Troilus and Criseyde by Geoffrey Chaucer

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Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer, Middle English, Poetry Month, Troilus and Criseyde

It is time to bring the April Poetry Month to a close, and I would never forgive myself if I featured long poetical works worth reading and did not give the spotlight to Chaucer. While most people have likely heard of The Canterbury Tales, and perhaps even read some of it (in a modern translation) before, it is likely most have not picked up anything else he wrote. And that is a shame, since his Troilus and Criseyde is arguably just as good as Canterbury, albeit in a very different manner.

Geoffrey Chaucer lived in the 14th century and was arguably the most influential author in early English literature. During a period when most poets were writing in French and Latin, Chaucer chose to write his works in English. He wrote in what is now known as Middle English, closer in relation to our Modern English than the works of the Beowulf poet and other works in Old English. Whereas a person could pick up an Old English text and be completely confused, a person can reasonably decipher the language of Middle English.

His work, Troilus and Criseyde, tells the story of Troilus and Criseyde during the Siege of Troy. Yes, the hero and heroine of this book are from Greek Mythology, which means some of the names, places, and events will be familiar. Many of the future retellings have drawn their inspiration from Chaucer’s version of this poem.

A brief spoiler-free preview of the poem’s story: The story is about the Trojan prince Troilus, son of Priamus who is king of Troy, who falls in love with a lady called Criseyde. With the help of his friend Pandarus, who is Criseyde’s uncle, Troilus wins Criseyde’s love. A time of love and prosperity follows, which ends when the Greeks capture the Trojan warrior Antenor. Criseyde and Antenor are exchanged hence Troilus and Criseyde are separated.

Here are the first 49 lines in Middle English (Full poem here):

 The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen,
That was the king Priamus sone of Troye,
In lovinge, how his aventures fellen
Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye,
My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.
Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte
Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!

To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment,
Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne;
Help me, that am the sorwful instrument
That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne!
For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne,
A woful wight to han a drery fere,
And, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere.

For I, that god of Loves servaunts serve,
Ne dar to Love, for myn unlyklinesse,
Preyen for speed, al sholde I therfor sterve,
So fer am I fro his help in derknesse;
But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse
To any lover, and his cause avayle,
Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle!

But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse,
If any drope of pitee in yow be,
Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse
That ye han felt, and on the adversitee
Of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye
Han felt that Love dorste yow displese;
Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese.

And preyeth for hem that ben in the cas
Of Troilus, as ye may after here,
That love hem bringe in hevene to solas,
And eek for me preyeth to god so dere,
That I have might to shewe, in som manere,
Swich peyne and wo as Loves folk endure,
In Troilus unsely aventure.

And biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred
In love, that never nil recovered be,
And eek for hem that falsly been apeyred
Thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she;
Thus biddeth god, for his benignitee,
So graunte hem sone out of this world to pace,
That been despeyred out of Loves grace.

And biddeth eek for hem that been at ese,
That god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce,
And sende hem might hir ladies so to plese,
That it to Love be worship and plesaunce.
For so hope I my soule best avaunce,
To preye for hem that Loves servaunts be,
And wryte hir wo, and live in charitee.

And those same lines in Modern English (Full poem here):

Troilus’s double sorrow for to tell,
he that was son of Priam King of Troy,
and how, in loving, his adventures fell
from grief to good, and after out of joy,
my purpose is, before I make envoy.
Tisiphone, do you help me, so I might
pen these sad lines, that weep now as I write.

I call on you, goddess who does torment,
you cruel Fury, sorrowing ever in pain:
help me, who am the sorrowful instrument
who (as I can) help lovers to complain.
Since it is fitting, and truth I maintain,
for a dreary mate a woeful soul to grace,
and for a sorrowful tale a sorry face.

For I, who the God of Love’s servants serve,
not daring to Love, in my inadequateness,
pray for success, though death I might deserve,
so far am I from his help in darkness.
But nevertheless, if this should bring gladness
to any lover, and his cause avail,
Love take my thanks, and mine be the travail.

But you, lovers that bathe in gladness,
if any drop of pity is in you,
remember all your past heaviness
that you have felt, and how others knew
the same adversity: and think how, too,
you have felt Love dare to displease
if you have won him with too great an ease.

And pray for those that may have been
in Troilus’s trouble, as you’ll later hear,
that love bring them solace in heaven:
and also, for me, pray to God so dear
that I might have the power to make clear
such pain and woe as Love’s folk endure
in Troilus’s unhappiest adventure.

