I’ve chosen the poem The Njuggle from Stephanie’s pamphlet. A definition in the back of the book tells me that a Njuggle is a ‘demon water horse or pony found in Shetland and Orkney folklore’. I love the story in this poem. The language that Stephanie uses, like the word ‘scry’ in the second line, seems to fit with that folklore feel and that man’s face rising in the mirror in the third line reminds me of Sylvia Plath’s poem ‘Mirror’ when her face ‘rises towards her like a terrible fish’. One of the things I love about this poem are the many wonderful words used to describe movement in it. The piebald pony ‘ambled up’. His muscles ‘shivered like water in the wind’. When the Njuggle turns into water he ‘poured through my arms’.
I also love the idea of it – I’ve not heard of an Njuggle before, but the use of transformation in poetry is one I’m interested in at the minute and the story of an animal carrying off a human woman is an old and time-tested story. The other thing to point out, which I’m sure you will have noticed is the wonderfully tight structure that holds this poem together. It is very carefully put together. The first and the third line of each three line stanza rhyme and many of the second lines of each stanza rhyme as well.
I’ve been reading so much Ovid recently, I can’t help thinking of it when I read this poem. Stanza 4 reminds me of Europa when she is carried off by Jove in the form of a bull, and in the last complete stanza, when the Njuggle turns into water, it reminds me of the women in Ovid’s Metamorphoses who were turned into water to escape the unwanted attentions of one of the gods.
Thank you to Stephanie for letting me use this poem and do feel free to comment underneath, if you feel so moved.
The Njuggle – Stephanie Green
At midnight on Hallowe’en, my back to the moon,
I looked in the mirror to scry my lover-to-be.
His face rose like a drowned man’s.
I looked in the mirror to scry my lover-to-be.
His face rose like a drowned man’s.
At twilight I walked by the lochan in the hills
where the whaap’s cry wavers from the reeds.
A piebald pony ambled up. His nostrils
where the whaap’s cry wavers from the reeds.
A piebald pony ambled up. His nostrils
pulsed as he blew into my hand.
Clicking my tongue, I patted his flanks
and his muscles shivered like water in the wind.
Clicking my tongue, I patted his flanks
and his muscles shivered like water in the wind.
When he lowered his head, I knew I must mount.
I rode him through the night, gripping his back
between my thighs till I slid on our sweat
I rode him through the night, gripping his back
between my thighs till I slid on our sweat
and he rolled me into cold, green fire.
I clung to his mane blooming with algae,
his shoulders encrusted with mussels and mire.
I clung to his mane blooming with algae,
his shoulders encrusted with mussels and mire.
His hooves softened and opened into a fan
of fingers and toes. Belly flattening, spine
whip-lashing, he bucked and shrank into a man.
of fingers and toes. Belly flattening, spine
whip-lashing, he bucked and shrank into a man.
As the dark fled, he turned to plunge me under
but dawn broke and he poured through my arms.
I was alone, calling, calling with no answer,
but dawn broke and he poured through my arms.
I was alone, calling, calling with no answer,
only the widening circles on the loch.
https://kimmoorepoet.wordpress.com/2015/05/03/sunday-poem-stephanie-green/
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