Presentation at East Coast Thing 2024

In just a few weeks, the American Futharch will come to a public heathen event for the first time. That will be the annual East Coast Thing, which is one of the longest-running heathen events in the country. I’ll be presenting a one-hour workshop on the American Futharch there, at some point during the four days of the festival, May 16–19.  (The exact time slot has yet to be determined.)

The deadline for registration and payments is May 10, so you still have some days to register. https://eastcoastthing.org/

Since last year, it’s been in Maryland, not too far from Deep Creek Lake. I’ve been attending the event since the mid 00’s, and it’s always been great.

Here’s the title and abstract for my presentation:

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The American Futharch: Runes That Speak Your Language!

Write exactly like an ancient runemaster! The original Elder Futhark was perfectly fit to its language, Proto-Germanic, enabling PG speakers to write anything they said as a precise, phonetic transcription—the magic of concertizing their speech directly into material forms. By reforming the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, I have created the American Futharch, a new system of 33 runes with that same perfect fit to American English, and the rune names are all from today’s English.

In this workshop, you’ll learn the American Futharch, the path to mastering the mysteries of your speech, and the three-step process to use with it so that you, too, can write exactly like an ancient runemaster. But writing with them is only the beginning: they are built for magic, divination, esotericism, poetry, and more, and some of these topics will be touched on. These Runes can truly Do All The Things! This is the debut public heathen event for the American Futharch, where it will be the “œpandi nam” heard ‘round the world!

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Thor’s Journey to Utgard, Part 2

From last month, I continue the tale of Thor’s Journey to Utgard with another sixteen stanzas, and the poem is halfway finished here with 33 stanzas so far. Next month will bring part 3, in which Thor finally takes part in the games in the hall. Enjoy!

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The companions agreed
and pooled their food.
Long was that day,
with lengthy strides
by Skrýmir on the way;
they scored a night-stead
under an oak tree,
and got on to supper.

The etin slept
but the others tried
to open his knapsack
to eat their dinner.
But tricky it was:
untying the knots
proved impossible,
no piece would loosen.

Then rage-filled Thor
raised his hammer,
and smashed the head

The American English Rune Poem

A proper futhark needs a rune poem. The Anglo-Saxon Futhorc has its Old English Rune Poem (OERP), and the Younger Futhark has the Old Icelandic Rune Poem (OIRP) and the Old Norwegian Rune Poem (ONRP). Undoubtedly, there were rune poems for the Elder Futhark, the original ur-poem being in Proto-Germanic, but those were lost, as it seems no rune-carvings were made of them, at least none that survived. And they would have been way too long for the typical rune carvings of that era anyway!

So on the heels of my recent launch of the American Futharch rune row and its website, I now present the American English Rune Poem (AERP) that goes with it. And like the ancient rune poems, it’s in proper and traditional alliterative meter. In this case, it most closely resembles the meter, style, and didactic purpose of the OERP.

I’ve posted the full poem on my American Futharch website, but here, I’ll give you a taste with three of the stanzas:

Charcoal is chiefly chunky in form,
a fire-essence fashioned by man
from organic matter for gunpowder, art,
filtering, cooking, forging, and more.

Year is the unit that’s yoked to the sun,
the seasonal cycle of sowing and harvest,
the longer measure of our mortal lives,
and a wheel that turns, once for each Yule.

Lake is limited yet living with fish,
unseen on the surface when sailing across.
Its depths hold gold that dragons may guard,
and storms can stir the stillest waters.

You can see all 33 stanzas, from Fee to Ash, on my AERP page on my American Futharch website.

Copyright © 2024 Eirik Westcoat

Introducing the American Futharch and its Website

Want to write exactly like an ancient runemaster? It hasn’t been possible, until now. 

I’ve got some things to say about that, so read on if you like, or you can jump ahead and see the website at https://americanfutharch.com if you prefer. But also read on nonetheless for the what, why, and how.

Ever try writing modern English with runes? Clunky, isn’t it? And that’s regardless of whether you’re using the Elder Futhark or the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc. Inevitably, most such writing attempts inevitably cheat at some point by treating the runes as an alphabet, doing a “what rune can stand for such-and-such letter” kind of approach.

That’s not how the first ancient runemasters wrote in runes. Around the start of the Common Era (or somewhat before), writing in runes meant the Proto-Germanic language with Elder Futhark runes. And these three steps:

Thor’s Journey to Utgard, Part 1

Wassail! For the first time in a long time, I have written a mythological story poem in stanzas of fornyrðislag. As the title indicates, it’s the one where Thor visits a mysterious king named Utgardaloki and attempts some challenges within his hall. It’s the longest mythological story in Snorri’s Edda, by far, which is why I had not rushed to turn it into a poem before! My whole poem is 66 stanzas, and I’ll run it over four months, either 16 or 17 stanzas at a time. Enjoy!

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Thor is mightiest
as Thunderer of the Æsir,
yet the wicked work
he once had faced
of a cunning etin’s
crafty magic.
Give now a hearing
to my noble tale.