And also pray for those that have despaired
of love, and never can recover:
and also those by falsity impaired,
by wicked tongues, beloved one, or lover,
And so ask of God the benign mover,
to grant them soon to pass from this place,
that have despaired of Love’s grace.

And also pray for those that are at ease,
that God might grant them to persevere,
and send them power their lovers to please,
that it might, for Love, be worship and a pleasure.
For that I hope will be my soul’s best measure:
to pray for those who Love’s servants be,
and write their woes, and live in charity.

While the latter might be easier to read, you can see that the first set of lines in Middle English can be puzzled out. At least a good number of the words can be, although the spellings weren’t standardized on anything yet so they may look a little different. Curious about what Middle English sounded like? Here is a video of a reading from the Prologue in Chaucer’s Caterbury Tales:

And for an even more interesting experience, the Prologue being rapped in Middle English:

Have you read anything by Chaucer before? Ever tried reading it in Middle English? If you’ve read the Canterbury Tales, was there a tale that you remember enjoying from it?

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Think Like a Poet for Description

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Daffodils, Description, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, Imagery, Jeremy Irons, Poetry Month, William Wordsworth

As we are bringing the National Poetry Month to a close, it seemed prudent to dedicate the final Writer’s Toolbox installment toward how a fiction, or even a non-fiction, writer can enhance their writing through poetry. The main area in which you can enhance your writing comes through description. Because a poem is typically trying to accommodate a certain rhythm or flow internally, poets tend to be cognizant of how they are trying to evoke an image through their word choice. Yet they are also not limited by typical grammatical restraints or sentence structures. They take the time to paint beautiful images that evoke multiple senses. They write similes and metaphors to capture comparisons. They choose words that fall outside of common use but provide stronger images than words like green or big or fast.

Consider this poem by William Wordsworth, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”, and see the different ways in which he describes the daffodils that he sees and the things they are doing. How much more effective is the imagery in this poem than simply saying “I saw a bunch of daffodils moving in the breeze. They went as far as my eyes could see.”

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

And now listen to the reading of this poem by Jeremy Irons and see how the words being read aloud make the poem, and the images within, come alive:

So try to reconsider your approach to your writing of a descriptive scene. Take a scene in your current WIP, or even just look out the window, and try to write the images as though you were a poet describing these things. While you may not feel that you can get quite as bold and creative in your story, this exercise may help you to find a sentence or two that evokes a truly powerful and stunning image that will take your readers’ breath away.

Scholarly Saturday: Beowulf

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Anglo-Saxon, Beowulf, J.R.R. Tolkien, Old English, Poetry Month, The Wanderer

Welcome to another edition of Scholarly Saturdays. Each Saturday in April I am covering a major poetic work that I highly recommend reading, along with a shorter work to read and enjoy that has some sort of connection to the longer poem. Sometimes the connection is based on time period, like today’s shorter poem. Other times it is connected by subject matter, like last week’s shorter poem. Here are the three major poems I have covered so far in April:

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti
Paradise Lost by John Milton

And this week we will be discussing what is perhaps my favorite of the five works getting covered in April: Beowulf. There is a lot to love about this poem, which has monsters and a dragon and three epic battles. This is the longest poem that was composed in Old English and is comprised of three acts: Beowulf versus Grendel, Beowulf versus Grendel’s Mother, and Beowulf versus the Dragon. Beowulf is a Geat and comes to the aid of the Danish kingdom to help them ward off the monster Grendel. The first two acts take place around the same time among the Danes, whereas the Dragon encounter occurs 50 years later after Beowulf has become the king of the Geats.

Beowulf was a work that J.R.R. Tolkien taught frequently throughout his career. He was famous for coming into the classroom reciting the first 50 lines of the poem from memory in Old English (While it isn’t Tolkien, this is a good video of the opening lines in Old English). He wrote two fantastic essays on this work, one of which was highly influential on the way Beowulf was studied and still holds sway to this day for scholars of this work. Tolkien knew this poem extremely well and had outstanding notes and lectures on this work. While the translation released recently was never intended by Tolkien to be published – I firmly believe he would have published a poetic translation rather than a prose one – the notes and commentaries within that book make it worth the investment to anyone with an interest in this poem.

