Yggdrasil

We are in the business of
continental drifts,
but, not content to watch,
we plot the opposite
of avalanche,
planting pebbles to stem
destruction.

We start with the unthinkable:
remodelling the seat of self;
a deft flick of the wrist,
and a spoonful of matter
steeped in patience,
serving up an armful of new years.

We bury rhizomes
to glow deep in
scorched earth,
birthing coruscant blossoms
green as holidays,
staining steady hands, and
newly nimble fingers.

Time ticks over glass arrays.
Dazed with vistas,
we dream the next step,
next and next,
stack stones to bridge the darkness,
sparks trembling to coalesce.

And root and branch
dance, incandescent,
reach, clutch,
breach the impossible to hold hands,
bold and ready
for a coming dawn.

This poem was written to answer a commission from Pint of Science – produce a poem to match the research work of Professor Roger Barker and his team, studying the effects of, and creating novel therapies for, Huntington’s and Parkinson’s disease. He talks about his work with great passion and eloquence, summoning up for me images of branching matter and that excursion along dendrites taking me to the Norse myth of the World Tree – Yggdrasil, which spans all the realms, sheltering and connecting the lifespark of sentient beings in its generous boughs. Its roots and branches reach everywhere, and are under constant attack (in fact, the more research I did into Yggdrasil, the more fitting it was for this topic). It being one of which I’m particularly proud, this piece finds its home in the Philosophy & Mysticism section of Spectral.

The eagle-eyed (let’s assume this pun is intended!) among you will spot a certain similarity to the tree used in the previous illustration for the empty swing of Imparted. That is because… it is. And boy, did this whole excursion cause me some fun issues…!

Honestly? I’m not convinced this picture is finished (having already gone through so many iterations). And not just because I didn’t manage to cram everything connected with the myth into this picture, either. However, we have a tree. And to the left: Muspelheim, home of Surtr and the fire demons who will consume the earth at Ragnarök (image inspired by Icelandic volcanoes). And to the right: Jötunheimr, home of the Jötnar and their many and varied kin, who will also do their best to consume the earth at Ragnarok (image inspired by Norwegian vistas). Below, Hel, the cold banqueting place of the quiet dead, presided over by Hel. The waters of fate and wisdom bubble up and run toward the viewer from where the fire and ice meet, its guardians not currently visible…

Ratatoskr, inveterate gossip, perches in the branches, along with the deer whose names I've forgotten, and Níðhöggr, looking like an adder who’s had green paint spilled on him, gnaws one of the roots as they nibble the leaves. Hugin and Muninn, ravens of thought and memory, appear, bringing news; the unnamed eagle perches at the top, overseeing it all, beneath the neon lights of the aurorae and the long-gone lights of stars.

And my hand is cramped to Hel and back, mostly thanks to the foliage, but I think this piece is as done as it’s going to get. Is it overinvolved? Possibly. Did I have enormous fun researching volcanoes and glacial ranges, and impress myself with how quickly I can depict such things these days? Definitely. Do I wish I’d started this one a lot longer ago? You betcha.