Psychedelic Odin

My mother bore me in the Northern Void,
And I am white, but O! my heart is black,
Black as the devil’s, and a soul to avoid,
For southern death cults
Broke me on their rack.
My mother taught me kneeling at her hearth,
Protected inside from each stormy day.
She took me on her lap straight from my bath.
And pointing to the east began to say:
“Look at the Rising Sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away,
Look at the Rising Sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away.
And flowers and trees and beasts and people
Receive comfort in the morning.
Receive comfort in the morning.
Comfort in the morning, joy at noonday.”
My father cursed me, and pursues me still,
He forced me northwards quite against my will,
Up to these outlands, to this icy place,
Creation’s rebels move at quite a pace.
We turned against him and created law,
Created temples when we shifted his stones
Into great circles : we resisted his will,
Became as He was, at our Summits on the hill:
“Look to the setting sun: now God does die,
As his power wanes, so our own power grows,
Let’s not fear the dark, it’s temporary shelter from his stare,
There’s safety in the night from his All Obedience glare,
And flowers and trees and beasts and people
Receive peace until the morning,
Receive peace until the morning,
Receive peace until the morning,
till it all starts again.”
Up here in this far northern world,
We bate the religious kind,
Who genuflect and show respect
To the pious and the Papal robe,
From up here in our northern world
We scan the entire globe,
To weed out every sexist
And each vile homophobe:
Look to the hunter’s moon
Inconstant, ever changing,
Rally around the gatherers’ ground,
In covenant, exchanging,
“Look to the dying rays
Of all our yesterdays,
In heartache and in doubt,
We struggle onwards without praise,
Flowers and trees,
And beasts and people
Receive peace until the morning,
Receive peace until the morning,
Receive peace until the morning,
Till it all starts again.”
I stood on the isthmus between the lochs,
When the thought came into my head:
“Who were the pests that called me here,
When I could have been in bed?”
Then the river nixes below me
From their watery depths did yell
“O, please would you kill all the Gods for us?
Father Odin, do it well.”
“Don’t sent them back to the desert,
For they only will come back again,
And every time the Gods return,
More land from us they’ll gain,
They have no place in Anglia,
Even less in Scandinavia,
Fie, even the Catholics of Ireland
Have no true need of a saviour.
Have no true need of a saviour.
Have no true need of a saviour!”
I stood at the stone and made my vow,
To undertake this task,
“For Mother Earth and all her kin,
I’ll do just as you ask.”
Then the matriarch of the nixy clan,
Swam forward to explain her fears,
A silver-haired old grandmother
Of fourteen-hundred-and-sixty years:
“We beseech you, do despatch them,
And their foul homosocial aim,
For, as Robert Graves will one day assert,
“The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!
The true Fiend Rules in God’s Name!”