Fjöturlundr (Saturnian)
by Sonya Taaffe



            From olive to oak-leaf, vineyards to black firs,

            the days darkened in a colder wood,

            assuming their shadows like a winter’s sun

            over Kalkriese hill: the master of horse

            subtracted a hand on the heather field,

            the ingenieur in his broad hat

            less an eye for the host of ravens,

            a rage of thunder where the sky-father

            lightened, the fenborn spinning of love.

            The moon and sun that fingered over

            bridle gear and slingshot, sandal studs

            and lance heads, never slowed

            for the wolves coursing at their heels.

            Bogland numina, carts and charioteers,

            who left a name from the laurel-hung south

            among this tribal company? The old reaper

            rounding his sheaves, they recognized him

            without translation, by any name

            as blood-kenned and darkly kinned

            as wind and axes, the waiting leap of fire,

            the silver mask left rotting in the peat,

            devouring seed, stars, children, the world,

            in any age to smile and cut us down.




About the Author:

Sonya Taaffe has a confirmed addiction to myth, folklore, and dead languages. Her poem “Matlacihuatl’s Gift” shared first place for the 2003 Rhysling Award, and poems and short stories of hers have been nominated for the Gaylactic Spectrum Award, the Pushcart Prize, and the Locus Award, shortlisted for the SLF Fountain Award, and reprinted and honorably mentioned in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. A respectable amount of her short fiction and poetry can be found in Postcards from the Province of Hyphens and Singing Innocence and Experience (Prime Books). She holds master's degrees in Classics from Brandeis and Yale.




Poem © 2009 Sonya Taaffe. Photo by Arminia, 2004.