Perhaps the most beloved of translations is the one by Seamus Heaney, which is the translation that I will be using for this short excerpt from the poem where Grendel is approaching Hrothgar at night, not knowing that Beowulf is there waiting for him:

Then out of the night
Came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift;
The hall-guards were slack, asleep at their posts,
All except one; it was widely understood
That as long as God disallowed it,
The fiend could not bear them to his shadow-bourne.
One man, however, was in a fighting mood,
Awake and on edge, spoiling for action.
In off the moors, down through the mist bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
The bane of the race of men roamed forth,
Hunting for a prey in the high hall.
Under the cloud-murk he moved toward it
Until it shone above him, a sheer keep
Of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time
He had scouted the grounds of Hrothar’s dwelling—
Although never in his life, before or since,
Did he find harder fortune for hall-defenders.
Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead
And arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced door
turned on its hinge when his hands touched it.
Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open
the mouth of the building, maddening for blood,
pacing the length of the patterned floor
with his loathsome tread, while a baleful light,
flame more than light, flared from his eyes.

There are many excellent translations out there to read this poem in full. And for those who don’t think they are ready to tackle the full poem, there is a wonderful website, Beowulf for Beginners, that might be a great entry point to appreciating this poetic work.

The shorter poem being shared today, in the spirit of Beowulf, is an Anglo-Saxon poem titled “The Wanderer”. It is believed to be about a warrior who gets rendered unconscious during a battle in which his chief dies, and this is him recounting his plight later in life. It is a short poem, just over 100 lines long, but an enjoyable delving into the Medieval poetry.

Read “The Wanderer” here.

For those bold enough, you can also listen to it in its Old English form.

Have you read Beowulf before? Was it assigned reading for a class or merely for pleasure? What are your thoughts on “The Wanderer”?

Poetic Form: Villanelle

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Do not go gentle into that good night, Dylan Thomas, Poetry Bestows Wings, Poetry Month, villanelle

For this week’s Writer’s Toolbox post I am going to be looking at one of the poetic forms out there that is rarely seen, but I find that its repetition offers a wonderful format for a poem. So to begin, we must dive in to what a villanelle is.

The villanelle is a nineteen-line poem that is made from five tercets and a quatrain. It has two repeating lines and a refrain. All of these work together to make a majestic poem. One of the more famous examples comes from Dylan Thomas, who wrote the poem “Do not go gentle into that good night”:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

As you can see by this poem, the first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines. This provides a nice repetition throughout the entire poem that provides emphasis on certain thoughts or emotions.

Some poets have taken on this form and slightly altered the wording of each repetition of those lines, providing a slightly different meaning throughout the poem. It is a fun form to experiment in, as I found a few years ago when I was testing out various poetic formats. As a special treat, here is the poem I wrote in the villanelle form, preceded by the quote that inspired the poem:

“You’ve got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down.” Ray Bradbury

 

POETRY BESTOWS WINGS

 You soar up high, poetry bestows wings,
to glide above the clouds along the way.
Recite the words aloud until it sings.

Writers guide readers toward amazing things,
making new, objects seen every day.
You soar up high, poetry bestows wings.

Forming phrases, brilliantly capturing
the true essence within the words they say.
Recite the words aloud until it sings.

 Rounding up emotions and bottling
them in verse, with words the abstract stay.
You soar up high, poetry bestows wings.

The words joined form a smooth cadence, to bring
a musical rhythm to life today.
Recite the words aloud until it sings.

Skillful poets draw in readers, sending
them to places in a day, far away.
You soar up high, poetry bestows wings,
reciting the words aloud until it sings.

Had you ever heard of the villanelle before? What are your thoughts after reading two poems in this form? If you have written, or end up writing, a villanelle please feel free to share a link in the comments!

Paradise Lost by John Milton

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Blank Verse, Dream of the Rood, John Milton, Paradise Lost, Poetry Month

**Note: King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology is on sale this weekend. It is completely free on the Kindle for this weekend only so grab a copy, read these 13 short stories set across various time periods (including my own set in Medieval Iceland), and leave a review!

Welcome back to another Scholarly Saturday edition on my blog. Continuing the trend for April, because it is National Poetry Month, I am going to discuss another long poetic work that you should be reading. Because there are so many great ones to choose from, more than ever could be covered in five posts, it is getting even harder to narrow down which works should get the spotlight. Here are the two already completed, in case you missed them:

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti

I would be remiss to go through this month without taking a week to look at Milton. I have known of his work for a long time, but I did not get around to reading Paradise Lost until last year. I absolutely loved it, although it is clearly a poetic work that will take many rereadings to enjoy and appreciate the full depth of information and allusions contained in those pages.

