~ By Courtesy of Others ~
In Utgard-Loki´s Hall
Then traveled Thor to the giants´ far tracts:
Mjolnir´s master, most mighty in mettle;
Loki came with him, clever and keen-eyed
Quickest to ation, questioning always.
Also, his servant, swift-footed Thialfi
Sure as the sunrise, trustworthy as time.
Challenges offered: of racing, of wrestling,
Imbibing and easting; they bragged they were best.
First came the feasting; Loki
lunged for the trough;
Logi the champion clearly was called;
the giants grew jovial, enjoying the games.
Wolf´s-Father was wroth, felt
wronged and offended;
Then raced Thialfi against his raw rival;
Hugi´s steps hasted sharply, hurried along.
Outspeeding the other, the
ogre pulled past him;
draws dawn from the darkness. Subdued was the servant,
Impatient, the jotuns jeered at Thor´s joust,
brought forth the biggest bug-chaser of all
Silk-tailed slinker, claws like steel scythes:
Eyes of old emerald, coat grey and grim.
Fate favored the
flame-bearded, in fury frenzied,
Beast barely budging, as bright fire flickered,
Strained so to lift it, struggling sore.
Withal would its paws, padding and playing,
not lift from the level, nor leave go the floor.
Ever did mouse-murderer purr all the merrier.
Finally, one foot failed, lifting up faintly;
At cat´s cost, he faltered, let fall the feline:
Huffing, Hlorridhi now sullen and scorned.
Of drinking, he drained the drought
Three times most deeply; barely the brew
Slipped low past the lip;
Of wrestling, an elderly etin-wife held him;
Bore him to the bottom, his knee hitting stone.
However he strove, he hardly could stir her;
her hands held him captive, kept him from the coup.
Then did their host hurry them homewards;
Out to the hall´s gate he escorted them.
Sternly and sober, the Jotuns´ sovereign
Bade them to return to the
As they were leaving, he let slip the lies;
lax, senses lulled, they saw not the tricks.
No foolish feaster, howsoever hungry
could chomp his fare faster than fire.
Thialfi raced thought, swifter than steeds;
from shore to shore in the squint of an eye.
Cat ´twas the world-circler, writhing and wily;
too heavy to heft, too huge to heave.
Horn had its heel buried deep in the brine;
Old Age was the ancient whose grasp he had grappled;
No man and no maid may master her hold.
All eyes imposed on by evil illusion.
Then the Thunderer hoisted his hammer:
The giant-king, Jotuns, and hall all had
vanished, and vanquished, the company headed for home.
© Jennifer Lawrence
All Their Voices - Words and thoughts in devotion to the Divine