Forgotten Ground Regained

Battle of the Bards

Purported “Find” of An Ancient Sonnet
I met a traveler from England’s Northern LandWho told the story of an ancient song contest.Two poet’s vied to get the upper hand,To demonstrate whose forms and skills were best,To prove whose prowess, who—with great commandOf word-hoard and song-craft—was most blessed. A Norse skald and a Saxon scop did standAnd, line by line, astounded all the rest.
Many folk gathered in York’s market square—The legend says three hundred years ago!—No longer at war, the Vikings and Saxons thereMany words of the other’s language they did know.So, when the bardic battle of this pairBegan—all folk were awed by such a show.
—(Likely) Giacomo da Lentini (ca. 1225 A.D.)
Alliterative Revival (fragmentary) Versions
of the Contest (ca. 1370 A.D.)
“This account of a contest between skald and scop, as attested in the recently discovered sonnets of Giacomo da Lentini, seems, almost certainly, to be the same contest as recounted in another newly discovered fragmentary poem from the Alliterative Revival Period in England (1350-1500 A.D.). Amazingly, one full stanza remains, including a bob-and-wheel rhymed ending. But the fragment ends before we find any details of the contest.”
The day broke. Bright dawn brought the dark’s death. Many good folk gathered in the great marketplace.That morn at the market folk were most amazed.Two singers: Danish skald and Saxon scop—With words as weapons waged war most strange,Voicing the challenge, vied he of Viking blood Taunting the tall Saxon to the test to agree.Undaunted, the duel was duly accepted,And battle began between the two singers.Each claimed the other not as able at song,Unlocking wondrous wealth of his own word-hoardBack and forth, in a flurry, fought those two,With well-chosen words and wondrous song;Both Dane and doughty Saxon defended wellTheir prowess at poetry, powerful to hear.Those twoIn brave voice did unfold,The stories they well knew—Their people’s tales retold,In song the whole day through.
The haughty Dane was hight …
[here the fragment ends]
Recovered from an Even Older Manuscript
“Amazingly, some of the actual “Battle of the Bards” has been preserved. In a recently discovered MMS, found in the excavation of the cellar of an ancient tavern in York,
A few parchment pages of what seems almost certainly to be a transcript of the poetic contest have been preserved, although there are many gaps in the account and many lines that are unreadable. The account is certainly from memory and not actual transcription. But, as Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord have given substantial evidence in their seminal work, The Singer of Tales, memories were more finely “honed” in those days (and in some regions still powerfully illustrated by ‘tale singers’)”.
Editor's Note
The conceit Frank Coffman applies here -- a historical discovery as a framing device -- has deep roots and is a favorite of alliterative poets (See, for example, Benjamin John Peter's poem, Sigurd's Lament, or Joe R. Christopher's poem sequence attributed to "Nat Whilc" in Mythic Circle #28, p. 41.
First sonneteer, Giacomo da Lentini (fl. early 13th c.), almost certainly the author of a recently discovered ancient sonnet. It is in a manuscript that has the signature “Giacomo” at the bottom. Interestingly, it seems to be about a reported poetry contest that occurred in York, England, in the 10th c. A.D. in a tale told by an Englishman traveling through Sicily in the 13th c. whom Giacomo had met. The contest was between an Old English scop and an Old Norse “skald”: that happened spontaneously in a marketplace in Yokd, then in the “Danelaw,” the region of northwest England chiefly settled by Danish Vikings.
NOTE: The renderings into Modern English approxi-mations of Middle English, Old English, and Old Norse forms that follow were done by Sir Daniel Francis Chapman, KBE, FRSL,VC, Merton Professor of English Language and Literature, Merton College, Oxford. Sir Daniel also put the original Medieval Italian sonnet [likely da Lentini’s] into Modern English verse.
“The translation into Modern English that follows attempts to keep Giacomo’s rhyme scheme—considered by scholars to be the original form of the sonnet (a Sicilian Octave and Sicilian Sestet ABABABAB CDCDCD —rather than the later Italian Octave ABBAABBA and its use of other sestet forms: CDECDE or CDCCDC).
The form seems to have developed from the 8-line Strambotto, used as the “octave,” to which the “sestet” of six lines on two different rhymes was added by Giacomo.”
*Another Account of the “Battle of the Bards”
“*From a palimpsest, discovered on one fading vellum page of Text F of a version of Piers Plowman (ca. 1380). There is some debate about whether the analogous Piers Plowman version was composed by William Langland, but the style of this newly exposed stanza has been analyzed by styometricists and is believed to be Langland’s work.”
Many a year ago in days long of yore,the tale is told of two master minstrels.A pagan poet and a Christian proud and goodhad a war of words—a wonder to behold.A merry market one morn was full of many folk.It occurred in Old York (after Alfred the good kingdefeated the Danes in dire battle at Ethandune.He was a holy man and had Viking Guthrum swearto go the way of God— give up his pagan ways.). According to the account, the Dane addressed the scop,“Think thou art skilled in song? So, let us findwhether my wordcraft or thine weathers a test.For I am a master of measures, my memory fullof Northern narratives, not to be lost,of Wyrd and of warriors, and weapons magical,how the old gods and heroes, have not faded.”“Your challenge at chanting, I choose to accept,”the Saxon scop answered with sonorous voice.“I deem I am adept in your Danish tales,as well as my own that honor the one God.Both pagan and pious poems I can ply.”And so, there began a battle most brave,those two tale-tellers, taking turns.First skald, then scop—and so went the day,each earning great awe from the assembled folk—the skald using several song modes of the Norse;the scop well-skilled in the short Saxon lines.At dusk, they decided to deem it a tie.Both bards had sung bravely, befitting their creeds.The Dane was soon to depart for his dear homeacross the broad ocean, again over the sea.The Saxon’s fame spread, of song-craft the Master,praised for his prowess, proven that day.
