On the Bardic Arts: Correspondence between Master Hector and then Laird Colyne

----- Original Message -----
From: "Hector of the Black Height" <REDACTED>
To: Colyne Stewart< REDACTED >
Cc: < REDACTED >; < REDACTED >; < REDACTED >; < REDACTED >
Sent: Friday, September 06, 2002 8:10 PM
Subject: In response

Milord Colyne:

Please forgive my delay in responding; it's been a busy few days. I will discuss your specific poems in another message.

"Three lessons are plain to me..."

Good. It's important to look at our art and the effect it has, to learn from it and to drive on thereafter.

"First, the word of a Bard has power, sometimes more than s/he may realize..."

A valuable lesson indeed. To use Justinian Clarus' highest word of praise, "Truth".

"...this poem, inked to thank a group of fighters and their support staff, may help strengthen already strong ties with this House..."

That's a fringe benefit, and a splendid one, that falls out of the first lesson.

"Second, words know no boundaries...though they do not come from the same land as I, they respond to the words..."

Not one of the major lessons I saw, frankly, but an entirely valid one.

"...I cannot readily think of a third..."

It's all a question of how you look at life. And in my case, I'm a sententious son-of-a-dog and love to preach at people (ask any of my long-suffering kin) so my mind picks up these sorts of things. Navel-gazing, like poetry, improves with practice.

"I also think my first and second are kind of the same..."

Not entirely. The first lesson you saw is about the very real power you wield. The second is about the ability of the receiver to receive. Different directions of information flow entirely, o Voice of the Bear. Information, like water, flows. Be sensitive to that flow and you'll be able to harness its power far more effectively.

Now it's my turn. Let's go back to first principles and look at the message from Mjolnir that kicked off this exercise:

"in my opinion, we have received no better booty that this. Llallogan"

What a spectacular tribute to what you did, how you did it and even why. And thus these lessons leap to my mind.

First, one of these Mjolnir mercenaries, who have received some pretty nifty gifts from Septentria, likes your words best of all their booty.

People forget the value of word-fame. What you do as one of the two Bards of Septentria includes the creation of valuable gifts in service of your patrons and the Barony.

So what?

We need bards in service to the mighty. The mighty of our lands need bardic service to create truly magnificent gifts in aid of the war effort and other diplomatic initiatives, before and after the fact. And believe me, a selling point in SCA diplomacy is word-fame. The Qon used it all spring and summer. Examples like this get trotted out to potential allies. 'This is what we do. Join us and we will give you word-fame too.' Poetry in particular is portable in our web-connected society. It's a gift that travels widely, quickly and well.

We need to remember that poetry and prose are art, just as calligraphy, embroidery, gold-smithing and anything else you'd care to mention. Again, a poet's raw materials are cheap in terms of cash. That's a real advantage to leaders who want to achieve gold-and-rubies results on a brass-and-plastic budget. That's one big reason why I encourage all the high and mighty to patronize bards, poets, and whatever. Such patronage is a cost-effective approach to the exercise of a medieval style of nobility.

Patronage encourages an artist to actually do his or her art -- which leads to practice, which usually leads to better artistic quality, especially when the art is practiced in a co-operative and knowledgeable environment such as ours.

Patronage encourages the creation of art that in turn is injected into our living culture. It's an authentic medieval practice. It supports the prestige of the offices (the Crown, the Barony, even the Peerage and Royal Peerage) which in turn reinforces our group culture. And again, it does all these wonderful things and costs pennies. We live in the real world most of the week; cash cost is a real factor.

People crave word-fame. This is a period phenomenon. This also is psychologically positive. Your words affirmed the value of what Mjolnir does. This is an important part of the didactic quality of bardic arts. By praising certain behaviours we encourage those behaviours, both in those praised and in others who hear the praise. Thus do we reinforce the positive aspects of our culture. Thus do the bards shape the game.

The SCA ultimately is artificial. As an artificial social construct, how do we as members know what is and isn't appropriate conduct? Given the SCA's theme, we draw upon cultural archetypes from literature, mass media and our childhood memories of King Arthur stories. As participants we observe the behaviour of those around us at our first events (examples matter!). And, being children of the age of mass media, we listen. If people within the population pf the social construct sing us songs and tell praise tales of chivalry, courtesy and honour, we soon will come to the conclusion that
chivalry, courtesy and honour are Good Things in this place. Thus we are given role models to emulate.

The root word of "poetry", as I recall, is the Greek word "poaea" which means "making". In mechanical, literary terms the poetic impulse is purely creative (as opposed to the mimetic or didactic impulses). In the grand and glorious sweep of things, o Voice of the Bear, bardic arts are poetic,
creative. We help create the SCA with our words and images. We hand people ideas and say 'try these.' That is the power of the bard; in the broadest terms possible, we can shape others' games.

That is why it's so vital for us as the bardic community to get out there, especially among new people. We have a great opportunity and a profound ability to hand new people positive images. We can and do portray the SCA in its best light. I've said this for some years now; if I didn't haul out the tale, who'd tell the little children about Moonwulf's charge? Somebody had better, or we'll forget that amazing example of SCA ethics in action. And that would diminish the game.

We must not allow the game to diminish. We must preserve our cultural heritage, for that cultural heritage is the root and foundation of whatever successes we have achieved in our Barony and Kingdom. Why do you think Ealdormere works, Milord Colyne? Why do you think we brush up against people from all over the Known World who walk away changed, who maintain friendships from thousands of miles away, who return here again and again? Why do we play the best flavour of the great game in all the Known World? In part it's because we use bardic arts to create and maintain a vital, active, supportive and extremely positive culture (as the High Lady Gwerydd reminded me recently).

You said that this wonderful episode pointed out that "words know no boundaries". You're right, and that's a critical insight. But I think it's more than that also. It's more than just words. Concepts are understood universally (if not practiced universally, sad to say). We preach a game centred on respect, on co-operation and pride in ourselves and in each other. Listen to the words we sing:

"With our children as our future and our legends as our pride"

"My sword has won battles, my bow has won honour"

"You are true and destined King and my sword is by your side"

"Bow to the Crown and bow to the throne"

"For as long as one still stands, the North shall rise"

"Our power we extol; we are a river"

That's the party line, Milord, and more besides. That's what we teach our children it is to be Ealdormere. That's what we tell newbies. That's what we remind each other around the fire. That's what we scream into the faces of our foes on the field as we break them, and as they break us. Pride.
Respect. Celebration. Power. That is what we preach.

And then we practice it, and we achieve glory.

This is cultural engineering. We are building something magnificent and Mjolnir now is being sucked into that vortex of self-sustaining splendour, in no small part thanks to your words.

As a final lesson, art matters. Art matters a lot. Art is a major venue for generosity within our culture. Why are Corwyn and Domnhail Galbraith so amazingly generous? Because they are two of the most switched-on artists you will ever meet. They love to make art, to try new things, to learn, to get better at what they do. If they kept all their art they'd not have room to move in their house. So they give it away.

So do our amazing, wonderful, devoted and inspiring scribes.

In their own way, so do our chirurgeons.

So do our group marshals who coach baby fighters.

So do our bards, every time they open their mouths.

The list goes on and on.

[sic] They were your words, and they were better than all those magnificent things, according to a guy in a far land who'll never forget how Ealdormere says thank-you. We forget just how valuable a few minutes' scribbling can be to a reader or listener who finds something in your message. That recipient can find word-fame and immortality. Or affirmation. Or permission. Those all are profound gifts, perhaps permission most of all.

It's about generosity, Milord. Your words have given a great gift to those who found riches in unexpected places. They have taught a great lesson to foreigners. They confirm the fundamental worth of our culture, for what you have done is so clearly, utterly consistent with the ethics that underlie Ealdormere.

And finally, from an entirely petty and personal perspective, your words and their effect inspire me, challenge me and humble me. I think we need to talk about the use of period form and metre, you and I, but nobody needs speak to you about honesty and raw power. It's obvious you've got those sorted out.

eachuinn

Post scriptum: I am sending a copy of this message to my grand-daughter the Septentrian Arts and Sciences officer. She needs to see what's happening in the arts within the Barony.

I also am sending a copy to the King's Bard. She needs to see what results you're achieving, in order to best reinforce the College and thus the Kingdom.

