excerpt

The Norsemen had already observed that these wild people seemed to appreciate
such trinkets far more than practical items, such as knives and metal cooking pots.
Purs and Orca each led a sheep with stake and line to tether them in the village.
Once among the Natives, language did not seem to pose a problem as Norsemen
and Natives examined one another’s dress, tattoos, knives and swords. Bjorn struck
up an immediate friendship with a young Native. Several of the Norse could not
keep their hands from breasts and buttocks. When they tried urging their female
hosts to accompany them into the lodges, the women resisted.
One impatient Norseman, Drengr, complained loudly, “Under other captains,
we did not ask, we took.” Then he shouted, “No woman refuses me. These savages
should taste Odin’s might.”
Hjálmar jumped to his feet. “This is not a raiding party. Keep your peace. I will tell
you when and what you may take. If that does not please you, take a walk or return
to the ship.”
The Norseman, Hrafen The Raven, was first to see the young dancer Grey Wolf,
holding high the ram’s head, his hunting trophy. “The savage has stolen the animal. I
will cut off his ear. That will be a warning to the other savages not to steal from us.”
Mildr watched in horror as his impulsive companion struck the dancer with his
sword. The spirit of celebration was broken. The ram’s head lay spattered with the
young man’s blood. Several braves jumped to their feet in anger and ran to their
lodges for weapons. Norse swords were drawn for battle as Hjálmar and White Eagle
shouted at the same time for peace. They stood with arms and hands raised, trying
to calm the situation.
Mildr acted swiftly. He knew only one way to stop such a fight. He wrestled Hrafen’s
sword from him, yelled for all to stop and approached the red-skinned chief,
sword handle extended. Both sides had just begun to skirmish. Now they stopped
their fighting and froze. White Eagle paused for a moment then took the sword from
Mildr, held it high for all to see, and threw it into the glowing embers of the campfire.
Some Natives were satisfied. Others withdrew to mutter among themselves. Ari
retrieved Grey Wolf ’s ear and brought it to the young brave who slapped it out of his
hand. Mildr bowed his head as a sign of regret toward Grey Wolf and backed away
to stand by Hjálmar.
Captain Hjálmar swore at Hrafen for threatening the feast. He had only just begun
to enjoy the company of two village maidens who were admiring his battle scars.
Now he called his men to gather around for a cooling off period. Humiliated, Hrafen
stomped off in seething anger to the ship. The Captain warned his men to be on their
guard and to be prepared to return to the ship at his signal. Then he ordered them
to carry on with the hope that Mildr’s action might have soothed Native tempers.
Eagle Talon retrieved the ram’s head and brought it to his daughter who, with
Chochmingwu Corn Mother tended Grey Wolf ’s bleeding head.

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Wheat Ears

Posted: 21/01/2026 by vequinox in Literature

Slavery
Trendily dressed heard of animals
the foreigners came with bells
hanging from their necks
as if they knew the meaning of nature
and with undebatable posture
they demanded servitude and
replacing our books with guides
and instructions for multitude of gadgets
they convinced my kin to purchase.
The red carpet was laid for
their wooden shoes
servility was demanded
direct payment expected.
The foreigners drank my wine
from the ancestral lecythus
as if it was within their rights
though the moon never stayed by their side
and the sun didn’t obey to their commands

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Tasos Livaditis – Selected Poems

Posted: 21/01/2026 by vequinox in Literature

THE ENDLESS fever of the roads, the strong smell emitted
by conflagrations
and again, the old stories, while the women’s serene spindle
secretly guided the hours. When we returned, nobody
recognized us
so we dwelt in our anonymity like the lumberjack
in the forgiveness of the trees until slowly they forgot us:
we had neither name nor expectation. Like the statues
that are immortal while
they preserve our mortal hour.

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Constantine Cavafy

Posted: 21/01/2026 by vequinox in Literature

When they Get Roused
Try to still them, poet,
however, few are the ones that can be saved:
the visions of your eroticism.
Put them, half hidden, in your phrases.
Try to save them, poet,
when they get roused in your mind
at night or in the dazzle of high noon.

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Ugga

Posted: 20/01/2026 by vequinox in Literature

sixteen
The city finally followed you
and you have changed
as dishonest as you are
Any civilization you acquired
verdure replaced
with wild fig trees
and wild olive trees
that die
one after the other
on the altar
of taming

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