Epic Poems

[Joseph Chaput]

I dunno if there's already a thread for this, but just wanted to ask if anyone else is writing in this kind of style. I started off vowing never to write poetry, and yet after reading Williams & Tolkien, I've found I've been using every excuse to go more and more poetic until now I'm starting to write entire poems and songs which tell stories as it's faster and funner to write this way.
Dunno if I'm alone here, but just wanted to know your thoughts, and if anyone else has taken to writing miniature epic-poems about certain events of their world.

 

[skip.knox]

I see it done quite a bit as fragments in a larger work--sort of like what Tolkien does. Standalone is going to be much harder to do and still harder to sell. I stay away from it myself but wish you every success.

 

[Ned Marcus]

I like the idea but don't write epic poems, or any poems, set in my fantasy world. I sometimes play with poetry unrelated to my fiction.

 

[Insolent Lad]

I see it done quite a bit as fragments in a larger work--sort of like what Tolkien does.

I've done that a bit in my own books, especially my ones set in the preliterate Mora society, where bards are the keepers of history. Some of it pseudo-Hiawatha/Kalevala in form.

 

[A. E. Lowan]

I'm a terrible poet, so no, we don't include much poetry in our books... so far. I was trained to be a poet in high school and was a medievalist in college, so lots and lots of exposure to epic poetry, and I would go so far as to say that that background colors my descriptions and narrative.

There are a lot of great epic poems from the Medieval period that make good inspiration for a budding poet. Chaucer is great and very accessible, Beowulf is fun if you enjoy ripping off arms and beating monsters to death with them, The Romance of the Rose is very dirty, and The Song of Roland is quite epic. Dive in and have fun with it.

 

[ButlerianHeretic]

I've toyed with the idea of a modern epic. I like the economy of words, imagery, and feeling that poetry encourages one to use, so I also experimented with writing a chapter as an epic poem and then unpacking it enough to make it readable as prose. The idea has potential but I didn't feel like it created significantly better results than what I get by writing normally and then editing to be sure I'm being concise. One advantage I did feel was significant was looking at the story through a very different mental lens between the two passes, akin to how I'd feel editing after letting it sit for a while. A significant issue though was ending up with very similar paragraph structure since each was unpacked from a verse of the poem.

 

[Prince of Spires]

One thing to keep in mind is that it's one of the things some readers skip or only skim. It's lovely worldbuilding if done well, but it does slow down the story.

 

[CupofJoe]

One thing to keep in mind is that it's one of the things some readers skip or only skim. It's lovely worldbuilding if done well, but it does slow down the story.

I did that the first time with LotR. Then I heard the BBC radio adaptation and some of the poems were sung there. That made me go back and read them.
I still hear them in the voices of the BBC adaptation.

 

[Joseph Chaput]

I've done that a bit in my own books, especially my ones set in the preliterate Mora society, where bards are the keepers of history. Some of it pseudo-Hiawatha/Kalevala in form.

I get why many are saying nope, but this post made me so very happy to see! So these bards, in this period of your world are they akin to the ancient fire-place story-tellers of Native society or more akin to the troubadours of France or poets of Celtic societies pre-Rome?

I'm a terrible poet, so no, we don't include much poetry in our books... so far. I was trained to be a poet in high school and was a medievalist in college, so lots and lots of exposure to epic poetry, and I would go so far as to say that that background colors my descriptions and narrative.

There are a lot of great epic poems from the Medieval period that make good inspiration for a budding poet. Chaucer is great and very accessible, Beowulf is fun if you enjoy ripping off arms and beating monsters to death with them, The Romance of the Rose is very dirty, and The Song of Roland is quite epic. Dive in and have fun with it.

I get that, I'm a mediocre poet but am constantly throwing myself into it, I grew up reading Roland and Beowulf, as well as some parts of the Odyssey, and even Genji Monogatari (I love this story with all it's florid and lyrical poetry!), and vowed as a kid to never write poetry. But ever since rediscovering Tolkien as an adult, and the Aeneid (my favourite Epic Poem), I've become obsessed.
There's plenty that's great to read, but I do think we could use fresh passionate poetic voices in these modern times.

Oh and I'm also a Medievalist! With my major having been Japanese Medieval History, and am now hoping to do a MA in Scottish Medieval History! Yeah lots of epic poems and poetry are read in our classes eh? Fun stuff!

I did that the first time with LotR. Then I heard the BBC radio adaptation and some of the poems were sung there. That made me go back and read them.
I still hear them in the voices of the BBC adaptation.

I've yet to hear it, but one of my British friends adored that one and recommended it. Will probably listen to it in September, once I'm a little less busy.

