Dark Sentiments 2015 – Day 16: The Stranger at the Door
Posted By Randy on October 16, 2015
I’ve spoken before of the Hávamál (sayings of the high one), that being one of the poems in The Elder or Poetric Edda, also known as .
For those of us with eyes to see, ears to hear, minds to think, and hearts to feel, the world of now is every bit as dangerous as it ever was, and Manners are never out of style for the Warrior. In the chapter titled Wisdom for Wanderers and Counsel to Guests, Hávamál has much still timely advice that you would do well to heed.
The image at left – “The Stranger at the Door” (1908 by W.G. Collingwood ((1854 – 1932)) is taken from one of the illustrations Collingwood did for the 1908 English language translation of The Edda by Olive Bray. We see a weary but wary traveller knocking at a stout door while watching the path just trod, hand upon the hilt of his sword in readiness for skulduggery. My interpretation of the situation depicted is that the traveller will draw without hesitation if set upon, but the last thing he wants is for whoever opens the door to find a stranger with blade in hand, and so he tolerates a tactical disadvantage in favour of a measured and mannerly approach to his eagerly anticipated host.
Throughout history, in times and places wherein the presence of a defensive weapon, if not visibly worn, must at least always be presumed (like here and now), Manners, Temper, Wit, clarity of Communication, and attention to Etiquette can never be treated as quaint, archaic notions to be safely discarded as things of little importance.
As I regarded this traveller, and grew a sense of kinship with him, this poem formed in my mind. Tell me what you think.
The Stranger at the Door
By LFM
The hour is late, the moon is full,
At last the homely inn is gained,
A grimy hand appears from ‘neath
A cloak careworn and weather stained.
One hand knocks upon the door,
While other grips the sheath-ed blade,
Wary eyes watch road behind,
Where tracks his weary feet have made.
This Traveller on mission grave
Before the olde inn’s door doth stand,
In hope whoever opens it
Won’t find him, naked blade in hand.
He knows his troubles are not shared
By those his knock hath waked within,
And so be prays the portal yawns
Ere fight for life might fain begin.
For though he’ll go not gently to
Commune with long departed kin,
He’d not deliver doubt or fear
To he who comes to let him in.
Superb; it almost cries out for an extended series of verses, akin to the Beowulf saga. But I suppose that will have to wait until the completion of your other work in progress. Mentime, may I humbly ask you to read these two articles, which I believe will resonate with you? The first is shorter, the second a bit lengthy but if you have the time I believe you will find them both edifying and strongly akin -if not identical – to the warrior ethos embraced by such people as you and myself. All tbe best – j
http://sultanknish.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-warriors-tale.html
http://www.bugei.com/virtue.html
Well written again, sir. I am still waiting for you to "borrow" a phrase from a poem we both enjoyed before: "….now he lives a life of crime…."
No credit or footnotes necessary….
Don't worry my Esteemed Friend. That day of borrowing is coming. Weren't you supposed to email or otherwise send me the complete collection? The memory fades as one slips into dotage.