My deere rederes,
Of late, Ich have been up y-swept into the worlde of literarie celebritee. Syn that Wm. Caxton ys publisshinge my book
, he hath connectid me wyth a PR ("Parchement Relaciouns") agencie, the which hath sought to place my sumwhat wyde figure in al locaciouns that may be of assistaunce in sellinge my book of blog. Philippa, for oones, hath been swept up wyth deepest delight at my writinge, and hath usid thys as an excuse to buy al maner gownes and jewelerie. She hath alredy incurred two tickets for sumptuarye lawe violaciouns.
We did make the rounde of awardes-shewes and festivals. Philippa and Ich did trede of the carpet rouge at the Aureate Spheres, the which shewe ys run by astrologers who given awardes based on the gret planetes of the skye. Ich was delited to meet the wynneres of "Leest Mercurial Career" and "Most Jovial Performance in a Revenge Tragedie" at the apres-partyes. And eek we did goon unto the Aesgars, the which are the moost notable alliteratif awardes shewe, and include categories swich as "Moost Synonyms For Warrior Used in Oon Fitt," "Longest Huntinge Scene," and "Best Use of Traditionally Polytheistic Themes in a Christian Setting."
Also, Mayster Caxton hath introducid me to othir writeres in the literarye world. Ich feele rathir sillye to be in swich company, for al Ich kan speke of is enrollinge custoumes accountez, pleying video games, and Boethius. But nevirtheless sum of the writeres are good folk who tolerate my churlishnesse and lak of hipenesse, and Ich am gretely plesid to be of their felaweshep. Ich am nowe a card-carryinge member of the "Domesday Group." Often on nightes Ich go to chat about apocalyptic spiritualitee, non-linear narratifs, and county organisacioun with Virginia Wulfstan and the E. M. the Forester.
Al of this maketh me feele lyk a Salamander out of fyre, but at leest exposure to the literarye world hath given me sum advantages. For oon ensaumple, deere rederes, Ich did mencioun that Ich wisshed to make sum poost of motheres daye for my blog and yet Ich had no thyng to seye. At which poynt, Virginia Wulfstan did russhe about wyth gret fervor and then yive me a scrap of parchemen that sche had yn the librarie of her hous. Sche was going to publisshe it herself, but sche seyde that Ich koud put it out upon my blogge.
So in reverence and honour of this daye of motheres, Ich yive unto yow, good rederes, thys smal, ancient poem of elder dayes, the which was composid by a poet named Grendel:
Deare thankes to thee Modor for derke comfortes of childhood;
The meere ever merry thogh of money we had litel.
Aye a body on our bord, whos neck thou brokest thyself,
Thogh it ment walking in wyld wynter for thee
To kill a hapless warrior unhelped by his helm.
From neighbors nasty thou didst protect me,
And other demon-childer thou donkedst on the hede
Whan thei made fun of my funkyie-lookinge fingers,
The hard hand spurs that Ic of Dad’s DNA had.
Whanne Ic waxed had VI yeeres and wanted a partye,
You hyred the huge serpents who hover yn the lake –
With their grim jaws thei gave flight to the guests
(Foolish Dane childer who, cake-lured, dyede):
With wynsome joye Ic watched that riot of razor-teeth.
No partye for a prince koud boaste swich a pettinge zoo,
Or swich fearsome pinatas that in candyes place heeld payne!
Ic would liefer lyve with thee in the layres of darkness
And step the steep borders in the silent hills
Than dwell in the dearest hall that men deck
Wyth streamers and candles on Christesmasse tyde.
Wylde Geats koud nat get me to go oon step thee-from!
Merry Modors-daye, Modor, from Grendel, thy sone.
Happye Motheres Daye to Alle,