P.S. sorry for the late reply, didn't see the alert and was busy for several days recording videos and dealing with bureaucratic/financial stuff.

 

[Insolent Lad]

So these bards, in this period of your world are they akin to the ancient fire-place story-tellers of Native society or more akin to the troubadours of France or poets of Celtic societies pre-Rome?

The Mora are essentially Polynesian and their epic poems are akin to the Mele tradition of Hawaii. There is certainly a relationship with religion and the bards are revered for this reason, seen almost as a priesthood. But they also entertain and they are not likely to forget that fact, so they make the stories interesting and don't always feel a need for strict truth.

 

[S J Lee]

I have a bard or two who "quote" bits of complex poetry where it seems appropriate. A page at a time AT MOST.

Back in my 20s, Tolkien's Lays of Beleriand went to my head and I DID compose a "complete story through ONLY epic poetry" - the sort of thng I had to get out of my system before trying to write anything decent...my "prog rock" phase, you honour, guilty as charged...

 

[Demesnedenoir]

I use poetic writing, but I don’t consider it poetry, in the openings of many chapters. I read so much poetry while studying English Lit that I have a peculiar aversion to reading poetry these days, but for whatever reason, I meander into writing bits and pieces from the POV of a character stricken by a certain madness. The notion of an epic poem as backstory has occurred to me, but then my wits return and I keep on writing my novels, heh heh.

 

[S J Lee]

Just for laughs!!! Here is an example of how I use "epic poetry" in my stuff. No, this is NOT an opener, you won't know who is who or what is happening...but what the hey, here is what it looks like. I double dare you guys to slap up an example of your own --> how do YOU use "poetry" in your stuff?

-------------------------------

Azulaea put one knee on the planks and placed her hands in front of her, palms down, like a sprinter ready for the signal. She hoped not to slip when she raised her head over the barricade. One quick glance, she told herself.

A strong hand grabbed the scruff of her neck and held her down, in place. Azulaea turned her head.

“Don't even think of ...” said Reggan, who then winced at something and stopped talking. Azulaea stared at the blue eyes set in the square face above Reggans' black beard, then at the dent in his breastplate which Azulaea decided didn't impress her, though Red and Edge had not reproached Reggan for sitting the fight out. Edge. My father.

“Let me go, Karl Reggan.”

“ Your father gave his all . . . for your freedom. All so you can take . . . a crossbow bolt . . . in your face?”

She snarled and struggled, but Reggan did not let go. “We follow the plan. Wait for dark . . . then climb the mudslide blocking our road. Be . . . over it before dawn.”

She tried being polite. “Let me go, sir. They've stopped shooting. I just want one glimpse.”

“They might . . . be aiming crossbows as we speak. Waiting.”

“Unlikely, I think.”

“But possible.”

She struggled, but his grip was iron. She kicked him, to no effect. Next, she tried hurtful words. “Let me go. Coward.”

That got a rise out of him. “A horse kicked my breastplate, broke my ribs. You think . . . I didn't want to fight alongside them? You're lucky . . .” He gasped, then paused.

“Lucky? I've lost my father. Lucky how?” She slapped the dent in his cuirass, but he still held her. Her padded vest made a tearing sound as she wriggled.

“Lucky . . . you were a woman when you said that,” he replied, and hissed either in anger or pain.

“Oh? When Zrehdane stops crying, he'll call you the same. I'll make sure he does.” She let her anger rise.

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. And then a new sound came to her ears.

It was her mother, chanting, half-singing, poetry of old Kúlantass. Azulaea knew the words well, but did not know the tune. Was Arielka improvising? The dialect had been ancient even when Kúlantass fell, and few still spoke it; Azulaea was sure her mother sang for her alone. Arielka's voice bounced off the stone of the gorge and rebounded, not dispersed or distorted, but somehow stronger. It was the song of Hyázintiir to his widowed sister, telling her not to hate herself for not having been with her husband and his companions when they fell. Hyázintiir, a helpless captive, had seen all, just as Arielka, Terrelask's prisoner, had seen all from the bridge's other side. Live, Daughter, and we will meet again. You will see all then – through my eyes, Azulaea interpreted.



The tale's too great for one alone to say aright

and in the fading of the sun we shall recite

You did not see them fall, but I saw for us both.

You shall be my new tongue - my song - and I the notes

Someday, some way

You'll drink truth from my say

Loss shall dull, but their glory, full, will be our oath.



By the time the voice ceased, the fight had gone out of Azulaea. Reggan's hand relaxed, though it still held her collar.

“What does she say?” the karl asked.