Once at one time,
the well-bearded Thor
went driving in his chariot,
drawn by two goats,
along with Loki
on his long journey.
They arrived at evening
at a rustic farm.

Its yeoman offered
the use of his lodgings,
and Sönnung then made

Tradition and Modernity

My third-Sunday poem this month tackles the two seemingly at-odds concepts of its title. Must they be in conflict? Can a synthesis of the two be found? (I’m not going to get into the whole “post-modernism” thing in all this.) In a way, this poem is another of those poems about my poetry and my poetic mission, although less explicitly so than the other entries in that particular personal genre (e.g. A Skaldic Eagle Takes Flight, A Skaldic Eagle in the World, A Skaldic Manifesto.) Enjoy!

Next month, I will start something different. A poem that will span four monthly installments. Yes, a poem. The only two super-long poems I’ve written so far are both in my Eagle’s Mead, but it’s not one of them. I have something else in mind, which is, in a way, a bit overdue, and might have been done long ago, except that it’s going to be rather long. Not as long as those two, however. You’ll see what it is next month. The only hint I’ll give is that is something that would have fit in my Viking Poetry for Heathen Rites, and will go into whatever book I have as a sequel to VPfHR.

The current poem was posted back to my Patreon Blog in April 2023—subscribe there to get these poems months before they appear here, plus much more content that will never appear here. And my Patreon subscribers, of course, already know what that four-installment poem is.

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Tradition and Modernity

A World of Tradition, A World of Modernity:
the one was lost in the waxing of the other.
But dire is the doom that Modernity has wrought:
our Western World is at war with itself.
Conflict is everywhere, a fight that’s existential,

Fire, Ashes, and Rebirth

For starting this new year, 2024, I have a poem, which I finished early last March. It’s about endings and beginnings, about the end of my 2022 & start of 2023. That New Year’s Eve surely ranks as the very worst of my life, as I got some nasty 2nd degree burns, which took a while to recover from. Close friends and people I’ve seen in person were aware of the burns, but if you’re not one of those, this is probably the first time you’re hearing about it. No need for sympathies at this point, I’m all recovered. (Well, the scars will remain, and I’ll never have hair growing on some of those spots, but hey, whatever, such is life.)  And by now, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I would make esoteric and spiritual mediations on the incident and turn them into a poem.

The poem might make it sound like it went worse than it did. Or better than it did. For instance, I don’t really say much about pain in this draft of it. But there was pain. Not so much from the burns, or even the skin graft surgery, but from when my leg and foot were swollen. Anyways, pain from the burns ceased to be an issue back in February 2023.

I’m happy to say that 2024 has started much, much better. I mean, well, obviously, it would be difficult to do worse than the worst New Year’s Eve of my life. Though this New Year’s Eve was a very quiet and relaxed one (and would probably look boring to an observer), it was what I needed. And the first weeks of the new year have gone exceedingly well.

Like last month’s poem “What is Absinthe?” this one will also go in my forthcoming poetry collection. Here’s the poem, enjoy!

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Fire, Ashes, and Rebirth

The phoenix is famous for its fiery death,
for when burnt to ashes, it is reborn anew.
’Tis a great talent, and good to have,
but imagine how painful that method must be.
A mite more than others, such misery I know

What is Absinthe?

This month’s third-Sunday poem is one that I enjoy reciting live, since it was composed to be a “slam poem” in traditional alliterative verse. And it’s in honor of one of my favorite drinks: Absinthe. The poem will probably be appearing in my forthcoming poetry collection that I’ve mentioned every now. Enjoy!

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What is Absinthe?

What is absinthe? An emerald aperitif?
A wormwood wine? A welcome muse?
‘Tis all of these and also more.
It is Wormwood grand, a wizard of herbs,
and awesome Anise of excellent spirit,
and far-famed Fennel, a fortunate plant,

Fire and Ice

This month’s post is one of my alliterative sonnet forms, specifically the shortest nine-line form. Enjoy!

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Fire and Ice

Fire fiercely flickers, and fast it burns,
the purest Energy of a primal world;
for endless action it always yearns,
and racing around, it raged and swirled.
Ice is awe-filled and utterly still,
the purest Form of a primal realm;
’tis silent, focused, and centered will,
stopping motion with a steadying whelm.
Becoming and being: When blended they’re freeing.

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Copyright © 2023 Eirik Westcoat

The Flow of Nine Worlds

This month’s poem is a look at the world tree and its worlds, from metaphysical perspective as to what the worlds are, and what they might mean for us as human beings today.

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The Flow of Nine Worlds

All was Yggdrasil to the ancient Norse,
a fathomless Tree that framed the worlds,
nine in number, into a united whole.
Ginnungagap, a great emptiness,
was there in the beginning and there alone.
Still it’d have stayed, but there started a flow,
the first of flows, which formed the worlds.
Ice upwelling from the outer North
met fire flaming from the farthest South,
and a hailstone was made in the heart of it all,