To A Norseman

This poem was sent to me by a dear friend who was enduring a lengthy prison sentence. In this poem he communicated to me, something that was in me that needed to be awaken.  He saw in me this need before I did and chose the perfect short verse for his communication.
 
It is a wonderful poem and my friend used it to awaken in me my own Celtic soul and summon the muse.  A poem about the Celt and the Norseman and the Old Ways.

My friend, is sadly gone now.  I still have the copy of the poem he sent me however.  The page it is on is shows its 45 years of age; the paper now discoloured, the ink faded.  It is a treasure.  

But, alas, I do not remember the author's name. Various online searches by title, first line, etc., have not produced the writer.  I do think it was a lady, so, if anyone knows her name, do communicate with me.  



To a Norseman

Surely you have forgotten
that poets are as wild as Norsemen, 
that dancers and players flamboyantly rash
and flutist and pluckers of strings
are full of ungovernable dreams;
surely no tall and silver-mouthed singer 
will leave off
once she has begun to call a tale
our of her harp.

Have you forgotten 
those dragon-boated rievers
shouting over the cold North Sea
and revelling with these island-dwellers
in their pillaging?

Have you forgotten 
those earth-gods of the old world?  Twelve disciples to a coven;
those blonde-haired witch consorters,
drumming in the dusk of tall clearings, 
calling the cloven-footed fairies
out to spin in the moonlight.

Surely you had not thought
that saints had quieted their longings
or holy scholars curbed their willful wantonness. 
Though all the snakes were damned
and driven out of Irlonde -
though the cross was older there
than in the north's flat forest evergreens -
their impregnable hearts
were as brazen and as laced with fire
as any Pagan's near the midnight sun.  

(author unknown)

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