A couple years back I had a conversation with a friend, and made the point that the Norse poems from the e.g. the Eddas aren’t intended to be treated as highbrow art – they are meant to be read/sung/performed as entertainment for the masses.
Said friend challenged me to prove it… so here we go, and in the voice of an older, crankier, South Boston barroom-prophet:
Hear me now, all you crowd—
high and low, don’t matter—
I got a story older than your nana’s curses,
older than the bricks in Charlestown.
I remember way back—
before there was nothin’—
no sand, no sea, no sky hangin’ up there,
just a big empty gap, cold as a January morning
when the heat’s out and the landlord won’t answer.
Then the sons of Borr—good lads, tough stock—
they raised the world up proper,
dragged land outta the void like hauling a net full of cod,
set the sun and moon on their rounds
like clockin’ workers on a union shift.
They built a place for the gods—
Asgard, shiny and proud—
hammerin’ away, no thought in their heads
that trouble was already brewin’.
And wouldn’t ya know it—
gold shows up, and suddenly everyone’s actin’ different.
They had it good for a while,
drinkin’, buildin’, carryin’ on—
until the wrong kind of crowd came knockin’.
Giants. Always the giants.
Like troublemakers driftin’ in from outta town.
Then came the war—first one ever—
no rules, no mercy,
just chaos breakin’ loose like a bar fight on payday.
Now listen—this part ain’t pretty.
Odin, he went lookin’ for wisdom—
gave up an eye for it, if ya can believe that—
stared into the deep like a man who knows
he’s made a deal he can’t take back.
And me? I see it all.
I see the Valkyries ridin’, pickin’ the fallen—
like EMTs with wings and a taste for glory.
I see the wolf growin’, chains strainin’,
everyone pretendin’ it’ll hold—
yeah, sure it will.
Then it comes—the end of it all.
Ragnarok. No stoppin’ it.
The earth shakes like the T’s gone off the rails,
the sky splits wide open,
fire everywhere—
not a candlelight vigil, either—
I’m talkin’ the whole place goin’ up.
Odin falls.
Thor too—takes the serpent with him, but still—
a win that feels like losin’.
Everything burns.
Everything sinks.
End of story… right?
…Nah. Not quite.
Outta the mess, something comes back—
green shoots pushin’ through ash,
a new world, clean and quiet.
A couple of humans—tough as hell—
they make it through,
start again from scratch.
And some of the gods—yeah, a few—
they come back too,
like survivors crawlin’ out after the storm,
shakin’ their heads, sayin’,
“Jesus… what the hell was that?”
So that’s the tale.
Take it or leave it.
World starts, world ends, world starts again—
same as always.
You build, you lose, you build again.
Now—
who’s gettin’ the next round?