Beowulf (Bilingual Edition)

by Seamus Heaney

  I called them “big voiced” because when the men of the family spoke, the words they uttered came across with a weighty distinctness, phonetic units as separate and defined as delph platters displayed on a dresser shelf. A simple sentence such as “We cut the corn to-day” took on immense dignity when one of the Scullions spoke it. They had a kind of Native American solemnity of utterance, as if they were announcing verdicts rather than making small talk. And when I came to ask myself how I wanted Beowulf to sound in my version, I realized I wanted it to be speakable by one of those relatives. I therefore tried to frame the famous opening lines in cadences that would have suited their voices, but that still echoed with the sound and sense of the Anglo-Saxon:

  Hwaet wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum

  þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon,

  hū ðā æpelingas ellen fremedon.

  Conventional renderings of hwaet, the first word of the poem, tend towards the archaic literary, with “lo” and “hark” and “behold” and “attend” and—more colloquially—“listen” being some of the solutions offered previously. But in Hiberno-English Scullionspeak, the particle “so” came naturally to the rescue, because in that idiom “so” operates as an expression which obliterates all previous discourse and narrative, and at the same time functions as an exclamation calling for immediate attention. So, “so” it was:

  So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by

  and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.

  We have heard of those princes’ heroic campaigns.

  I came to the task of translating Beowulf with a prejudice in favour of forthright delivery. I remembered the voice of the poem as being attractively direct, even though the diction was ornate and the narrative method at times oblique. What I had always loved was a kind of foursquareness about the utterance, a feeling of living inside a constantly indicative mood, in the presence of an understanding that assumes you share an awareness of the perilous nature of life and are yet capable of seeing it steadily and, when necessary, sternly. There is an undeluded quality about the Beowulf poet’s sense of the world which gives his lines immense emotional credibility and allows him to make general observations about life which are far too grounded in experience and reticence to be called “moralizing.” These so-called “gnomic” parts of the poem have the cadence and force of earned wisdom, and their combination of cogency and verity was again something that I could remember from the speech I heard as a youngster in the Scullion kitchen. When I translate lines 24–25 as “Behaviour that’s admired / is the path to power among people everywhere,” I am attending as much to the grain of my original vernacular as to the content of the Anglo-Saxon lines. But then the evidence suggests that this middle ground between oral tradition and the demands of written practice was also the ground occupied by the Beowulf poet. The style of the poem is hospitable to the kind of formulaic phrases which are the stock-in-trade of oral bards, and yet it is marked too by the self-consciousness of an artist convinced that “we must labour to be beautiful.”

  In one area, my own labours have been less than thorough-going. I have not followed the strict metrical rules that bound the Anglo-Saxon scop. I have been guided by the fundamental pattern of four stresses to the line, but I allow myself several transgressions. For example, I don’t always employ alliteration, and sometimes I alliterate only in one half of the line. When these breaches occur, it is because I prefer to let the natural “sound of sense” prevail over the demands of the convention: I have been reluctant to force an artificial shape or an unusual word choice just for the sake of correctness.

  In general, the alliteration varies from the shadowy to the substantial, from the properly to the improperly distributed. Substantial and proper are such lines as

  The fórtunes of wár fávoured Hróthgar (l. 64)

  the híghest in the land, would lénd advíce (l. 172)

  and fínd friéndship in the Fáther’s embráce (l. 188).

  Here the caesura is definite, there are two stresses in each half of the line, and the first stressed syllable of the second half alliterates with the first or the second or both of the stressed syllables in the first half. The main deviation from this is one which other translators have allowed themselves—the freedom, that is, to alliterate on the fourth stressed syllable, a practice which breaks the rule but which nevertheless does bind the line together:

  We have héard of those prínces’ heróic campáigns (l. 3)

  and he cróssed óver into the Lórd’s kéeping (l. 27).

  In the course of the translation, such deviations, distortions, syncopations, and extensions do occur; what I was after first and foremost was a narrative line that sounded as if it meant business, and I was prepared to sacrifice other things in pursuit of this directness of utterance.

  The appositional nature of the Old English syntax, for example, is somewhat slighted here, as is the Beowulf poet’s resourcefulness with synonyms and (to a lesser extent) his genius for compound-making, kennings, and all sorts of variation. Usually—as at line 1209, where I render ȳða ful as “frothing wave-vat,” and line 1523, where beado-lēoma becomes “battle-torch”—I try to match the poet’s analogy-seeking habit at its most original; and I use all the common coinages for the lord of the nation, variously referred to as “ring-giver,” “treasure-giver,” “his people’s shield” or “shepherd” or “helmet.” I have been less faithful, however, to the way the poet rings the changes when it comes to compounds meaning a sword or a spear or a battle or any bloody encounter with foes. Old English abounds in vigorous and evocative and specifically poetic words for these things, but I have tended to follow modern usage and in the main have called a sword a sword.

