bit of a "bad" boy poet of 15th century France but his poetry is masterful and speaks of common life in his time. This poem is based on an acrostic he wrote. A reading of Villon's Testament By David A. Fein page 37 discusses the particular work I used. There is a preview of those bages at google books here: http://books.google.com/books?id=T70is4h90SMC Alienor Allons-y au départ, c’est l'aventure ou rien Liaisons d'amour ou amitié main en main. Ile de France, centre belle Est-ce que tu es encore fidele ? Noyant pas dans l’hiver tristesse Ore de printemps arrive en vitesse Remplie mon cœur en son jeunesse.

This poem is based off of a religios poem written by Isaac Ibn Ghiyath who lived in Medieval Spain from 1038 to 1089. It is based on a translation from one of his poems that I have in an old course reader from a fantastic class I took on Jews in Muslim and Christian Spain. Since I can't find the translation anywhere online, you'll just have to trust that it is similar to religious poetry of that time. By Hashem, the blessed name I’ve imagined your bride is vestments of white I give to receive the purest light Though I may not see either. I called out in desperation, My heart lost to music I so loved You breathed life gently, And I was reborn. I cannot see what I know is there— My soul again made whole.

Sounds of war drums are sounding Across the lands so dear Ere long the snows have thawed, They call kin from far and near. Onward my noblest cousins, Across the land so wide Beat back our Allies foes So we may welcome you with pride. Strange the land that is not home Goes forth a mighty host I’ll watch the banners flowing Remaining faithful at my post. Alack that I must remain, Far from battle and it’s mighty roar Left to wait, this lady’s fate Until they return once more. Written for a challenge in February 2008 to write a poem a day all month.

I read a praise poem while doing some research on what makes a period Celtic Bard. As it happens, Bard in the original Celtic sense was extremly difficult to attain and involved years of training and was very high in rank. The term was adapted later to define a poet. This poem is actually based on a Taliesin poem. In the name of the stars, the populace of Northshield call Our rise against our foe-- The shield of your kinsman. Stephen, King by right I praise you with the aclaim of the Bards. Strong, worthy of name With view of Griffin's light The song of thunder of oncoming storm Words-woven to praise Won by arms by right Holds my oath, no harm befall him. Based on the poem praising Gwallawg