For those who do not know, John Milton was a poet back in the 1600s. He wrote many great poetical works, but his magnum opus was certainly this one. It is a poetic re-imagining of the opening chapters of the book of Genesis concerning the Fall of Man; the temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan, leading to their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. This poem is arranged into twelve books and runs over 10,000 lines in length.

Did you know that John Milton was blind? The entirety of the poem was composed through dictation, with hired scribes and friends taking down the words he wrote over the course of roughly five years.

The poem itself is written in blank verse. What that means, essentially, is that it follows a pattern for each line, such as iambic pentameter, but that the lines do not rhyme. This is a very popular form for poetry, one that gives the recitation of a work a nice rhythm while allowing the poet freedom of word choice. As a small sample, here are some lines taken from Paradise Lost, a scene regarding the first love of Adam and Eve:

HUS talking, hand in hand alone they passed
On to their blissful bower. It was a place
Chosen by the sov’reign Planter, when he framed
All things to Man’s delightful use; the roof
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade,
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew
Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub,
Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower,
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine,
Rear’d high their flourished heads between, and wrought
Mosaic; under foot the violet
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay
Broidered the ground, more coloured than the stone
Of costliest emblem: Other creature here,
Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none;
Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower
More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned
Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph,
Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess,
With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs,
Espousèd Eve decked first her nuptial bed
And heavenly quires the hymenean sung,
What day the genial Angel to our sire
Brought her, in naked beauty more adorned,
More lovely than Pandora, whom the Gods
Endowed with all their gifts, and, O! too like
In sad event, when to the unwiser son
Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared
Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged
On him who had stole Jove’s authentic fire.
Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,
Both turned, and under open sky adored
The God that made both sky, air, earth and heaven
Which they beheld, the moon’s resplendent globe,
And starry pole: “Thou also madest the night,
Maker Omnipotent; and thou the day,
Which we in our appointed work employed,
Have finished, happy in our mutual help
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordained by thee; and this delicious place,
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou hast promised from us two a race
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
They goodness infinite, both when we wake
And when we seek, as now, the gift of sleep.”

This said unanimous, and other rites
Observing none, but adoration pure
Which God likes best, into their inmost bower
Handed they went; and eased the putting off
Those troublesome disguises which we wear,
Straight side by side were laid; nor turned, I ween,
Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites
Mysterious of connubial love refused:
Whatever hypocrites austerely talk
Of purity, and place, and innocence,
Defaming as impure what God declares
Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.
Our Maker bids increase; who bids abstain
But our destroyer, foe to God and Man?
Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety
In Paradise, of all things common else!
By thee adult’rous love was driven from men
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee,
Founded in reason, loyal, just and pure,
Relations dear, and all the charities
Of father, son, and brother, first were known.
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame,
Or think the unbefitting holiest place
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets,
Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced,
Present or past, as saints and patriarchs used!
Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared,
Casual fruition: nor in court amours
Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball,
Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.
These lulled by nightingales embracing slept,
And on their naked limbs the flow’ry roof
Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on,
Blest pair! and, O! yet happiest if ye seek
No happier state, and know to know no more!

The full poem is awesome, if overwhelming at times, and certainly worth reading at least once. I am convinced, though, that this is the sort of poem that gets better each and every time you read through it. And I certainly plan to revisit this one!

For a shorter work today, I thought it would be fitting to share one of my favorite Anglo-Saxon poems, “The Dream of the Rood”. The rood in this poem refers to the cross that Christ is crucified on, which is what makes it a fitting share this week. It is an interesting and imaginative poem that I absolutely loved the first time I read it. I hope you get a chance to enjoy it as well!

http://lightspill.com/poetry/oe/rood.html

Come back next Saturday as I share two more great Anglo-Saxon poems, Beowulf and “The Wanderer”!

Bonus Post: Eye to the Telescope

Tags

Eye to the Telescope, Josh Brown, Poetry Month, Speculative Poetry

Because it is National Poetry Month, which means we should all try to read at least a little poetry, I thought it would be appropriate to share this. A few weeks ago Josh Brown wrote a guest post where he mentioned he was editing the next issue of Eye to the Telescope. For those who don’t know, it is an online publication for Speculative poetry.