And finally, I am sending copies to our Baron and my daughter our Baroness. They need to see what you are accomplishing; that too is part of patronage.

emgd



----- Original Message -----
From: "Hector of the Black Height" <REDACTED>
To: Colyne Stewart < REDACTED >
Sent: Saturday, September 07, 2002 2:31 AM
Subject: Let me address a couple of your points

O Voice of the Bear:

"I witnessed [REDACTED] do that this year at War at Garraed's Vigil (so you likely saw it too)...she [sic] a tale that held up to ridicule those who do not practise courtesy and chivalry."

I know the tale. I know its message. I understand its value.

At the same time, part of what we do, part of who we are as the Northern people, is our positive focus. There is a place for shame-singing. There also is a place for letting go, for forgiveness, for accentuating the positive.

Be careful with this dark concept. The so-called "Bardic Curse" is a double-edged sword and those edges are sharp. I have the scars, and a couple are far more fresh than I'd like to admit.

"I remember seeing you at Bad in Plaid, having learned that it was one good gentle's first event, taking him aside and telling him tales..."

Never underestimate the powerful draw of a new audience that hasn't heard all your old crap seventeen times...

But part of the SCA is the magic of myth and legend. And just because you're an Arthurian scholar doesn't mean you've heard all the legends fit to print. What about the Knighting of Kief and Bellatrix' Spur? What about Moonwulf's Charge? What about Eislinn's War? What about Palymar, Jafar and the best six fights never fought? What about the Tallest, Blondest Knight and even the Entire Midrealm Army?

The people around us carve legends into the living rock of a Kingdom. We just get to read the stones out loud.

I value those legends. I value our people and I am very proud of those people. I am selling Ealdormere to newbies; I have a great product to sell. It's fun switching somebody on to a whole new culture.

And that's also how you build a Kingdom's future, one new heart at a time.

"...the time you took Thorfinna and I aside, oh-so-green we were, and told us tales, and the importance of our new position of Baronialbards..."

I am a Laurel; I swore to my Queen and King to teach.

I am numbered among the bardagh: I have a joyous obligation to teach and spread my art.

I held the office you now share: as I respect the office, I owe you the courtesy of discussing my experiences therein.

I am from Ealdormere; as I teach I enrich the Kingdom.

I am a SCAdian; people taught me, so now I repay.

I am a father: by teaching others I ensure a strong and vibrant Kingdom will be there for my son to inhabit and enjoy.

"I agree...when we all have the same songs we become like one people..."

That's one of the things that unite us. There are others, but the songs are among the most obvious.

"I often hear of Kingdoms that do not sing and the very thought makes my heart weep..."

Yes and no. The Outlands drums. Calontir still sings, though less than they did once, I think. Northshield sings.

And we fight shoulder-to-shoulder, as a clan should fight, and the power of friendship, of kinship, unites the army too.

The SCA is a big place. There is room for many different unifying traits. However, some Kingdoms, some cultures, have no unifying trait and yes, I pity them too.

"I cannot imagine living in a land that did not sing (though I myself am a very poor singer)..."

Of course you can't imagine it. That's because any land you lived in you'd sing in. One voice matters. Ealdormere doesn't sing, it thunders. That's the sound of a people. That once was a lone voice, then a couple of voices, then a few, then many, and then we shook the Known World and we still do. One
voice matters. You can shake the world with one voice if you're patient and generous and joyous.

Honest.

Maybe those sad, silent Kingdoms haven't found a Colyne yet. Or a Thorfinna. Or a Hector. Or somebody else.

"...was I moved..."

Why? Because Marian's that good? Maybe (she is, of course).

Because she was one voice singing with joy about the truth she had seen and found? Maybe.

Maybe it was because in her history she acknowledged that so many individuals, working together, can create something utterly wonderful.

"...thank you..."

You're welcome.

Part of being a bard is being a true observer. You must observe truly the land and its people. You must observe your own interaction with the land and its people and frankly assess your effect, your power for good and your efficacy in wielding that power.

That's how you get better at what you do. That's how you best serve the
populace.

"I do indeed need to work more on reproducing a period style and wouldappreciate any input..."

Start with the toolbox. Got access to the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics?

Your present style will slide nicely into Germanic poetry. You'll like a flexible syllable count.

"...like you, he thinks that there is a fundamental connection between bards and the shaping of our reality..."

We write the songs that make the whole world sing. We write the songs of love and special things. We write the songs that make the young girls cry. Yes, we ARE Barry Manilow.

Excuse me. It slipped out.

We teach. We remind. We cajole. Some day ask me about DragonsHeart Guard and Haakon's dinner. That's several essays in one story and, like all good stories of the SCA, every word is true.

"Tomorrow I head out for A Day in the Country...I hope to perhaps see you there..."

No guarantees, but if Calum's up for a pig roast we shall see.

"Again, many, many thanks for this missive..."

That's what I'm here for. And remember, I'm from Ealdormere. That's what we all do.

emgd

That's No Lady, That's My Leman: Translating modern jokes into SCA-speak

Master Hector of the Black Height (b. 2003)

After some research, including pre-600 C.E. Classical sources and a variety
of medieval literature and graphic art, I am comfortable in saying that
humour is period. So, it's reasonable to extrapolate that telling jokes is a
period pass-time. But what is a medieval joke?

"The Romans say that if you have a Frank for a friend, it is certain that he
is not your neighbour"
(from Cariadoc's "Miscellany", attributed to a ninth century Life of
Charlemagne).

You can borrow material from period sources, safe in the knowledge that
copyright has lapsed; Boccaccio's "Decameron" is a veritable gold-mine of
funny stories written in period (and a mother lode of smut, but that's
another essay). However, in general terms I think we can work from a basic
premise, that the modern sense of humour and the sense of humour of people
in period are pretty consistent. The vocabulary has changed; the reference
points are wildly different, but irony, cynicism, sarcasm and broad humour
remain constant.

So what?

If you feel like telling a joke and you don't know any period humour, take a
modern joke you like and translate it. You just have to keep the humour in
context.

As I have written elsewhere, a good story has some ZING to it, a snappy
punchline that will elicit the desired response from the audience. Keep your
eyes on the prize and, whatever else you do to that favourite story,
preserve the punchline. If placing the joke in a medieval context changes
the punchline radically, it's not the same joke and may suffer in your
translation as a result. It may not suffer; just be aware that, if the joke
changes radically enough, you may have trouble telling it, that's all.

Analyse the joke. Some elements will stay the same. Others will require
embellishment to fit the period motif. Others will have to be changed
completely. Again, the more you deviate from the modern model you're
familiar with, the harder you're making this on yourself (and possibly on
your long-suffering audience).

Let's see how this works. Take the modern tale of the souvenir peddler at
Dublin Airport. He saw a wealthy Texan getting off the plane, came up to him
and said, "Sure and 'tis your lucky day. Due to dire financial straits, I am
forced to sell a prized possession held in me family for generations. Would
you be willing to pay me $500 for the skull of Brian Boru, High King of all
Ireland?" The Texan was suitably impressed and started off his vacation with
a nice new skull. The peddler walked off with $500 (in US dollars, no
less!).

A week later, the Texan was at Dublin airport to catch his plane home. He
was approached by the same peddler, obviously forgetful, who took him aside
and, due to dire financial straits, offered to sell the Texan the skull of
Brian Boru, High King of all Ireland. "Now hold on a second, pilgrim,"
snarled the Texan, "You sold me the skull of Brian Boru just a week ago.
What are you trying to pull here?"

The peddler thought for a second and replied, "Indeed, I sold you the skull
of the High King, but this is the skull of Brian Boru as a much younger
man."

Insert rim-shot here.

How to translate this? Some elements have to stay the same. The same relic
sold twice, the second time from the younger version of the same person.
That's essential to the story and sets up the punchline. Relics are a very
period concept and interest, so this story will translate well. Indeed, the
crooked priest selling fake relics is a stock comedic character in period
(q.v. "Canterbury Tales").

Obviously the airport has to go, it's a blatant anachronism. Any medieval
travelling motif works in its place; pilgrimage, trade caravan, Viking raid,
crusade, whatever.

