Conversation with the Raven

Poem by Robin Helweg-Larsen

‘You’ve freed me, saved my life,’ it croaked. ‘I will grant you

three wishes. Or answers to three questions.

But not, you know…”

‘Not what?’ I asked.

‘Not something I can’t answer, couldn’t do.

I’m just a raven, eh? That’s one.”

Well, that gave pause.

I studied “just a raven”—a big bird,

and patient, not unfriendly, but, yes, weird.

I almost said, Tell me your name

or Tell me what you’re called,

but different people might call it different things.

So I said, “Tell me all the names you’re called.”

“Raven,” it said, “Thief, Liar, Thing of Evil,

Crow, Bird, Corvus, Corvax, Devil,

Murderer, Killer, Wolf-bird, Robber, Wretch,”

a litany of names, English and French,

Latin and languages I know not what,

and finally it yielded softly, last,

“Hugin.”

Hugin specifically, and not Muninn,

a real name, not Memory, but Thought,

I nearly blurted out You’re Odin’s bird!,

but luckily I held still, and it croaked

“That’s two.”

“Tell me,” I said, “each night, something that you

will tell All-Father Odin in the dawn.”

“That’s three,” it cawed and flew away.

Since then my dreams—when I remember them—

are vastly deeper, richer than before.