So this is your one-stop-stop for some Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror poetry. The new issue, edited by Josh, just went live yesterday. Go check it out and enjoy some good poetry!

http://eyetothetelescope.org/archives/020issue.html

Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti

Tags

Christina Rossetti, Goblin Market, Jabberwocky, Lewis Carroll, Poetry Month

As promised last week, this Saturday brings us to another spotlight on a somewhat lengthy poem worth taking the time to read and enjoy. Last week I mentioned on of my favorite Arthurian poems, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and I hope you get a chance to read that poem if you haven’t yet. This week I’m looking at a much shorter poem, although still lengthy enough to be considered in its own spotlight: “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti.

This is a fun poem. There is a lot of enjoyable repetition, lists of fruits and other sweets, and sounds that are simply fun to say aloud. It is the sort of poem that is pleasant to the ear which makes it pleasurable to read and certainly could be a great poem to read with children.

The images that come to mind as you read through the poem are vivid. As a for instance, can you picture the assortment of goblins and what they are doing in this segment:

Laugh’d every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel- and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes,—

To read more of “Goblin Market”, click this link. Did you enjoy the sounds and repetitions? Would you read this poem to your children? If you did so, feel free to share how they enjoyed the poem!

For the shorter poem of the week, I am sharing one of my favorites. It is also the perfect children’s poem due to its nonsensical words that force the reader to use their imaginations to picture the descriptions and events as they transpire. It was written by one of the contemporary writers of Rossetti’s time, although he is best known for his two books, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass.

Lewis Carroll’s poem, “Jabberwocky“, is a fun read. Short and sweet, it invokes something different to everyone who reads it. It has to. How many JubJub birds have you seen? Bandersnatches? What about borogoves, much less ones that are mimsy? That is the beauty of this poem: it forces you to come up with these images for the words. If he went on to define or describe them, the poem would lose some of that uniqueness. As a fantasy writer, I find myself wanting to embrace the weird like Carroll did in this poem.

What are some of the images this poem invokes for you as you read it? Is there a line, or a stanza, that stands out more than the others as you read it?

Scholarly Saturday: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Tags

King Arthur, poem, Poetry Month, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Thomas Percy

Because April is Poetry Month, each Saturday I am going to discuss one of my favorite poetic works as well as a shorter poem to read and discuss here on the blog and/or Facebook and Twitter. So jump in on the conversation and discuss what you thought of the poem, as well as if you have read the longer one being featured.

It is no surprise to many that I am a huge King Arthur fan. After all, I wrote a short story that was published in the King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology. One of my favorite poems was written by an anonymous poet in the 14th century, known as either the Pearl-Poet or the Gawain-Poet (depending on who you ask). There are four poems typically credited to this poet, the two most popular being Pearl as well as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. These two poems were both translated by J.R.R. Tolkien during his career, and I highly recommend his translation of them both if you can get your hands on it!

As you can guess by the title, this poem follows Sir Gawain, a knight of King Arthur’s court, and his dealings with the mysterious Green Knight. The poem begins with a Christmas feast at Arthur’s court when this tall Green Knight barges in and throws open a challenge to any man present. The terms: they may strike him once on the neck with an axe and, the following year, they must allow the Green Knight to do the same to them. When no man rushes forward to take up the challenge, Sir Gawain accepts and his journey begins. What transpires in King Arthur’s court is nothing more than the opening scene to a sweeping adventure where judgment and morals will be questioned and things are not always quite what they appear to be. It is a tale with a great moral message, and perhaps my favorite Arthurian story out there.

Given the age of the poem, there are many free translations available to read online, although I still recommend investing in the Tolkien translation. Here are links to both options:

Free online translation
Amazon link to Tolkien’s translation

There is a set of excellent poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson, The Idylls of the King, which all pertain to parts of the King Arthur legend and this is well-worth reading for any King Arthur fan. Tolkien composed a fragment of an Arthurian poem as well, which was published only a few years ago: The Fall of Arthur.

For a shorter Arthurian poem to read and discuss, I present you with “The Legend of King Arthur” by Thomas Percy. It was written back in the 17th/18th century, so the spelling is, at times, archaic, but it all should be understandable with reasonable effort.

Read the poem here and then come back with your initial thoughts. What did you like about the poem? What didn’t you like about it?  Any comments in general?

Also, have you read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight?