One plus One plus One? Four = adapted to One, One, One, Four, Not, Three
One
One
One
Four
Not
Three
(1, http://www.chris-proba.uk, Google Images
2, http://www.parentingwithouttears.com, Google Images
3, http://www.wallconvert.com, Google Images
4, http://www.pinterest.com, Google Images
5, http://www.arcaneflameserver.com, Google Images
6, http://www.seejenwrite.com, Google Images)
Goblin
Made long ago
Beneath the earth
Though there’s the curious way it
Adorns cathedrals—look at the spouts of
Notre-Dame, which end with gargoyles’
Wide mouths mouthing, through which
Rain water flows (hence the word for
Throat that gives over “gargoyle”
And gives the English “gargle”)—
Beings that are warped yet lifted high, that
Serve a purpose for the holy
On the ground below
Say they are not goblins, but I think
They might be goblins
It likes the cave and has been seen
Through centuries’ shadows; some say the
Creatures are responsible for changelings, stolen
Children replaced by theirs in human homes, though
I’m not sure I’d understand
The benefit of that
For the goblin in surrendering its own would
Lose its own and thus die out
Within a generation
The goblins in folklore are frightening; but
To this child of the suburbs, I think goblins
Are cool
Although, like you perhaps, I am not anxious
To meet this child from under the earth
Witch
what a word
“rhymes with” I guess is still popular
and there are the re-broadcasts of
Samantha, Tabitha, Endora (Agnes Moorehead
of the Mercury Theatre), and Maurice Evans
as the father (of Samantha)
I know, he’s a warlock, though if I know
anything about witches (and I don’t know
much), they can be male
was there ever a witch like the one we once
invented then feared? I don’t think so—a
creature who leeched power from the devil
to cry havoc on the earth to wreck it toward
her ways, which must be
bent like her, like the witches in the Scottish play
(“cry havoc,” by the way, from Julius Caesar), as
fearsome pillars of fog and night—or so
they are portrayed; the witch
of Endor notwithstanding (and I don’t know
ancient Hebrew to find if there’s a
better, closer word for her), I think
if there’s a witch who she likes a friendlier
power, the kind from nature, the kind
that heals
the one who studies nature better than Hamlet’s
mirror, as if to use what nature freely gives
to those who care, who want to make the
broad world better
white witch, black witch; red, yellow, blue, and
green witch (have I counted the Olympiad
flag, remembering that its field is white?)—all
who love the world, who heal, who kiss, who
touch our wounds in knowing ways, perhaps
these are the witches now and maybe ever were; if
the rest of us had behaved in better ways, maybe
witch-hunt would not be a shameful part of our
vocabulary: the rest is cant or, better yet, simply
modern Hallowe’en
life story in six words and or in a Google Image
one plus one plus one?–four
(credit http://www.gavinortlund.com and Google Images)
Riddles in the Anglo-Saxon Way
solutions
1, house
2, key
3, sky
4, cat
5, ghost
6, love
(in response to yesterday’s post—questions? be in touch, please)
(lots of notes about and riddles and riddling contests appear below; what is immediately below are riddles I composed, using aspects of ancient riddling; I’ll post the solutions to these riddles tomorrow; the solutions, by the way, are things you’re familiar with or have heard of, I believe, no matter where you are)
Riddles in the Anglo-Saxon Way
1
I am old and older still
In nations beyond colonies,
I am on a hill or by the stream
Above and below, the storm rages
On me and my makers.
Though if I do my purpose.
All is well for them
And, with their care, myself.
What am I?
2
You want in?
You must use me;
I am the way into the heart
And all the rest.
At night or morn, I might be used.
Safety is my purpose.
What am I?
3
I am quiet except when I’m not;
Then you heed me.
Many colors, though of me
Easily you say one color.
I am never the same yet always constant.
Leave and look;
I am there.
You need me.
What am I?
4
I am the greatest of all kings;
Ozymandias weeps beside my permanence.
I have majesty over all, minion humans serving me
Since the days of dynasties now fallen old.
Cold I am and hot in brief insanity.
I am queen of all and would openly rule
The cosmos but that I am trapped
In opposition in a small and pointed form.
Me and mine deserve obedience, still.
What am I?
5
and because of the time of year—
I am near, and I am you.
I know all the human tricks.
Sins made me that you might see.
But for now, I must remain.
Who am I?
6
and, boldly (badly) swiping—I mean, as an homage (using the French word) to Tolkien (yeah, that’s it, an homage, a tribute), below is a riddling paraphrase
This thing all lesser things devours
Birds, beasts, all too human towers
Slays town, ruins mind’s or real steel
Grinds hard walls and hearts to meal
Ruins all we might have done
Stays the victory once won
Brings all things we gain and own
Into chaos, rudely sown
Riddles dropped the duelers’ glove
So the hobbit goes above
But Bilbo, Gollum got it wrong
For this is what time better serves in song
(notes)
The Anglo-Saxons, whose culture flourished in the British Isles from B.C. time through the first millennium, loved riddles. Riddles, to riddle, riddling—this was an entertaining craft to share. In fact, maybe because a riddle doesn’t live unless it’s shared (with you, as someone to guess) is one reason for its popularity. Riddling requires companionship. And in uncertain times, a reason requiring us to be together might have sounded pretty good.
