We Have to be More Sensitive
than Bloodhounds in Oblivion
“Apart from ‘Cædmon’s Hymn’, we cannot date any Old English poem.”
~ Michael Schmidt, The Story of Poetry, 11
The poets are completely lost. Those scops
Have disappeared completely like a fog
Told in a tale, once. They aren’t even props.
Except for Cædmon they are like a smog
Of names without a name. We can’t appeal
To them or history—to god-like facts
About them—so we don’t know how to feel
Correctly. We know nothing of their acts,
Emotions, inspiration, or intents.
Undoubtedly they grew their beards to chant
Through. Men they were, so they spread manly scents
Mixed in with words and notes. Did they incant
At night time only, or at dawn and dusk
As well? At best we hope to smell wode musk.