Bob,the raison d'etre of the poem stems from my love of the legend of
CuChulain and the Cattle Raid of Cooley, Queen Maeve and all that. None of
that was written in the alliterative style I don't think but I was exploring
a legend I know well with the alliterative rules and measuring my ability
against the poets of Beowulf and Sir Gawain. Now I find their style
wonderful inside their rigorous rules but find the rules leads to a drumming
rhythm which I do not like personally. Mind I can only read them in
translation. I like to use alliteration in my own work and was looking to
develop in myself a more melodic, smoother feel than the old rules seem to
allow. That was the purpose that underlay the 'exercise'.
As to old legends needing to be relevant to the contemporary world. Our
world has a deep rooted mythology, hasn't it , not one we are always aware
of but which shapes our literature and dreamscapes. The Christology of The
Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is not immediately apparent to the child at
which it is aimed but resonates with the child nevertheless. The Lord of the
Rings, a fabricated myth, but referring to Nordic myths and creatures,
communicates through its fantasy because it has eternal verities like
loyalty, bravery, truth, honour and they prevail against all the darkest
evils the author can mount against them. And they prevail through small
ordinary halflings, with hairy feet, who like to sit at home comfortable  in
an armchair not gallivanting off on adventures.. We live now in a world
where the heroes are spike-haired wunderkind or overpaid footballers and
talentless 'celebrities' who believe their own press releases and promote
the concept of instant unmerited fame, a drug driven culture and alcoholic
madness as the acceptable norm. For goodness sake, George Harrison left £99m
pounds when he died. Now George was one of the great ones, but £99m is
obscene. CuChulain was a hero, born a hero, lived heroically and died in
honour as a hero, penniless. Of course, he is myth, but myth is as relevant
to us now as to the time in which it was born. I go on and I shouldn't.
Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Bob Cooper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Tuesday, December 17, 2002 6:55 PM
Subject: Re: New sub:The death of a hero


Hi Arthur,
I'm not sure what to make of this...
I guess part of me wants to feel that anything that's being re-presented in
our contemporary literature has to have some underlying resonance with our
contemporary world (like the revivals of Greek myths in contemporary poetry
seem to carry reasons why they're being re-presented that allude to how the
writer/translater sees the world he lives in). Yeats's revivals of Irish
myths often have comments about national identity associated with them, too.
But then there's another part of me that recognises that the writer isn't
always too aware of what they're doing - and I often feel I'm doing myself a
disservice if I try to explain what's behind something I've written. I think
I'd prefer to leave that for someone else to do and then feel either
surprised or delighted, or embarrased or astonished by what they say about
it.
So I'm being cautious in what I write...
So, all I feel I can say is I'm caught by the fury of this, and the force of
the last stanza: "loved him and would not leave him." And I'm wondering,
slowly wondering, just where the poet stands in relation to what's
happening... (well dead!)
I'd (also) trim the archaic bits, tho. They get in the way. (I mean I don't
know where yr exercise came from, but - with some of the verbal fol-d-rolls
{I mean clumsy/redundant/yukky words} it feels Blackadderishly silly. So, to
be a contemporary poem, and not an exercise, I feel it needs a trim).
Bob






>From: arthur seeley <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub:The  death of a hero
>Date: Sat, 14 Dec 2002 09:13:58 -0000
>
>This is an exercise in medieval alliterative verse and the language and
>phrasing may occasionally appear archaic.
>
>      Death of a Hero ( Cuchulain pron: Cuhulin)
>
>From dawn and down all that day,
>he, CuChulain, hero, Hound of Ulster,
>plied the thunder-feat upon their thousands
>till the plain was piled with their pallid dead
>as leaves are littered by the late winds of autumn.
>
>A poet stood forward proudly from the press
>and called upon Cuchulain for the gift of his spear.
>He was honour bound to grant a bard a boon.
>
>
>The champion cast from his chariot, called"Here!"
>and pierced the pompous poet
>through his throat and through nine other men behind.
>Lewy leapt to the spear and loosed it back,
>a bright bolt that spilled CuChulain's bowels.
>
>He bunched up his bowels into his breast,
>limped down to the loch side,
>drank and bathed in the brilliant waters
>and returned to die on the broad plain of battle.
>
>To one side, a pillar stone, tall as a tree
>lay westwards from the long loch.
>He strode to it, his strength failing, strung his girdle over it
>and bound his  bloodied breast with it
>for he would dare to die standing, not lying down.
>
>His blood ran in a bright stream over the battle field
>into the light-lanced waters of the loch.
>An otter, black as ash buds in a May morning,
>came to sup at that slow stream.
>
>The hero-light burned over CuChulain's brow.
>A black crow, Bran, came and sat on his shoulder
>and glared at the gloating enemy with a glittering eye
>as they stood round the stone and stared at the Hound
>filled with a fresh fear of him
>that he lived and might still loose their lives from them.
>Lewy held back the hair of him
>and hacked his head from his shoulders
>with a single sweep of his sword.
>Fearless, the Hound's eyes flashed with fight
>and his dauntless sword, dangling from his grip of death,
>hewed the hand from his haughty killer.
>
>His gallant mare, Grey of Macha,
>sides streaming with blood and sweat,
>came to the loch and looked for her beloved master,
>beheld him beheaded and bound to the stone
>bent her head to that brave breast
>loved him and would not leave
>him, CuChulain, hero, the Hound of Ulster, dead.


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