THE PAGAN SKALD
Unwelcome Guest
(fragment of one of the pagan’s “turns” in the contest,But reinforces the notion of a Norse origin of the Beowulf story) (in Malahattr—“Speech Measure”)
Grim and ghastly / Grendel went hunting. Man’s blood the awful brew / that beckoned as drink; man’s flesh the grisly feast / he favored and sought. Dire was that demon / dreaded by all.
Wending through wild wood / he wound his way. to the Hall of Heorot / where the hart’s head hung high in the rafters / with heroes around,boasting of bravery, / their blood soon to flow.
Merry was the meadhall; / music was playing; the scop was singing / a song of the brave ones of old chosen by Odin / to go out of our world to vie in Valhalla / in valor eternal.
Just then—the beast burst / through the broad doorway, made morsels of men / at the meadbench nearest,then took away two / for his terrible meal— back out to the blackness / one more blooded night
THE PAGAN SKALD
(in Fornyrðislag—“Old Verse”)
Ragnar Loðbrok / ruler mightykilled by Ella, / King of the Englishwho put the Prince / in a pit of snakes,venomous vipers— / all viewed by the foe.
Ragnar was ready. / Reveled the lord:“With Odin and others— / all who died bold—tonight will I toast / and tell my tale,viewing Valhalla, / victory mine.
“I’ll hail with heroes / heaven’s All-Father.Freed by this fate, / fearless I go.Strong are my sons, / soon to avenge me,an army abroad / over England’s land.
“Grown great in number, / gleaming in mail,helmeted host / having its way.Ella and the English / earned this loss—My sons will sow / swiftest vengeance.
“The flag of the foe: / field of dark green,white horse, will wilt / when my sons come.All this I see— / even though I die.My blue eyes are blind, / but all this I see.”
The Christian Scop
(in which, perhaps, we find the scop’s name)Aðelstan’s Hymn*
“Now should we praise ‧ the Power of Heaven,Lord of all Lands, ‧ Leviathan’s bane.Three-personed God ‧ the Great Creator.He sent his Son ‧ our sins to conquer.The roof of Heaven ‧ the Holy Makerset over all ‧ our wondrous sky,made fertile the Earth ‧ for fields of grain,made mountains and seas, ‧ so He was moved.Over this Mid-Earth ‧ His Majesty rules.All should praise Him. ‧ Aðelstan alsoWonder-Father’s ‧ work will praise.
THE CHRISTIAN SCOP
Most wicked Wyrm ‧ warded his hoard,Fafnir the fierce ‧ firedrake most fell.Many the mighty ‧ man who had fallen.dead by this drake’s ‧ dread fiery breath.Leaving his hoard ‧ he harried the land.Fafnir, the fierce wyrm ‧ flew without fearover farm and fort ‧ with flaming breath,setting ablaze ‧ both burg and hamlet,plight of the people, ‧ plague of the land,wreaking havoc, ‧ having his way, killing both men ‧ and kine afield.Fateful his flight, ‧ fiend bred in Hell.
Sigurd was stalwart, ‧ the son of Sigmund,yet reared by Regin ‧ the renowned smith,a dwimmer dwarf ‧ who dastardly plannedSigurd’s sword to use ‧ in slaying Fafnir,the drake most dread, ‧ deemed immortal.That scoundrel had schemed ‧ Sigurd to murderif succeed he should ‧ in slaying the drake,if the beast’s bane ‧ he proved to be, then take the treasure ‧ terror-wyrm’s hoard..
Unknowing, Sigurd agreed ‧ the attempt to make.A perilous plan ‧ that proved quite good:The great sword Gram ‧ gleaming again,remade by Regin, ‧ ready that brand.Sigurd by stealth ‧ would sit in a pit,crawl into a crevice ‧ the creature must pass.From beneath, he’d bury ‧ that blade of famein heart of the Hell-beast ‧ as He passed above.As had been hoped, the hero was right.The wyrm wended ‧ his way along.above the atheling ‧ and over the pit.Sigurd with sword ‧ swiftly did strikethe blade’s bite ‧ in the beast’s bellymade black blood gush, the bold one drenching.
Fafnir, the fire-drake, before he died,Gave a great warning. “No good will come.You may take my trove ‧ but the treasure is cursed.”
Regin cut from the creature ‧ his cruel heart,bade Sigurd broil it. ‧ Boldly the youthheated the heart ‧ heeding those words.He touched it to test ‧ with tip of finger.Pierced with pain, ‧ he put it to mouth.Sudden, his hearing sense ‧ sharpened so keen,that the Bold warrior ‧ birdsong could hearand Understand. Awsome that skill!Then a little bird ‧ “Listen,” did say.“The dwarf means your death! ‧ Danger is near!”Then Sigurd was swift. ‧ Sword sought more blood.Cruel Regin, the culprit ‧ swiftly he killed.Then took for himself ‧ the dragon’s treasure.
*The reader will note the several similarities to Caedmon’s Hymn. Perhaps this indicates nothing more than the frequent use of “stock lines” among the scops. One might conjecture that Aðelstan (if that is, indeed, the scop’s name in this passage), might have known or been influenced by Caedmon [himself legendary, an illiterate cowherd according to Bede’s account].