Some details can vary. Does our crafty peddler sell the false relic to a
pilgrim? Is a frightened monk trading his life for a holy relic to a
rampaging Viking? Will a gullible infidel crusader hand more Frankish silver
to a crafty Levantine? In all cases, the characters and situation set up the
sale of two alleged relics to the traveller. Pick a traveller to suit your
audience, pick a logical cause for that character to travel in period, add
the local peddler and set up that same, modern, punchline.

One aside; is the peddler in this story a fool, selling the same relic over
and over, or a crafty crook with a bad memory? Either way the joke works;
how you sell the character is a question of personal taste and skill as a
storyteller. Reliable material helps, but good storytelling technique is
both period and necessary.

Other genres of modern stories translate nicely. Military jokes tend to be
ironic, cynical and/or deprecating, often at the expense of somebody else,
usually superior officers or another branch of military service. If you see
the modern military as a class-conscious, hierarchical society, the
parallels with medieval feudal structures become obvious. Other jokes,
usually at the expense of a specific class or trade, work well too, both in
a medieval and an SCA context.

Q. What do you call a ship full of heralds/priests/barristers/Knights/rent
collectors foundering ten leagues off shore?
A. A good start.

Shaggy dog stories can be translated too. Just remember, a shaggy dog story
is built upon long narrative full of extraneous detail, leading eventually
to the grim, inevitable punchline. If you're not comfortable spinning out
medieval-style narrative for a live audience, stay away from shaggy dogs.

One category of stories that does not lend itself to this kind of
translation is religious stories. Many of these stories begin "There was a
priest, a minister and a rabbi." or some variation on that theme. Apart from
the SCA being non-religious by decree, to avoid offending anybody, such
modern jokes are built on a cultural foundation of religious tolerance and
even ecumenism. Neither tolerance nor ecumenism are period concepts. I
suggest most of these "jokes", in period, might well have the same
punchline, involving the two "wrong" clergy burning at the stake. That's
just not funny. I think most people today would call such jokes offensive in
the extreme.

This is not to say you can't use clergy in your jokes: you have to look at
them as supporting players (the clerk who can read) or sources of irony
(Boccaccio is riddled with references to the stock comedic character, the
randy priest, usually coupled with a bored housewife. Exactly). And gentle
commentary on religion can be acceptable, especially when the butt of the
joke isn't the religion but the religious.

Q. Why are the hills of Lebanon bare?
A. Because every Frank in Christendom has a splinter of the True Cross
(from Cariadoc's "Miscellany", otherwise unattributed).

Not all jokes will translate, and just because you can hammer that round peg
into the square hole doesn't mean it's a good idea.

Q. How many Knights does it take to change the torch in a wall sconce?
A. Two: one to unscrew the torch and the other to dress the burns.

Yes, you can create a parallel to light bulb jokes, kind of. It really
doesn't work all that well in a medieval context, though; it's a
technology-based joke and the technology really doesn't translate well. We
all understand the torch is supposed to be a light bulb, but why would you
unscrew a torch?

You can tell jokes that rely on the tension inherent between medieval
concepts and modern life. The television series "History Bites" proves this,
brilliantly, though it achieves this result by relying on costumes, settings
and effects a storyteller doesn't have available. Without props you can
extend this concept to comedic tension between the SCA and 21st century
reality, too.

Q. What does a Knight need to make a phone call?
A. A belt, chain, spurs and a quarter, but only at a touch-tone phone. The
buttons don't call "light".

Q. What does a Pelican need to make a phone call?
A. A medallion and fifty cents, because that poor person whose car broke
down on the way to the event has to call the auto league first.

Q. What does a Laurel need to make a phone call?
A. Nothing; phones aren't period. Laurels use E-mail; hypocrisy **is**
period.

Jokes built upon the SCA's fit with the 21st century can be funny and may
well resonate with your audience. They also drag modern images, ideas and
vocabulary into the event site, which some participants may not appreciate.
Keep such jokes for post-revels or local meetings.

To get a feel for period humour read funny books from in period. Chaucer is
one source of humorous characters and situations, Boccaccio is another.
Consider reading Castiglione's "The Courtier", in part because it's simply
an unsurpassed portrait of its times. In this context, various forms of
humour, starting with irony, are used by Castiglione to illustrate points
being made in the central dialectic of that brilliant book. I think you'll
see that setting may change, social structures may change (very important in
comedy of manners) and vocabulary definitely will change, but people stay
pretty constant, both as characters to build jokes around and as an audience
looking for a laugh.

So dredge up the funny story that works around the water cooler, change its
setting, dress up its characters in garb and tell it at the feast table. And
never forget, one of the reasons the story is funny is because you're
comfortable with the material and you tell it well. Think through your
translation, tell your story with your eye always on reaching the punchline,
entertain those around you and feel good about developing your skills as a
storyteller.


The invaluable contributions of His Excellency Corwyn Galbraith to this
essay are acknowledged with gratitude. "Take my Baron. Please" (after
Youngman, mid 20th century).

Missive to a Young Bard: Sonnets

By Master Hector of the Black Height, 2003

Edited by THLaird Colyne Stewart, January AS 49 (2015)

This article is based on an email that Master Hector sent to me when I first began to wade into the bardic arts. At the time I was particularly struggling with a sonnet.

When you talk about wrestling with sonnets and when I read your work, I see two specific and disparate areas on which you need to focus.

The first is rhythm. You are trying to write in iambic pentameter but you seem to have problems sticking to the rhythm.

Let’s talk about the basics.

An iamb is a two-syllable block of rhythm within a line, with the heavier beat on the second syllable:

ba-DUM.

This is, among other things, the rhythm of your heartbeat and we’ll touch on that later.

The line you’re using is a ten syllable line, so there are five iambs of two syllables each in the line; thus the line is called iambic pentameter (as opposed to trochaic pentameter, which would be five trochees to the line, but I digress). Iambic pentameter: ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM. Above all else it’s regular. If it’s not, it isn’t really iambic pentameter.

When we look at the rhythm of the line, let’s also remember to look at what’s NOT written. The line reads

ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM

but when you cobble it together with other lines, it really doesn’t read

ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM
ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM

It doesn’t read that way. Honestly it doesn’t.

It actually reads

ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM (pause)
ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM (pause)

and so on. The pause is for breath usually. It’s the natural hesitation that says to the listener (remember, poetry is an aural art), “Attention please, the line is ending right about… here.”

Even when we enjamb a line and run the sentence into the next line (poetry being this wonderful, complex amalgam of the mechanics of language -- sentences, clauses, even phrases  -- and the building blocks of poetry -- the beat, the line, the stanza) there needs to be sensitivity to the fact that the poetic line is over, even if the sentence grinds on. The reader needs to know when a line ends, even when the line enjambs with the next, so the reader and/or listener can savour the line as a whole, complete thing unto itself, as well as the line’s part in the sentence (and the last word’s part in the rhyme scheme). That is why reading poetry aloud is itself an art, one we can and should discuss at another time.

Let’s look at a specimen line of iambic pentameter, plucked at random from amongst the creakings of the windmills of my mind:

With all my worldly goods I thee endow

That’s ten syllables. The natural rhythm of these words fits the iambic pentameter line like a glove.

with ALL my WORLDly GOODS i THEE enDOW.

As the Bard Himself would have said, the words flow trippingly from the tongue. That’s what’s supposed to happen. There is no fight with the rhythm, you can go with the flow.

Here’s another line:

The windmills of my mind, how loud they creak!

Same rhythm scheme:

the WINDmills OF my MIND, how LOUD they CREAK

There is a theory that iambic pentameter is in fact the natural metre of the English language (complete with the pause of approximately one rhythmic beat at the end of the line, so you can breathe), which is why it has become so popular within the vernacular English poetry and prose communities over the past four centuries or more, at least until Ezra Pound decided it was tyrannical. Then again Pound was a pretty unrepentant fascist so what did he know about tyranny and the lack thereof? But I digress.

Remember I commented that an iamb is the rhythm of your heartbeat? Some theories include this as one of the instinctive criteria that draws us as people to iambic verse. This is what being alive sounds like, in a primal sense. It just plain fits us, the same way we count in base 10 because of our fingers.

Don’t worry about the whys and wherefores, just acknowledge that iambs are iambs and iambic pentameter is a fundamental rhythm scheme in English verse. The trick is to fit the words to the rhythm scheme you’ve selected for use, and in this case that’s your challenge.

