Today's blog is a bit of a challenge... Next week, there is an exhibition in Thurso Art Gallery (it's the back room of the library, for any people in the area who are are interested in going along!) entitled Caithness Connections . I've had a little sneak peek on social media and been amazed by the variety of ideas the artists have used to consider the theme. It set me thinking about how differently people see their home, and how greatly it differs to how other people see it. Caithness is not a well-explored area, either in tourism (although this has improved since the NC500 route became popular) or in the arts, as its near neighbour Orkney. This is not always a bad thing - the Orkney which exists now is a far cry from the one I knew as home in my childhood thanks to the insane amount of cruise ship traffic, but when you say Caithness to most people from outwith Northern Scotland, most of them have no idea where it is if they've even heard of it. A few years ago, I wro...
Continuing from last week's post which explored Artwork as Inspiration (the starting point for Proof of the Old Faith) I'm sticking with Norse culture. Here is The Weave of the Norns, a poem I wrote a few years ago about these three frightening women.
Enjoy!
The Norns by Arthur Rackham
Beneath the threat of utter doom
he sought them at their fabled loom.
The king searched on until he found
them on the morrow’s battleground.
The tallest worked the wheel alone;
the next, a shuttle made of bone;
the shortest bore a silver sword
with which she severed each loose cord.
What pattern spun these women three,
dictating mankind’s victory!
“I come to beg you demonstrate
a gentle weaving of our fate.”
“Then know you this, oh man of peace,
we weave the thread and cannot cease.”
“Weave us an ending to this war
and grant us threads of peace once more.”
“What cost would such a wise man pay
for us to change our weave this way?”
And now he saw the bloody thread,
time’s fabric dripping crimson red.
As though she took him in her hand
he felt her pull aside one strand.
“You have forgone your chance to leave.
Your life is foretold in the weave.”
The sword cut clear, the thread hung down,
the mediator lost his crown.
For Fate demands a sacrifice
to cast aside her weighted dice.
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