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Evng-n-Paradse-art - 7/1/11


"An Evening in Paradise" by Master Rhodri.


NOTE: See also the files: Calontir-hst-msg, SCA-stories1-msg, border-stories-msg, child-stories-msg, SCA-War-Xcuse-msg, What-Matters-art, you-know-msg.





This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.


This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium. These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org


I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with separate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were removed to save space and remove clutter.


The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the individual authors.


Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this time. If information is published from these messages, please give credit to the originator(s).


Thank you,

   Mark S. Harris                  AKA:  THLord Stefan li Rous

                                         Stefan at florilegium.org



From: Rob Howell

Sent: Wednesday, June 22, 2011 7:07 AM

To: CALONTIR at listserv.unl.edu

Subject: [CALONTIR] An Evening in Paradise


You know, sometimes life is really, really good to you.


So, there Duncan Eardstapa and I were, innocently (actually, we were innocent this time) strolling to the shower after a fun day of fighting at Lilies when we heard a voice.


"Your Lordship, Master Rhodri, may We have a word with you?"


"Why of course Your Majesties, we'd be honored."


So there we were, in our shower clothes, stinky from the fighting, ready for Their words. And what words they were.


"We'd like you to write us a Keeper of the Flame scroll text for Her Grace Maerwynn."


"Awesome… when?"




"Uh, how soon?" At this point, I'm wondering if we were actually going to get to shower.




Duncan and I looked at each other, both of us thinking that we didn't bring our Old English dictionaries and grammars and that this scroll text *had* to be in Old English.


"No problem, Your Majesties," we both replied, wondering how in the hell we were going to make this work.


Fortunately, this was one of those *rare* Lilies where Master Andrixos had talked a bunch of times, and in those few speeches, he mentioned that he had his laptop and that Clyde's in Paradise had WiFi.


So, we went to the shower, returned, confiscated Drix's car and computer and headed off to the wilds of Paradise. We got to Clyde's about 8pm, neither of us having eaten, but at least we were clean. However, they close at 9pm, so we ordered sandwiches from them and went to a little table outside of Clyde's and began the process.


Both of us had a bunch of cool ideas, many of which were scrapped as we pounded away at making something that was both worthwhile for Their Majesties and which made Maerwynn cry.


Writing poetry is always a challenge, and this was no different. Writing a poem in a different language is just a bit harder, even with wonderfully helpful internet sites, so this process was not a quick one. However, the first draft of the poem, in modern English, was essentially completed by 10:30, and the translation was starting to flow around 11:30 when about this time a car passed us and I realized that it was a police car.


Rut roh Raggy.


I proceeded to focus as much as I could on the translation. Duncan, with much more aplomb didn't really notice. However, with Xandre's example from the beginning of the war so fresh in my mind, I was extra special paranoid.


So, from 11:30pm to 12:30pm, the police officer sat in Clyde's parking lot. And from 11:30pm to 12:30pm we translated while I expected at any moment to hear his approach with something like: "What are you boys up to?" in his best Deliverance voice.


And I thought to myself, "You know, self, it is one thing to get arrested for failing to appear. That happens. The other people in the cell won't really think anything about that. However, getting arrested, while wearing a dress, for writing poetry. *That* my cellmates might note."


So, let's look at this. Life was really, really good to me because:

1: Maerwynn was recognized for her Keeperness

2: TRMs gave Duncan and I the opportunity to write the scroll

3: We came up with a scroll we were both proud of

4: We were not arrested for poetry with intent or aggravated writing or something like that

5: And I didn't have to model my dress for Bubba


In any case, we were indeed proud of the scroll, which I present here in both languages:


From king and queen                     come wise words

Fram cyninge ond cwene                 cymaþ cyneword


We say to Calon kin                     be of warm health

Caloncynn to willan                     wes þu hael


In Lilies high hall                     hear our heart-words

in lilian heah healle                   híeraþ  heortword


These hammer warriors                   are wyrd-gifted

þās hamorwigan                           sindon wyrd-giefa


they float like feathers               from falcon's wings

hie flotaþ swa feðer                    fram hafoca fiðerhamum


while they sink deep roots             in hearth-soil

þenden hie ásencaþ deop-wyrt          in heorþes earda


they cross embers                       with unarmored feet

hie stapaþ bælfýr                       mid unfierdsceorpum fotum


while holding hail                      from hearth-stones

þenden hie healdaþ                      mid heorþes stana


they fight against                      forgetting friends

hie ætfiehtaþ                            misgymynda freond


while they embrace                      foes of hearth-tales

þenden hie fæðmaþ                       feond fram heorþes ealdspellum


their eyes have seen                    story and song

hira eagan sawon                        giedd ond sang


their mouths have wielded              weapons and wool

hira múðan wéoldon                      waepen ond wulle


their hands have worked                whispers and wonders

hira handa geworhtedon                 runa ond wundor


their ears have studied                stones and steel

hira earan sohtedon                     stanas ond stieleu


they are the huscarls                   of heartlands soul-house

hie sind huscarles                      of heortlanda sawol-husum


their mind-songs continue              memories that burn

hira mod-sangas bídeaþ                 gemynda þat þe bærnen


brightly for bold people               brilliant in their power

beorhte for módhéapum                   beorhtlic in hira ellene 


Maerwynn of Holme is a                 holder of house-suns

Maerwynn holmes bith                    hold of huses heofengimmes


A keeper of flame                       steering falcon's fire

Se fyrweard                              forstíerende heah havocfyr


So says Anton king                      to Calon-people

Swa cwíðaþ Anton cyning                to Caloncynnum


So says Isabeau queen                   to children of air

Swa cwíðaþ Isabeau cwen                to lyftbearnum


So say the people-kings                to kith and kin

Swa cwíðaþ þeodcyninga                 to cýþþum ond cynnum


In Lilies high hall,                    hear our heart-words

in lilian heah healle                   híeraþ  heortword


Congratulations again, Maerwynn.




<the end>

Formatting copyright © Mark S. Harris (THLord Stefan li Rous).
All other copyrights are property of the original article and message authors.

Comments to the Editor: stefan at florilegium.org