I got to participate in Bardic Madness Online yesterday! I was in the "Oh no!" challenge, where you had to present a story/song/poem where there's a big "oh no!" moment.
The idea behind Bardic Madness is to stretch or grow as a performer. So I took an initial leap into a poem in the style of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight." (Indeed, it is a much-shortened re-telling of the same.) I did only a very little bit of work to try and understand the poetic form of the Alliterative Revival, and I did find an online copy of the original poem to try and get the meter for the 'bob and wheel' (the rhyming bit at the end of each stanza) about right. They seemed pretty free with the unstressed syllables, but I didn't make a study of it.
This is a first draft. I overall like it, but it needs some polish.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (the short, short version)
To Camelot at Christmastime came a knight
Great in size, in green arrayed, gruesome to see
His horse all green; in his hands - holly and a huge axe
A game he’ll play with gentle Gawain, Arthur’s nephew
Gawain to strike his sinewy neck, sever his head
Then to Green Chapel go, a like chop to choose
It’s fine
Thinks Gawain, to play this strange game
I will go to his shrine
Quite safe, In a year and day
If today I sever his spine
Gawain claims the axe and the green knight kneels
Heavy axe held high, hewing strongly down
Blood bright and red befouls the floor
Green head rolls, its eyes look around
Guenievere screams as the giant stands, grabbing his head
Mounts his strong steed and straightaway leaves
Oh no
Thinks Gawain, I didn’t expect
He’d get up from that blow
Now I’ve a quest that leads to my doom
How I’ll live, I don’t know
Through woods he wanders, from winter to winter
Searching for the stranger’s sacred spot
He encounters a castle, carefully kept
Home to brave Bertilak and his beautiful wife
He can rest and recover in one of their rooms
They know of the knight, and his chapel is near
His host holds a holiday hunting game:
His prey he’ll place in Gawain’s hands, and Gawain will pay
With whatever whatnots he’d gained the while
All right
Thinks Gawain, thought it’s a bit odd
I’m not sure what this knight
Thinks that I’ll get to give in trade
Perhaps he’s not too bright
First day, he dutifully delivers to Bertilak a kiss
The lord’s wife wished to give it, though he wanted it not
Next, two kisses, and the knight asks no questions
For the ground rules of the game do not grant them
Third day, three kisses she presses on that thane
And gifts him her girdle, gold and green
With magic made, to maintain his life
A ward against the weight of warrior’s axe
Oh no
Thinks Gawain, what should I do?
To host this belt I owe
Without it, though, I’ll surely die
My blood all over the snow
He’s bussed Bertilak thrice and kept the belt
And gone to the Green Knight’s grove of holly
At first, he flinched, and the knight forestalled it
Making mock of mighty Gawain for his fear
Second stroke, he stopped again, his spirit to try
Gawain was steady, and growled to get on with it
Third time, a thin line of blood the axe-edge drew
Gawain leapt up, grabbing his sword, ready to engage
One blow
Said Gawain, is the term you set
My blood you’ve made to flow
If you yet try to take my head
I guarantee your woe
The Green Knight guffawed, gave a loud laugh
Fear not, my friend, I’ll fight you not
Poor host, I, were I hateful and harmed you
Bertilak am I, masked in Morgan le Fay’s magic
To test and to try the truest knight of Arthur’s court
I gave you that scratch for the girdle you were given
You kept it not for lust or greed but love of life
A small sin, and you’d paid your penance for it
Best knight
Go forth in peace, your fame you’ve earned
It always shall burn bright
Your many deeds the bards shall sing
And all the poets write
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