Do you read your verse aloud as you write? That’s the only reliable way to tell if the words fit the rhyme scheme. Declaim your verse aloud and then you’ll see (did you notice “Declaim your verse aloud and then you’ll see” itself is a line of iambic pentameter?) if it flows trippingly from the tongue. If it flows evenly and smoothly from your lips, you’re where you want to be. If something feels forced, if the words come out awkwardly or to make the line work you have to place undue emPHAsis on the wrong sylLABle, then you have to re-work the words (different word sequence, perhaps different word selection entirely. I can write iambic pentameter with little or no conscious thought; a side effect of this seems to be that in day-to-day use I split infinitives like a butcher) to restore the regularity of your rhythm. Anything looks good on paper and the silent voice between your ears doesn’t necessarily give you a fair depiction of the actual sound of the words. Sound and its production are mechanical processes; you must speak each line, each iamb, aloud to see if it really works.

A solid grasp of this rhythm scheme should come with practice and lots of declaiming, probably in the acoustically perfect little poet’s room in your home. Just don’t flush while reading, it overloads the acoustics.

Please note you can break these and other rhythmic rules when writing; I have done so from time to time, deliberately (or at least consciously). Breaking the rules can force the reader to focus on a specific word or syllable, it can force the reader to slow down the reading and pay more attention, sort of an aural speed bump. However, those are exceptions; first you need to learn the rules before we go breaking them -- and while the ghost of Ezra Pound calms down just a little.

Now let’s get to your second disparate problem; the use of the sonnet form itself.

If you read the rather fulsome praise for the form in the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, you’ll discover that some (I confess I am among them) consider the Shakespearian sonnet (hereafter referred to as the sonnet, for sheer laziness; we’ll touch upon alternate versions later) to be the ultimate accomplishment of short poetic structure in English. It has it all, in just 14 lines. The trick is to use the form to its full extent.

Form fits function and ultimately the sonnet is a dialectic structure. It is designed to shape logical analysis of a problem, to provide a venue for dynamic argument and resolution and then to guide the writer through to a conclusion, and if you do it right it’ll make some art in the process. As a form the sonnet consists of two main blocks of text, the octet (first eight lines) and the sestet (last six lines). As a general rule, the octet splits into two four-line quatrains, defined by the rhyme scheme. The sestet splits into a third quatrain and a final couplet. Thus the fabulous sonnet rhyme scheme,

ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

that probably was beaten into you at some stage of your high school education.

If you want to look at the sonnet as a poetic syllogism, the octet sets forth the thesis. The third quatrain that opens the sestet sets for the antithesis and then you sum up in the last couplet, the synthesis.

Let’s consider a concrete example of a sonnet that uses this form to achieve its dialectic aim, the poem I sent Viscount Gemini de Grendelus to celebrate his knighting.

When dark descends and all look to the dawn
For hope, for light, for warmth drawn from the sun,
All know the dismal dark first must be gone:
And thus the race with darkness must be run.
Why run that course, when daylight that we crave
Must follow, sure as age shall follow youth?
Why challenge darkness? What need we to brave
When sun must shine, when brightness must bring truth?
There always shall be darkness, it is true,
And in such shadow beasts seek out their prey.
If we are better than those beasts we rue
We’ll fight to make the dark as safe as day.
Of stars that pierce such darkness, none deny
The brightness in the night named Gemini.

Okay, let’s get the tombstone data out of the way. Indeed, it’s a sonnet;

1) 14 lines

2) standard sonnet rhyme scheme of
- ABAB (dawn/sun/gone/run)
- CDCD (crave/youth/brave/truth)
- EFEF (true/prey/rue/day)
- GG (deny/Gemini)

3) iambic pentameter lines.

That’s great, we’ve defined the corpse; any life in its bones? Let’s break it down and see.

First the octet:

When dark descends and all look to the dawn
For hope, for light, for warmth drawn from the sun,
All know the dismal dark first must be gone:
And thus the race with darkness must be run.
Why run that course, when daylight that we crave
Must follow, sure as age shall follow youth?
Why challenge darkness? What need we to brave
When sun must shine, when brightness must bring truth?

You can look at the octet as a single thematic block and it works fine that way. Indeed, in this octet the narrative flows from the beginning to the middle and thence to an ending of sorts, the big rhetorical question. This narrative block in turn breaks down nicely, consistent with and emphasized by the rhyme scheme, into two quatrains.

When dark descends and all look to the dawn
For hope, for light, for warmth drawn from the sun,
All know the dismal dark first must be gone:
And thus the race with darkness must be run.

Why run that course, when daylight that we crave
Must follow, sure as age shall follow youth?
Why challenge darkness? What need we to brave
When sun must shine, when brightness must bring truth?

Let us look closely at the first quatrain and what it actually says.

When dark descends and all look to the dawn
For hope, for light, for warmth drawn from the sun,
All know the dismal dark first must be gone:
And thus the race with darkness must be run.

The first quatrain sets forth the whole premise of the poem; the race with darkness. Light good, dark… not good; philosophy by Gronk in his cave. The archetype is at the heart of this; dark is dismal and undesirable, but it’s inevitable. It is to be endured. In this poem, darkness is the rain on life’s parade.

Now that we’ve set forth that premise we can see the dialectic unfold. The second quatrain sets forth the fundamental issue at hand; “why fight the problem?”

Why run that course, when daylight that we crave
Must follow, sure as age shall follow youth?
Why challenge darkness? What need we to brave
When sun must shine, when brightness must bring truth?

This is the voice of cowardly reason, the appeaser submitting to the inevitable, though when you look past greeting-card truisms the logic is horribly, cynically faulty. The logic here is flawed in terms of ethics. The unduly optimistic faith that age must follow youth is reflected in the assuredness that brightness must bring truth. This is philosophy by Pollyanna, standing on a street-corner waiting for a mugger to give her a seminar in realpolitik.

Okay; the octet has set forth the fundamental issue being addressed (quatrain 1) and has posed a possible, pathetic solution (quatrain 2); do nothing, go with the flow, assume like Annie that tomorrow is only a day away and Daddy Warbucks will take care of things in general. This is a weak but sadly credible premise; it assumes that we are passengers in life, that we do not make our own destinies or our own choices. Leave it to someone or something else (in this case the movements of the heavens), it’ll all work out okay. This is the voice of appeasement making its segue to ethical surrender. It also describes the easy path. We all know this is the path many (most?) people take, every day. It’s the path that calls to us. It may not be spiffy, it seems to say, but who cares? The sun will come up and it’ll all be okay. Does it really matter if there are beasts out there when we know they will slink off at dawn? This reaction is insidious; it also is terribly human.

And then, like the next movement of a symphony shifting to a major key, the poem shifts gears as it enters the sestet and we get the response, starting with the third quatrain.

There always shall be darkness, it is true,
And in such shadow beasts seek out their prey.
If we are better than those beasts we rue
We’ll fight to make the dark as safe as day.

The first line of the quatrain acknowledges the thesis of the octet and the second line transcends it. In the second line the true nature of darkness is revealed, a means to the ends of malevolence. Darkness is not just the absence of light, it is the medium in which beasts lurk and flourish (or, far more perplexing ethically, are allowed to flourish by people like the narrator of that second quatrain). Then comes the challenge to the appeaser which one hopes is rhetorical; “If we are better than those beasts”; if we are no better than the beasts then we have surrendered. Doesn’t the second quatrain sum up as existential and ethical surrender, the abrogation of personal responsibility? The third quatrain looks the second quatrain in the face and, in the final couplet of the quatrain, spits in its eye.

Yes, light will come; yes, light is good. That doesn’t mean we have to sit still and accept the darkness and its fellow-travelers. If we accept the darkness passively, the third quatrain says, we are no better than beasts; surrender may seem human but it actually makes you less than human, it renders you bestial. That’s a pretty strong ethical and philosophical response to the fundamental thesis set forth in the octet. Are we men or beasts?

And then we come to the couplet. The GG rhyme serves as punctuation for the poem, the period at the end of the sentence. After the longer flow of quatrains we suddenly have this wonderful, thumping rhyming couplet followed by silence, which hammers home those last words in the mind and memory of the reader or listener. I’m short! I rhyme! Nothing follows me! Look at me! Read me! This is the good stuff!

And in this case, indeed it is the good stuff.

Of stars that pierce such darkness, none deny
The brightness in the night named Gemini.

The poem tells you that there is someone named Gemini, someone who pierces the darkness that so intimidates the octet and that the third couplet holds in such contempt. In Gemini there is one who does not appease, does not submit, does not go quietly into that good night (I hope Dylan Thomas would have liked this poem). Note that the light doesn’t filter through, it doesn’t just happen. The light pierces the darkness. It’s active, it’s aggressive. It is a conscious act of defiance.

Gemini is neither sun nor moon, he is not shattering the darkness; that would be facile and life isn’t facile. Rather he is playing his part, one pin-point among many -- and yet too few; it’s still dark, isn’t it? -- in the darkness, struggling to deny those beasts the freedom they need to flourish. He is but a pin-point; even so, among those many pin-points, this is a special one. That’s blatantly obvious to the observer; “none deny” -- not even the beaten voice of the second quatrain, perhaps? -- there’s something, someone, special here.

If the third quatrain, in defying the second quatrain, asks us if we are men or beasts, I think the couplet makes one thing clear; Gemini is the antithesis of the beasts. This is what it is to be a Knight (and yes, the pun is both deliberate and fortuitous but hey, bloom where you’re planted), this is what it is to be a man, this is what it is to blaze forth in the darkness. You may not win but, dammit, you’ll know you tried and afterwards the darkness will have nightmares about facing you.

The last couplet hammers home the message of defiance and hope. That last word rings in your ears like a bugle call to battle; the beasts do not merely approach, they are here, and right now, right here in the darkness, this star is ablaze. The challenge is implicit; Gemini is one special person but he is a person like we are, neither sun or moon, just another pin-prick. If he can transcend that and be so brilliant, what’s your excuse and mine?

That’s what a sonnet’s form lets you do; frame the question, pose a possible solution, then shoot that first solution down in flames and from the ashes of those flames hold up for final consideration a jewel, a nugget of image or wisdom or hope. Debate, discovery, dynamics, dialectic; all that in 14 lines, 140 syllables.

Damn, I love sonnets!

And to go back to the first issue, let’s look at the role of rhythm in the creation of the sonnet; beyond mere mechanics, beyond punching a categorical ticket, it contributes to the end product by highlighting certain words. Take the third line of the sonnet above:

All know the dismal dark first must be gone.

Let’s break down the rhythm of that particular line:

all KNOW the DISmal DARK first MUST be GONE

So far so good?

I could have written that line two ways:

All know the dismal dark **first must*** be gone

or

All know the dismal dark ***must first*** be gone

Both versions work within the framework of the poem, neither fights the rhythm scheme. Let’s look at the variable, the placement of those two words within the iamb.

The poem could read “first MUST” or “must FIRST”. Which is stronger? I think placing the emphasis on “must” is stronger. It hammers home that there’s a necessity here. The dark MUST leave. Either permutation would work technically, but the emphasis provided by the rhythm renders the one I chose a stronger version. It is a little thing that makes it a better poem.

This last analysis is fine-tuning to the point of navel gazing, gentle friend. However I hope it emphasizes to you the synergy that is at the heart of poetry. Poetry is the amalgam of grammar and rhythm, of prosody and musicality. It’s all the pieces working together to make the names ring, the messages shine. It’s art, dammit! This is the good stuff!

The Spenserian form doesn’t thunder out such a thumping ending. For Spenser, as for Shakespeare, the octet was the same pair of quatrains. Rather than its last sestet being that wonderful, punctuated EFEFGG, it’s a far more gentle and balanced EFGEFG. You don’t get that last KABOOM couplet. Instead, the form begs you to make a balanced argument, two halves set against each other. It’s a more subtle ending. And we could cloud the issue further with Petrarch’s variant, too.

However, one thing at a time, gentle friend. Start with the ultimate machine, the Shakespearian model. We can look at alternate choices later.

ABAB CDCD EFEF GG. Ten syllables per line, each line five iambs, “ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM” and that instinctive pause at the end of each line.

Use the form, explore challenge and response. Give the reader the question, the answer and then that percussive, brilliant last couplet to sum up, to make the point, to make sure the reader and listener don’t miss what matters. It’s got dynamic tension, conflict and resolution, yin and yang. It is how people think, aspire and define. It’s all there for you.

emgd

Childish Writing Isn’t Easy

Creating really, truly medieval song lyrics

By Master Hector of the Black Height

I decided to write a song. This in itself is not unusual for me. What was unusual was my determination to write a song in the style of the Child ballads. This has nothing to do with children, by the bye. Francis J. Child was a 19th century American scholar and folklorist. His five volume collection, English and Scottish Popular Ballads (published between 1892 and 1898), is a remarkable collection of 305 folk songs in language very close to our present vernacular. Given that his was one of the first attempts to capture this material, it’s as close to a “primary source” as we’re going to get on British folk/popular music going back towards our period of interest.

For more information on Child and his ballads, please refer to Compleat Anachronist (CA) #91. There are numerous web sites on the Internet with information on Child and the ballads in his collection.

CA 91 documents four of the 305 Child ballads to before 1650, though others may precede the SCA’s cut-off date. While, as noted in CA 91, “The Child ballad is a late-period phenomenon, by SCA standards. Such ballads may or may not have been sung as far back as the fifteenth century. They were certainly being sung by the sixteenth century, but not many of them were being recorded. Our good records don't begin until the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries...” So balladry of this style is period.

I find the style distinctive, so much so that I have not been able to emulate it until now. To me, the narrative line of these ballads is sparse to an extreme. My usual writing reflects a very different poetic, with far more emphasis on fleshed-out narrative. I had not been able to achieve the stark, sparse quality I found in the Child ballads; they were just too different from my usual style. And then I achieved an interesting insight.

One of my interests is the literature generated by the Vietnam War. Some remarkable novels have been written about that conflict, as well as non-fiction prose. One of the most interesting works (acknowledged to be both fiction and non-fiction) is Michael Herr’s Dispatches. First published in 1978, its stark prose has almost become a cliché, reflecting the disparate, almost surreal events and effects of that conflict. Herr co-wrote the screenplay for Stanley Kubrick’s film “Full Metal Jacket” (based on Gustav Hasford’s novel The Short-Timers) and wrote narration for Francis Ford Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now”. Michael Herr gave both films their distinctive narrative quality.

For me, the ultimate, stark prose in Herr’s Dispatches is this excerpt, taken from the opening of the book.

But what a story he told me, as one-pointed and resonant as any war story I ever heard, it took me a year to understand it.

“Patrol went up the mountain. One man came back. He died before he could tell us what happened.”

I waited for the rest, but it seemed not to be that kind of story...

(Michael Herr, Dispatches, Knopf, New York 1978. Page 6)

So what, gentle reader?

I was thinking of Herr, how he captures a story in so few words, and then I thought about the Child ballads. I find great similarity in the two styles of narrative. There is a story but you don’t necessarily hear much of it. This leaves vast holes for your imagination to fill.

I wonder, does this reflect a reality of the lives of the people who wrote and sang those medieval ballads? I tend to write lengthy, detailed narrative. I try to paint the whole picture. I feel a need to carry the story-line along from beginning through middle to the end. I want my vision to be your vision and I don’t want you to miss anything interesting. The balladeers didn’t worry about that. They painted their minimalist picture and left the holes for you to worry about or not.

Much like Michael Herr.

Take a well-known example of a Child ballad, #26, “The Three Ravens”:

There were three rauens sat on a tree

Downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe

There were three rauens sat on a tree

With a downe

There were three rauens sat on a tree

They were as black as they might be

With a downe derrie derrie derrie downe downe

The one of them said to his mate, / Where shall we our breakefast take?

Downe in yonder greene field, / There lies a knight slain vnder his shield

His hounds they lie downe at his feete, / So well they can their master keep.

His haukes they flie so eagerly, / There's no fowle dare him come nie.

Downe there comes a fallow doe, / As great with yong as she might goe.

She lift vp his bloudy hed, / And kist his wounds that were so red.

She got him vp vpon her backe, / And carried him to earthen lake.

She buried him before the prime, / She was dead herselfe ere euen-song time.

God send euery gentleman, / Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman.

What about the Knight’s heraldry? Where’s his horse? Who slew him and why? How and where was he wounded? There are so many questions left unanswered! This is, for me, one of the distinctive, difficult facets of the ballad style that I have great difficulty emulating. I now am conditioned to seek and to provide detail.

Maybe this lack of answers is a medieval phenomenon, echoed by Herr to capture the impersonal -- incomprehensible? -- nature of the Vietnam War for its participants. It’s not our experience, though. Today we have CNN. We have 24 hour coverage of every story. We have background pieces, we have in-depth research. We will be told all the details, more than we need to know and perhaps more than we want to know. We will be subjected to this deluge of data. We will have all the details handed to us, nay, forced upon us.

Not by Herr. Not by the balladeers whose work is captured in Child’s collection. Maybe theirs is art of their times and places, where the culture(s) they reflect didn’t have all the answers. Evidently the balladeers accepted that. “Three Ravens” doesn’t ask futile questions about things that will never be answered. It addresses the here-and-now.

The knight is dead.

The dog keeps him company.

The hawk keeps him company.

The doe carries him away and buries him.

The doe dies immediately thereafter.

That’s all there is, folks. Draw your own conclusions.

I appreciate the metaphoric quality of the doe. I understand the role of the ravens as harbingers of death. Underlying all that suggestion, those layers of meaning and interpretation, is the narrative line, utterly stark in its elegance. Much like Herr’s first-person protagonist in Dispatches, we are told a story in a few lines. We get beginning, middle and end, even if we don’t recognize it as such until it sinks in (much like Herr’s experience cited above). Maybe it’s not a complete story from the perspective of people familiar with the Victorian novel, but that’s a value judgment. “Three Ravens” tells its story and, given its survival for several centuries, apparently it’s an adequate rendition.

As I write this, it’s only a few weeks after the space shuttle Columbia disintegrated upon its return to Earth’s atmosphere. In this tragic event we saw the mighty engine of Western media working at full throttle: asking questions, handing us fact upon fact, hypothesizing on top of the facts to satisfy our conditioned need for answers. When new facts were unavailable, the media re-ran old facts. Again and again we were fed -- force-fed? -- detail upon detail. There was no background factoid too obscure, no biographical datum about the dead too insignificant.

That is not the balladeer’s way. I can’t help wondering how a ballad about the loss of the Columbia would have been written by a 15th Century artist. Perhaps the structure would be something like this?

There was a tire in the middle of a field.

Nothing else was around it.

It was burned. It smelled bad.

There were no tracks or paths.

No one claimed it.

Sounds almost like Herr’s writing from 1978, doesn’t it? No assumptions. No hypotheses. Mere acceptance of what is. There may be implicit tragedy in the situation. There may be implicit acknowledgement of the source of this oddity (eliminate all the other options and the tire must have fallen from the sky. Wow). Those deductions are for the listener to draw. That’s a very different style from the information deluge we live with today.

I am not trying to generalize the great period writers into oblivion: dark ages and medieval literature include lots of detail and lots of directive narration. Examples that pop to mind include Chaucer, Boccaccio, the Beowulf poet and so on. By no means do I deny the art of Chaucer and the rest. I merely am coming to accept that there’s room within the sweep of medieval literature for the balladeers, the Michael Herrs of their times and now ours. It’s a style worth exploration and experiment.

I offer this as my first experiment in the ballad style, clearly inspired by “Three Ravens” and its derivative, “Twa Corbies”:

Two Ravens

(a ballad after Child, after Snowed Inn, 15 February A.S. XXXVII)

Two ravens flew beside the inland sea:

The scarlet shines beside the white.

Two ravens flew beside the inland sea:

The scarlet is our life-blood dear.

Two ravens flew beside the inland sea:

What fate awaits for such a pair as we?

The scarlet shines beside the white,

So bright it shines.

The pair did spy a sorely wounded beast:

The scarlet shines beside the white.

The pair did spy a sorely wounded beast:

The scarlet is our life-blood dear.

The pair did spy a sorely wounded beast:

How came it thence to found the ravens’ feast?

The scarlet shines beside the white,

So bright it shines.

No wolf did hunt, no ram its horns did wield, / No hare did kick, no boar its tusks revealed.

The beast had left its dark and dismal lair / To steal cubs from the mighty Northern bear.

The beast was found out in its wicked plot: / The cubs were safe, the beast its lesson taught.

Two ravens feasted by the inland sea:

The scarlet shines beside the white.

Two ravens feasted by the inland sea:

The scarlet is our life-blood dear.

Two ravens feasted by the inland sea:

The bear’s spoils make rich such a pair as we.

The scarlet shines beside the white,

So bright it shines.

Yes, there is a metaphoric and symbolic quality to this: the symbol of the House Galbraith is the raven and when I wrote this Corwyn and Domhnail Galbraith had just stepped up as Baron and Baroness of Septentria (which Barony’s heraldry is a white bear on a scarlet field). Yes, all the other animal references are to heraldic or other totem beasts of other components of Ealdormere. But consider the narrative line for a second, simply on its own merits.

There’s a dead beast.

Those various other animals didn’t kill it.

The bear killed it.

The beast tried to steal bear cubs.

The beast failed. It’s now raven food.

What exactly was the offending beast? I don’t know. I really had no clear picture when I wrote the lyrics. In fact I resisted, consciously and carefully, the temptation to write in some detail there. What about the cubs? Not much is articulated. What was the plan, where were the cubs before the beast tried to steal them? I have no idea. These details, and any others you come up with, are the holes your imagination can fill, or not, as you deem necessary.

What about the chorus lines? What is the scarlet and white? Septentrian heraldry? Meat and bone? Blood on snow? Something else? Again, if you care, the answers are in your imagination. And if you don’t care, these lines are a notch up the complexity scale on “Downe a downe, hay downe, hay downe”, but that’s about it.

Writing this simply, this starkly, is a departure for me. I am very pleased with my first real attempt at balladry of the Child style. Maybe I’ll write some other ballads, when I‘m in the mood to leave that many big holes in my work and can resist the temptation to write additional verses to paint the whole picture.

On Scroll Texts

On Scroll Texts

By Master Hector of the Black Height

When an award scroll is created, great care is taken in the layout of the text, the illumination for the text and the hand the text is written in. Often, less care is taken in the selection and creation of the text itself. To be sure, the various heralds ensure the text meets the legal standards of the Society as set forth in the Middle Kingdom Text Standards, Ealdormere Scribes' Handbook or other applicable authorities. Such inspection ensures heraldic compliance with bureaucratic standards and meets legal requirements, but what does it do about aesthetic requirements? A scroll is a work of art (who better to know this than the visual artist who created it?); why not let the whole product become a work of art? Careful creation of a suitable text can embellish, compliment and complete a scroll.

First, let's look at the legal requirements I referred to above. According to the Middle Kingdom Text Standards (which you should use as your authority when composing text for Midrealm awards. In the Kingdom of Ealdormere, you should check the Ealdormere Scribes' Handbook. When this essay and the appropriate reference differ, the reference should be taken as authoritative), each scroll must contain all of these elements:

a.     the address ("be it known that");

b.     the intitulation (identifying the donor, for example a member or members of the Midrealm Royalty);

c.     notification and exposition (a lead-in phrase, such as "having heard much good of NAME..." and a description of what the service or accomplishment being recognized is);

d.     the disposition (the phrase where the donor actually bestows the award in question); and

e.     corroboration and date (which authenticates the time, place and donor of the award).

This is all necessary and significant. If care is not taken, however, the obligatory text can read like a car rental agreement.

There are very few limits on what you can say on a scroll: the biggest caution is not to use the word "grant" (i.e. "We do grant unto her...") in the disposition unless the award is a Grant of Arms. Beyond that you can say almost anything you want, as long as you touch on all the points listed above.

This is the stage where the scroll can stop being only a piece of visual art and may also become a work of literature or poetry, if you want. Let's look at how you can do this.

First, let's examine the importance of the narrative voice in the text. Who is this person who proclaims the award? If you stick to the cut-and-dried texts in the Middle Kingdom Text Standards, the text is proclaimed by a herald, a bureaucratic functionary, acting as the voice of the Crown. In such a case the text is dry and the message is dry. The text will meet the legal requirements but it sits on the page. There is no passion to the text, nothing individualistic about it. It is nice (in that it says something nice has happened to someone), but not inherently special beyond the fact. The new Ealdormere texts are better (in my opinion) but there's only so much that can be done when creating a generic text.

Instead of being in the voice of the herald (individual or corporate), the text can be written in the voice of the King or Queen, or of someone from the time and background of the recipient. These latter examples are often exemplified by the elaborate texts in foreign languages that sound so splendid in court. There's nothing like hearing an award in Norse for a viking, or in Japanese for a Samurai. The sound of the words takes on a new beauty as the court herald (and eventually the scroll's reader) explores the rhythms of another language and the shapes and sounds of other characters and words.

Selecting an appropriate verse or prose form to compliment the persona of the recipient makes the award a very special gift. It customizes what could be a very generic text and adds artistic and emotional impact. There are other options, however, than merely suiting the text to the recipient.

The King, Queen, Prince, Princess or any other noble person who bestows an award is fulfilling two roles. First, the donor may be acting on behalf of the Society by creating a new member for an order, encouraging the efforts of others and thereby perpetuating the existence of the order in general and the Society as a whole. The donor also acts on his or her own behalf. Consider the heroic model of society so central to Germanic culture (and, to cut a long story short, I believe central to the SCA also). The King in such a culture sought a reputation as a generous patron, the "ring-giver" of the sagas. Awards in the SCA are the King's rings, his valuable (and valued) gifts. Each donor knows his or her signature (and thus his or her name) will hang on walls across the Kingdom for decades. Wise awards ensure the immortality of the King's name. Given the donor's role in the award process, it is entirely proper for a scroll to reflect the character, persona and cultural background of the donor instead of the recipient. This is especially true of awards that reflect a bond between individual donor and recipient (say a Queen' Favour from the Queen or a martial award from the King).

Another factor to be considered is the cultural climate of the recipient's home group. For example, in Ealdormere we have very strong Celtic and Scandinavian roots. If a Mongol is King of Ealdormere and is giving an award to a non-Mongol, you might want to create a text that reflects the abiding cultural milieu of the area and not the transient specifics of that particular Prince's culture. Such decisions may be best based on the nature of the award being bestowed. If the award is for long service to a particular group, it seems reasonable that the group's cultural character (if it has developed a specific culture) should be indicated in the text of the award.

Once you decide that you want to try to do something different with your text and determine what voice you're going to use, you have to select a style that reflects the narrative voice. If you decide you want your text to be poetry this is not as hard as you'd think. Various poetic forms are very period- or location-specific. For example, a Shakespearean sonnet sets the text in the last years of the sixteenth century in England, whereas alliterative poetry of the Germanic saga type places the text much earlier, and perhaps in a different place entirely. Different cultures developed different poetic forms, almost always based on the grammar and rhythms of the mother tongue. These forms can be imposed on modern English with varying degrees of success; the degree of success usually depends on the author's familiarity with the form in question, and the culture that created that form.

Let's say you've decided that you want your next award scroll's text to reflect the donor of the award, and the donor is King Comar II (i.e. Comar during his second reign as King of the Midrealm), who is an early-period Saxon. Where can you find out how to write a poem suitable for this scroll? There are a couple of good sources. The best of all is The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (Enlarged Edition), which is the most complete single survey on poetic forms I have found. Most good libraries have a copy; if you really want to get serious about poetry it's available in paperback in good book shops for about thirty dollars. To understand the mechanics of alliterative verse, especially in early England, you could refer to The Earliest English Poems, which is a Penguin paperback. It has an excellent introduction which explains the importance of both alliteration and rhythm in this form of poetry.

Having sat down with the references and boned up on alliterative verse (in this case), you set out to write the poem and discover you don't know where to start. Take the Kingdom standards and use them as a framework; your text will have to include the five critical points, at the very least. The donor will have to identify himself, say who's getting what and why. The donor, in this case Comar, will have to bestow the award and then corroborate the award. Take an award of arms to the fictitious Ragnar the Unbathed of the Canton of Great Bog, awarded at the springtime Feast of Good Cheer, for example:

Comar the King am I, now Crowned Midrealm's monarch

Sword-hewn throne sit I, the second so named

Bench long shared with Lisa, our Queen true and well-loved

Past winter wind's whistle have I heard words of praise raised

Marked well I the many deeds, made note of glad service

Have given good thought to the Great Bog petition

Begging a boon of me, arms to bestow by me
On subject deserving such, sterling example

Know my will, northmen, and none ever hinder

The rights of Lord Ragnar, remarked as Unbathed

To always bear arms, as heralds would counsel

From now and forever, in lands far and near

Such lands as my holdfast to Imperium's ends

King's word I commend to you, ring-giver's counsel

Mark well mighty Comar, made true declaration

From long bench in Great Bog, beyond inland waters

At fine feast of good cheer, fourth day of fair April

Said scribes that date is year our folk cite XXVII

King's word once clear uttered will not be forgotten

This is one example of a form of alliterative verse; the whole poem doesn't flow too well because I tried to fit all five parts of the award text in. You can tack the corroboration on after the Royal signatures; it is truly a bureaucratic and archival requirement. It's hard to make an indexing feature into poetry, as the fourth stanza proves beyond question. Given the reference to Comar's second reign I wonder if a specific year reference is required; the award is set in the SCA's history (this decision would be best made by a senior herald well before you start calligraphy on this project). As for dates, it's possible to consult a good hagiography (mine is The Oxford Dictionary of Saints, available in paperback) and cite a Saint's feast day, eve of a feast day or octave of a feast day instead of a Julian calendar date. This religious citation is not always appropriate, of course; you have to know the desires of the donor and the inclination of the recipient, within the limitations of Corpora regarding religious observance and reference.

There's an easy way to avoid the problem of starting a poem; have the text appear to pick up in the middle of a longer text! You don't need to sit down and write seventeen pages of poetry and then grab a bit from the centre, however. Rather than creating a huge saga, you can create an excerpt from a non-existent longer work. I've been involved with a project like this; in this one case, the scroll looked like it was a page lifted from a complete period book. It was a very effective way to suggest continuity (in this case, recognizing recipients of an annual award). It was also a lot of fun, as this lay-out let the calligrapher and the illuminator play with marginalia. If this idea doesn't suit you, you can simply start in the middle (a technique called "in medias res" as I recall, and used very effectively by Homer in the various openings of sections of The Odyssey). These aren't the only answers to writer's block; any literary style or form can contribute to a project that will turn out as that little bit more than the run-of-the-mill scroll.

If you want to do a poetic text but just can't get a handle on the verse form appropriate to the donor, try a different form suitable to the recipient or the location. You can be flexible; you're the one creating the work of art, after all. Whatever you do, the recipient will be delighted you went that little bit farther and added interest and merit to the scroll, as will the donor.

When all else fails, ask your local musicians and poets for ideas for award scrolls or assistance with your composition. I've seen Awards of Arms which are knives, axes and drinking horns; why can't an AoA be a song, or a poem that gets published in a local group newsletter (or in Tournaments Illuminated, for that matter)? The text of an award is a collection of words of praise, after all. Use of an interesting prose or poetic form adds to the circulation of the text, and to the spread of the recipient's praises.

Words are like paint or ink; they sit, waiting for the artist to use them and give them value. Play with words like you play with inks and paints. Just like in a sketch pad, you'll tear up a lot of false starts and doodle a lot, but Da Vinci had lots of notebooks so why shouldn't you? Experiment with styles and forms on your own or, better yet, collaborate with another artist. You'll both learn something from the creative process, and your efforts will make a person or persons very happy. After all, the recipient won't just receive a scroll from their King, he or she will be given a work of visual and literary art.

SCA Genealogy as a Reflection of Medieval Practice

SCA Genealogy as a Reflection of Medieval Practice

by Master Hector of the Black Height

"Hear, O King, the names of your line, and marvel at the glory of the North." So begins my version of the genealogy of the Kings of Ealdormere within the SCA. Just as today, people in medieval times were interested in their family history, their roots. The causes of medieval interest had little to do with idle curiosity or a desire to obtain an armorial plaque for the den. Medieval genealogy was of great concern to feudal nobility because genealogy established one's right to land and power.

Who can forget the opening scenes of Shakespeare's Henry V, where two bishops wrestle with the arcane implications of Sallic Law? That whole legal debate, and the warfare that followed, was about rights of succession and inheritance. In a society based upon inheritance through blood relation, genealogical study becomes an active field. Genealogy was the means medieval nobility used to stake claims to inherited titles and the lands and wealth which went with those titles. Every time a King or other ruling noble died, genealogical lists would be consulted to determine who had the strongest claim through kinship to the throne or title left vacant.

This is not to say that genealogy was an absolute science and a binding factor in medieval politics. Just as with statistics, genealogy can be used -- and was used in period with alarming frequency -- to prove whatever point a particular person or political faction wants to prove. Genealogy did not only provide justification in period, it provided rationalization, often after the fact. Thus Henry V's impassioned defence of Sallic Law; it was convenient for Hal to accept an obscure legal convention which gave him a claim to the throne of France. That convention rested upon a foundation of accurate genealogy, however.

A wise person once said "There is no sweeter sound in any man's language than the sound of his own name." Genealogy, especially of the noble, can be an exercise in self-aggrandisement. With a little creative interpretation or some careful digging, it isn't hard to connect most European hereditary nobility today with any other hereditary noble, at least as infinitesimally distant cousins. The same rationale drives modern genealogists and trivia buffs to prove that George Washington had royal blood in his veins, or that John F. Kennedy was related to the Mona Lisa (I believe experts claim a distant relation on Kennedy's father's side). In period such tangential ties could be used to suggest rights and privileges to be claimed, lands to be annexed and family importance to be celebrated.

Genealogy suggests a record spanning generations, and when establishing claims to nobility the depth of the claim can matter. Within the SCA Master Calum Creachodora, as a noble Irishman from ancient days, recites his persona genealogy back through the male line for seven generations, every time he is formally introduced. This proves to his listener beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is truly of a noble Irish line and not some johnny-come-lately, not worthy to be spoken with, traded with or fought with. In a land full of kings like early Ireland, station and standing were important, and Ireland was not unique in this class consciousness. The hidalgo of Spain, the various claims made during the Wars of the Roses, the list goes on and on.

This celebration of one's forebears led to the inclusion of genealogical tables, much like Biblical "begats", in the repertoires of court poets and skalds of the middle ages. In fact, in Scottish noble households of later periods there was a specific artist and historian, called the Sennachie, whose job was the research, maintenance and recital of the Clan chief's genealogy. Nobility would sit for hours and hear their family trees recited, step by step, back to the days of myth. This recitation could include learned discourse on fine points of succession and tales of deeds done by generations past. For example, in late-period Scotland (and after) it was common to trace noble (even of minor nobility) ancestry back to a royal line. Which royal line one chose depended on the fashion of the day. When Irish history was in vogue most hereditary Scots nobles could claim descent from some Irish king or other, according to their various Sennachies. When Irishry faded from fashion these same nobles would discover new blood ties to Scottish, English or even Danish royalty. Some European noble genealogies suggest biblical ties, directly or indirectly (my own family line claims an ancient, vague relationship with a servant of St. John the Baptist), and in far Japan the Imperial line traced (and today traces) its roots back directly to the Shinto sun-goddess.

Genealogy gives legitimacy and respectability to the institution of nobility. This has been carried over to the SCA, where there is an abiding interest in the history of the institution of the Crown or the Coronet. People recognize that the succession of Kings and Queens are landmarks in the history of the Kingdoms of the Society and the people who play the SCAdian game with royal leadership. As a result, there is an ongoing interest in these lists of names. Some Kingdoms institutionalize their royal genealogy, by reciting the names of every King and Queen gone before at each Coronation or Investiture. In the East Kingdom, advancement in the Eastrealm Bardic College requires that a candidate be able to recite from memory the complete royal genealogy of the East. This requirement keeps alive a tradition going back to skalds and sennachies from a millennium ago.

Closer to home, I maintained a genealogy of the Princes of Ealdormere from the first Prince, David I, to the last, Berus. At that first Prince's first court I recited his genealogy back six generations, through the Middle Kings who had ruled over the Crown Principality of Ealdormere, then through the first Champion of the Region of Ealdormere, and then to mythical archetypes, the wolf, the wilds and the will (to achieve independence). This lineage gave respectability and venerability to what could be argued was a brand-new institution. I had a choice, and with the Coronet's consent I elected to celebrate the patina of age rather than the shine of youth.

As a SCAdian genealogist, I could have traced the line of Ealdormere through the Kings of the Middle and, rather than branching off to the local roots of politically inexpedient champions, stayed with the Midrealm line back to Cariadoc I, and then back to the Kings of the West and through them to Diana Listmaker's party in AS I. My protégée Zahra and I have done this actually; it's a fun read but as a list for recitation it is cumbersome and long.. When David and Tangwystl sat the thrones of the Middle at Pennsic XX -- several summers ago -- they had as many direct royal forebears as Queen Elizabeth II has in her line! As the SCA has entered its fourth decade, royal genealogies are becoming huge. This is a fact genealogical performers must be aware of, lest they bore their audiences to tears with name after name. After a while, the lists become numbing and incomprehensible, at which point the challenge is to make the lists palatable while not expanding them to the point of silliness with extraneous text.

The SCA's revolving door to the throne room means that there are repeat royalty. This is a quandary period genealogists never had to deal with (their dead kings seem to have stayed dead!). Some SCA genealogists ignore this issue. Others number the reigns of those who have been multiple Kings or Queens. In Ealdormere our Prince at Pennsic XXV, Roak, was called Roak by some and Roak III by others. Is he the same person? Of course he is! At the same time, there were running jokes about how much Roak III resembled his grandfather, Roak II. This is assumed venerability aping the realities of hereditary nobility, but it emphasizes continuity. One debate which will never be resolved is that of different people with the same names. For example, Ealdormere has had two Princes named David, David I and David II, and now King David. All three Davids are the same man. What happens when another David wins the Crown? Is he David II? David III? David IV? Is he another David entirely, in the eyes of genealogists and poets? Does it matter? Not really, but in a hobby one sometimes learns to both split hairs and enjoy the process. After all, SCA genealogy is a function of the creation of royal orders of precedence, which means that some heralds are genealogists too.

Right now the list of Crowns and Coronets of Ealdormere is a manageable size. My version for public recital includes kennings for each Sovereign and Consort. These are a form of flattery, but they also liven up the recitation of what could sound like a page from a phone book. Kennings should be short, so they keep performance time manageable. Duke Laurelyn Darksbane has for years published The Lay of the Midrealm Kings, with a rhyming quatrain for each reign. The Middle has had well over 60 reigns by the time you read this, so Laurelyn's Lay has become rather cumbersome for public performance (though with the right audience it might make for an engaging evening by the fire at a camping event). If genealogy is going to have any significance in the living culture of the SCA people have to hear it. If they're going to hear it, it has to be entertaining. One advantage of the use of kennings is that they can be used to distinguish between reigns. In the David/David quandary posed above, I would probably use a kenning to elaborate on the name and thus have David Deershanks I, David Deershanks II and, say, David Longspear I. Like any other written art, it's a matter of opinion; you don't like my version, write your own and share it!

There is, of course, the other side of the coin. What does the genealogist do about the line of the Middle, where there was a King named Thaid and a King named Tadashi, and they are one and the same man? I think the sole sensible answer is to avoid this particular bout of navel-gazing and press on with life!

Just as in period, genealogy can leave gaps. I was reading the History of the Royal City of Eoforwic a few months ago and found that, in the days of Alen's proscription of Ealdormere, it was not Yog and Hanora who were stripped of their status of Regional Champions, it was their successors. I'd forgotten there was a second set of champion and consort before the proscription; I was dismayed to realize I had left out John of Slaughterfield and Deirdre of Carlysle from the noble genealogy of the North for five years. I have rectified that error! In my line they have taken their rightful place and their names add a generation to the venerability of the institution of the Coronet and, now, the Crown.

I update my version of the Line of the North with each Sovereign and Consort, and every year or two I am asked to recite it at a feast. Usually I am asked by a former Prince or Princess, but I never cease to be amazed at the popular response the whole Line receives. It serves as an encapsulation of past history, a reminder of days gone by and deeds to celebrate. The passing of royalty punctuate the events of our lives in the Society. In the rhythm of the names people find both continuity and change, and in the transitory, ephemeral world of the SCA that seems to have great value. The Line of the North is about Royalty, but when it is recited with dignity and solemnity, everyone listens and cheers when it is done. There is entertainment value to the recitation (I hope), but I believe that the cheer is really for ourselves.