Marw Arthur (Death of Arthur)

It's likely there was a real Arthur, a Dux Bellorum, or War Duke in the roman form who died at battle called Camlann. Romanticised by Chretrien De Troyes, old legends exist in Britain that also tell the story.

Cold waters on the shale

Murmur or sigh of breaking foam
Behind, the headland path

Fired by dimming light
Wind rises, air warm still

Feeling it on weary hands
Bell peals in the small church

My Lord murmurs

Eyes on fading sun

“Now Cei...”

He passed the brand
I went to nearby Llyn Braichddu

Shining sword hurled to the depths
Forged under the Eagle’s hammer

Blade burnished with soul of the Island of the Mighty
Dark waters rose

Seeming to acknowledge, grim acceptance

“It has passed, it has passed...”

They bore my lord away

From deep, bloody vale
On bier of torches, battle faded

Men stared askance, stunned
No movement from him

Carrying the burden

Following river
Out from Camlann, to coast

Westward moving

Grey in the failing light

Who knows the pain that my lord bore?

Wounds aggrieved through travelling
Coming at last to the edge

On the second day
Cold poultices of wormwood

And hollowleek they put to him
Promise of journey’s end keeps

He must still pass on

Him and me, alone, as he wished

Eyes show pain beyond reckoning
Betrayal and hurt, the closing day

He, spent, saving us a little longer
In stillness, sallow lapping water recalls

Time we have come to
From gathering dusk, silently

Wondrous craft moves towards

Hearing their glory

Six queenly forms

They are singing of the deep sea

Time beyond time
They close, I see the kingly panoply

Moving towards my lord

Measureless grace stirring him

Bed of branches to cloth of gold

Glorious eyes catch me finally

 “Memory will not be lost”
The wind passes through me

As they fade towards a dying sun
Golden pathway lingers

My Lord has sailed west
Darkness moves over the shoreline

I am tasked of my vigil; relieved of my post

They say it is Caer Sidhe or Avalon

A Peasant’s hope that wounds healed

And Merlin chides him

Within the Isle of Glass

 

I have loved him and served him all my life

There is no cure for our pain
He has gone

Losing him is losing everything

They say the King is not dead

In the lore of his people

They will diminish

Yet will not forget
His footprint and hand have been engraved

Upon the very land

Onto hearts
The Red Dragon will be pushed back

Yet not entirely crushed

Through my Lord`s memory

Through God`s care

His people endure

 

 

 

Ieuan Cilgwri (c) 2008

Reviews

[Scott H.]

I love this piece, but I love Arthuriana.

"Him and me, alone, as he wished
Eyes show pain beyond reckoning
Betrayal and hurt, the closing day
He, spent, saving us a little longer
In stillness, sallow lapping water recalls
Time we have come to
From gathering dusk, silently
Wondrous craft moves towards"

I found this particular stanza to be my favourite. The emotion is raw and rendered well.

[Lucy Landers]

Poetry is dead. Long live poetry.