The Other

Few travellers tarry, marry they are wary:

on this side of the Lake, Breaksprite is the faery.

But we have our inn, thin its thatch and fire meagre.

There is snared-game stew, few for other vittles eager

dare request more than hearty ale, pale pilgrims all

on the spacklestone way, gay their heart before the fall.

 

Came an Other, one winter's night.

Voland's brother, Mastema's mite.

His cloak was feathers, his silver bright,

his skin was darkling, his hair quite white.

 

There to the hearth of The Crookback's Wife,

the stranger came with a smile like a knife.

He asked for music, rose to dance,

with Rapunzel or old Frau Holle perchance.

 

The Reigen ended with a drink for all,

he began telling tales both wild and tall.

 

Each tale ran from one to next,

an absence of ending left them vexed,

Whuppity Stoorie - a bairn for a sow,

Jack killed giants or was it a tree?

The Fowler King, whose time was now

the spinning woman or were there three?

And still he spoke 'til his jaw might crack,

The smoke from the fire grew thick and black.

Kate Crackernuts danced like a dozen princesses

wore her looks like a kestrel's jesses,

With sighs and gasps and eyes that glistened,

the company craned and stretched to listen

and though they listened for a year,

they would not, could not, ever hear

the deeds of goblins, dwarves and elves

reflect their dark and baser selves.

 

He threw off his cloak, broke his silvered mail,

horns grew from his crown, down below - a tail.

He played a pipe, wiped blood from its reed,

he grew tumescent, opalescent with seed.

“Machen wir heute Totentanz, ganz im Feuer ohne Pflicht

Laß wir trinken nur das Blut, Gut werd's geben immer nicht!”

 

Footnotes

 

1. Reigen is a medieval folkdance from Germany

2. Free translation of the German lines at the end:

    Let's do today the Dance of Death, right in the fire, free of duty,

    let us drink nothing but blood, there will nevermore be Good.