“She says we should concentrate on getting out of here alive. We wait till sunset, then climb over the mudslide when it's dark.”

Reggan let go of her.

She turned to where Zrehdane sat, shaking, and she put her arms around him as he shook. Night was less than an hour away.

 

[Demesnedenoir]

Not quite Epic poetry, heh heh. But, one day this came to me as a little something I posted for readers before the next books come out… Epic Weird Al? This would be sung to Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash… In other words, a little silliness

I hear the hooves a comin’
They’re trottin round the bend
And I ain’t had a moments sleep since I don’t know when
I’m stuck in Illum cavern, and time keeps draggin’ on
But that horse keeps a comin’ down to my dank home.

When I was just a baby my mama told me
“Son, never kill a killer’s lady, don’t play that fool’s game”
But I stabbed a woman in Buzol for a handful of gold.
When I hear my guards screamin, I’ll hang my head and cry.

I bet there's rich folks eating in Endelêun
They're drinkin' Broldun whiskey and betting on the day I die
Well I know what’s a comin’, Solineus will make me bleed
My flesh and bones he’ll be carvin’
And he’ll be smilin’ at me

Well if the fates freed me from this prison
And I could travel back in time
I’d wave to his lady as I sailed safely out to sea
But my bloodied hands are why I have to die
And its a gruesome stain only my death can wash away

 

[Demesnedenoir]

And for something completely different, the intro to Chapter 1 of Dark Cloud Dancing, the book yet to be released.

Slim, slim, slimmer and slime,
brush away the obvious and embrace the sublime,
buried in lime, and buried in time,
reaching for the sky,
but falling through the pupil of your eye.​

—Tomes of the Touched​

 

[Insolent Lad]

since we're doing this now, this was the opening of my fifth Mora novel, Arrows of Heaven:

Over mighty peaks they journeyed,
Marareta and his comrades;
Ever they pursued the sunset!
To the land of the Diwarna,
To the land they knew as home,
Came at last the weary warriors,
Came the hero, Marareta,
There to wed the Mora maiden
Rahaita, his beloved.

I am afraid I sniffled. I remembered Rahaita. I had been there at her death. “Thank you, Ulani,” I said. “That was the perfect ending, wasn't it?”

“The end of every epic is the beginning of another.” There was a sadness in his smile. “But I could not bring myself to compose the one that followed.”

 

[Joseph Chaput]

since we're doing this now, this was the opening of my fifth Mora novel, Arrows of Heaven:

Over mighty peaks they journeyed,
Marareta and his comrades;
Ever they pursued the sunset!
To the land of the Diwarna,
To the land they knew as home,
Came at last the weary warriors,
Came the hero, Marareta,
There to wed the Mora maiden
Rahaita, his beloved.

I am afraid I sniffled. I remembered Rahaita. I had been there at her death. “Thank you, Ulani,” I said. “That was the perfect ending, wasn't it?”

“The end of every epic is the beginning of another.” There was a sadness in his smile. “But I could not bring myself to compose the one that followed.”

Nice, really liked this!

 

[florinevier]

Really epic!!!

 

[Devor]

Writing poetry is literally painful for me. But I've been working on it for Smughitter, as a thing that my fairies sometimes do. Right now I've still got about 10 lines left of a big poem I need to finish. Here's how that one starts:

Oh hope, you're full of lies!
My soul’s in doubt, our heart falls out
As home forever dies

Fálina Cairn, our home in grove and earth
Frolic born, we’ll ever mourn your mirth

After that it's got three stanzas/sections describing the fall of Falina Cairn, and it ends with a similar pattern as the one above.

I also had a cool idea for a Ragnarok setting that certain characters with certain powers were destined for a "poetic death," with the idea that the prose would shift to poetry when it came time for it. But I didn't write any of it.

 

[Joseph Chaput]

Writing poetry is literally painful for me. But I've been working on it for Smughitter, as a thing that my fairies sometimes do. Right now I've still got about 10 lines left of a big poem I need to finish. Here's how that one starts:

Oh hope, you're full of lies!
My soul’s in doubt, our heart falls out
As home forever dies

Fálina Cairn, our home in grove and earth
Frolic born, we’ll ever mourn your mirth

After that it's got three stanzas/sections describing the fall of Falina Cairn, and it ends with a similar pattern as the one above.

I also had a cool idea for a Ragnarok setting that certain characters with certain powers were destined for a "poetic death," with the idea that the prose would shift to poetry when it came time for it. But I didn't write any of it.

I really like that idea of shifting from prose to poetry. And honestly your poem's second part is really moving and great, I love the Falina Cairn, part you should keep at it. You're by far, better than I am.