Poems from Sarli

Mianmo’s journals make mention of poems she received from “that darling down in Sarli,” and several of these poems – likely transcribed at the Great Library of Nochet, with a copy for the poet and a copy for the records – have been found in what archeologists believe may have originally been a cosmetics box from her barrow.

Poetry is always a challenge to translate, but the free-flowing form of these pieces, likely inspired by Esrolian religious and votive poetry of the period, is still quite distinctive when compared to contemporary Heortling alliterative verse. The poems themselves indicate that the poet viewed nerself as a member of the Earth cults of Esrolia first and foremost, but still felt ner recent ancestral ties to Sartar as being significant, enough so that ne was willing to wade into the controversies between the Red Earth and the Old Earth with a biting satire.

Once again, too, we see Mianmo’s connections to the Nandan cult. Ne must have had a much different charactrer in Esrolia, given that ne might have been viewed as a pathway into political power, given the necessity of giving birth to rise in the ranks of Esrolian political society – and Nandan’s careful watch over the birthing bed would have made ner popular even among non-Nandan women, as proved by birthing charms unearthed from the Sacred City complex in Nochet.

Titles were invented by the translator for clarity of reference, as none were present in the original documents.

The Hair Poem

Nandan, take this hair!
Daughter of Allmother,
first of the household,
do you not watch me?

I scrape and scrape
and it still comes,
in tufts like grass,
in arrows, in spearheads.

Nandan, take this hair!
I am done with this;
has it gotten lost?

It insists on wrong pasture
like a lost bull,
and you know well
I am no bull.

Nandan, take this hair!
My cheek is smooth tonight,
let it be so tomorrow.

Do you not hear me?
Do you drink with Minlister?
Are your beautiful cheeks
flushed with ale or wine?

Listen to me, daughter of heaven
keeper of the baskets,
guardian of the gentle:
let this be the last time!

I offer these crops,
fresh from harvest,
to Black Earthshaker;
may she trample and crush them!

Heler has made me smooth,
made me soft,
filled my breasts with rain.

Do you ignore your aunt?
Do you not heed your uncle?
Why then do you not
take what is offered?

Your beard is braided,
hangs thick with perfume;
I shall have none of it.

First of the household,
daughter of Allmother,
from me take this hair!

The Garden Poem

Ah, goddess, if you had seen what I have seen!
Let us say that I was there last night,
where the flowers are red as blood,
where the trees are red as blood,
where the river is red as blood,
and the shadows black as Uz.

Yes, in that garden, there I was:
and let us say I was in shadow,
like Yinkin’s daughter you bore,
and the red grass cool beneath my palm.
Like your daughter I listened,
and overheard,
and was not seen in shadow.

At first I thought him Veskarthan,
his chest bare,
his beard undone,
his cheeks flushed,
his sandals lost,
late to the dawn.

Ah, goddess, if you had heard what I have heard!
Perhaps it was the gin-spirit,
yes, we shall say that,
the gin-spirit who sang:

“My daughter raises women up
and I won’t give them crowns,
she gives them all the fine temples
and I keep all the towns.
Let them fly a Lunar flag
but do not vex the sun,
for my man he has the throne
when all is said and done.”

Ah, goddess, if you had felt what I have felt!
Perhaps then we would be friends,
if your bat did not sit too close,
too close.

The Question Poem

Who was my midwife?
Who sat by my mother?
Who clasped her hand?
Who eased her pain?
Who stauched the blood?
Who held me then?
Who kissed my forehead?

Who took my fingers
in one hand to bless them?
Who kindled my breath?
Who saw me then?
Who breathed my secret name?

Who gave me milk?
Who gave me bread?
Who cut my meat?
Who gave me honey?
Who spiced my curry?
Who filled me up?

Who gave me clothes?
Who wove the thread?
Who welcomed me in?
Who kept me warm?
Who blessed the stead?
Who kept me safe?

Who found me in the storm?
Who took me by the hand?
Who led me by new paths
into her soft embrace?
Who crowned me with flowers?
Who braided my hair?
Who painted my lips?
Who named my beauty?

Who has been with me
since the day of my birth?
Who has walked with me
when I was alone?
Who do I keep in my heart
in the cruelness of the year?

Who is first among the gods?
Who is beloved in all places?
Who loves all good folk?
Who gives all good things?
Who is crowned in copper?
Who taught me to dance?
Who taught me to sing?

Who loves me?
Who loves me?
Who loves me?

The Courtyard Poem

In the courtyard,
in the heat of the day,
in the shadow of the nimtree,
I kneel and whisper,
and the serpent listens,
glutted with mice,
as my breath touches the leaves,
young and trembling,
unsure of the noise, the heat,
the strange waters:
“The creek. The stream. The river.”
What else can I do?