Those with education tended to make them, and riddles are recorded next to philosophical and theological collected works of the day. Anyone could enjoy them, but the overall purpose of riddles was twofold: to illuminate and to entertain. Sometimes the solutions were spiritual things—gospel, faith, salvation—and sometimes the answers were earthy—anchor, family, town. Sometimes the same riddle could serve both purposes. A riddle whose answer was “disciples” could work equally well for “friends.”
The solution of the riddle speaks and at the end of the riddle asks the question Who am I? or What am I? Rhyme and meter were often part of the makeup of a riddle so that the riddle might be remembered as a poem or song. The riddle could even be sung and I imagine often was.
Tolkien modernized the ancient riddle for the chapter “Riddles in the Dark” in The Hobbit, featuring a contest between Bilbo and Gollum. The riddles’ form is compact stanzas made in rhyming couplets and, in metre, iambic tetrameter (dah-DAH four times). The challenges between to the two contestants sound entertaining, even though the stakes for the winner and loser are literally life or death:
A box without hinges, key, or lid;
Yet golden treasure inside is hid.
This riddle from the contest is only a couplet long. And the answer is egg. In the Anglo-Saxon way, however, the answer among seminary students might also have been the soul or even eternity. (I’m quite satisfied with the egg.)
So here are some riddles in the Anglo-Saxon way. I’m not a riddle master (that will be obvious). I simply enjoyed translating riddles from Old English, the language of the British culture formed by Latin and German and what of native speech was allowed. I wrote a paper comparing Anglo-Saxon riddles with those in The Hobbit. The paper was read at a conference and subsequently published.
The Hobbit, as a novel and book, was first published by Allen and Unwen in 1937. The American publisher is Houghton Mifflin. The novel has been published many times and in many forms. It is certainly one of the more popular stories of our time.
I hope you enjoy the riddles. I hope you might compose your own.
Row, row, row your boat, careful not to piddle;
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a riddle.
(If Edmund Lear wrote about riddles, it might have gone like this.)
Riddle me this. Riddle us, this.
nostalgic turns
it means sweet pain a poet told me and I don’t feel it often because life looking back is not with pleasure but with pain yes pain without the poet’s claim of sweetness since so many things happened or were endured that were hard like parts of a Dickens story but without the craft the beauty and the characters or character in fact I’d have to say that life too often failed me back then and you and now is no great joy and though I fight for it the harsh challenges of life still remain and are not still because when some challenges go to rest the others awake
friends of mine I’ve had who truly helped and they are gone not all gone but too many gone and gone will be my mentor soon it took years to be given one to have him presented like Merlin in a cave though it was my spiritual director in an office in a retreat house and I didn’t know much except I needed help and yes I can articulate the situation some and even share my feeling in a way another can understand but with my counselor my friend it all came out better in exchange with prompts and insights in my director’s leading of our time together
I have danced with death too much by now and if there’s a dance card I don’t know how many lines I have left for death to fill in which makes me wonder why it gets them all anyway for shouldn’t we give permission for an intimacy such as dance that even death should maybe have to ask allowance it is not God after all but perhaps an agent with God’s job which we must respect and to which we might have to relent at least but why does that mean our will no longer matters even in the para-cosmic time after mortal existence has stopped
so I look back and the sweetness of sweet pain is absent with only the reminder of pain remaining which is why when poets or players can evoke a time maybe with a phrase or some other piece’s part maybe of an image or a bit of texture or slice of emotion that brings out positive a feeling from whenever and might be entertainment or inspiration or fondness of heart or gratitude well am I not glad for that artist’s craft in giving me invoking in me memory and the benevolence of memory’s angel that has given me remembrance without regret or other stinging re-discovery
nostalgia then meaning nothing to me except when it surprises me well positively and sometimes pretty wholly that is holistically
and I don’t care how it happens or how splintered I must be to enjoy the moment of the past living again in the present in at all a celebratory way for if I must be divided into thousands of parts so that one one-thousandth part is taken out for us to see and see that it is good well then I am in a primally pre-lapsarian way
in a happy moment that is mine before the fall
the old coffeemaker sings
the old coffeemaker sings
by gurgling
I have an extra light on
because the day is grim with
clouds of diffuse grey
the air is thick with pressure
which means my headache’s bad
it’s morning so the rest of the day
must proceed
and I with it
maybe it’s not good but
it is what there is
this or nothing
and so
I take this
clcouch123 
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