  There was one area, however, where a certain strangeness in the diction came naturally. In those instances where a local Ulster word seemed either poetically or historically right, I felt free to use it. For example, at lines 324 and 2988 I use the word “graith” for “harness” and at 3026 “hoked” for “rooted about” because the local term seemed in each case to have special body and force. Then, for reasons of historical suggestiveness, I have in several instances used the word “bawn” to refer to Hrothgar’s hall. In Elizabethan English, bawn (from the Irish bó-dhún, a fort for cattle) referred specifically to the fortified dwellings which the English planters built in Ireland to keep the dispossessed natives at bay, so it seemed the proper term to apply to the embattled keep where Hrothgar waits and watches. Indeed, every time I read the lovely interlude that tells of the minstrel singing in Heorot just before the first attacks of Grendel, I cannot help thinking of Edmund Spenser in Kilcolman Castle, reading the early cantos of The Faerie Queene to Sir Walter Raleigh, just before the Irish burned the castle and drove Spenser out of Munster back to the Elizabethan court. Putting a bawn into Beowulf seems one way for an Irish poet to come to terms with that complex history of conquest and colony, absorption and resistance, integrity and antagonism, a history which has to be clearly acknowledged by all concerned in order to render it ever more “willable forward / Again and again and again.”

  S.H.

  A Note on Names

  Old English, like Modern German, contained many compound words, most of which have been lost in Modern English. Most of the names in Beowulf are compounds. Hrothgar is a combination of words meaning “glory” and “spear” the name of his older brother, Heorogar, comes from “army” and “spear” Hrothgar’s sons Hrethric and Hrothmund contain the first elements of their father’s name combined, respectively, with ric (kingdom, empire, Modern German Reich) and mund (hand, protection). As in the case of the Danish dynasty, family names often alliterate. Masculine names of the warrior class have military associations. The importance of family and the demands of alliteration frequently lead to the designation of characters by formulas identifying them in terms of relationships. Thus Beowulf is referred to as “son of Ecgtheow” or “kinsman of Hygelac” (his uncle and lord).

  The Old English spelling
s of names are mostly preserved in the translation. A few rules of pronunciation are worth keeping in mind. Initial H before r was sounded, and so Hrothgar’s name alliterates with that of his brother Heorogar. The combination cg has the value of dg in words like “edge.” The first element in the name of Beowulf’s father “Ecgtheow” is the same word as “edge,” and, by the figure of speech called synecdoche (a part of something stands for the whole), ecg stands for sword and Ecgtheow means “sword-servant.”

  Alfred David

  Old English

  Hwæt wē Gār-Dena in geār-dagum

  þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon,

  hū ðā æþelingas ellen fremedon.

  Oft Scyld Scēfing sceaþena þrēatum,

  monegum mǣgþum meodo-setla oftēah;

  egsode Eorle, syððan ǣrest wearð

  fēasceaft funden; hē þæs frōfre gebād:

  wēox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum þāh,

  oðþæt him ǣghwylc þāra ymb-sittendra

  10

  ofer hron-rāde hȳran scolde,

  gomban gyldan: þæt wæs gōd cyning!

  Đǣm eafera wæs æfter cenned

  geong in geardum, þone God sende

  folce tō frōfre; fyren-ðearfe ongeat,

  þæt hīe ǣr drugon aldor-lēase

  lange hwīle; him þæs Līf-frēa,

  wuldres Wealdend, worold-āre forgeaf;

  Bēowulf wæs brēme —blæd wīde sprang—

  Scyldes eafera, Scede-landum in.

  20

  Swā sceal geong guma gōde gewyrcean,

  fromum feoh-giftum on fæder bearme,

  þæt hine on ylde eft gewunigen

  wil-gesīþas, þonne wīg cume,

  lēode gelǣsten; lof-dǣdum sceal

  in mǣgþa gehwære man geþēon.

  Him ðā Scyld gewāt tō gescæp-hwīle,

  fela-hrōr, fēran on Frēan wǣre.

  Hī hyne þā ætbǣron tō brimes faroðe,

  swǣse gesīþas, swā hē selfa bæd,

  30

  þenden wordum wēold wine Scyldinga,

  lēof land-fruma lange āhte.

  Þǣr æt hȳðe stōd hringed-stefna,

  īsig ond ūt-fūs, æþelinges fær;

  ālēdon þā lēofne þēoden,

  bēaga bryttan on bearm scipes,

  mǣrne be mæste; þǣr wæs mādma fela

  of feor-wegum, frætwa, gelǣded.

  Ne hȳrde ic cȳmlīcor cēol gegyrwan

  hilde-wǣpnum ond heaðo-wǣdum,

  40

  billum ond byrnum; him on bearme læg

  mādma mænigo, þā him mid scoldon

  on flōdes ǣht feor gewītan.

  Nalæs hī hine lǣssan lācum tēodan,

  þēod-gestrēonum, þon þā dydon,

  þe hine æt frumsceafte forð onsendon

  ǣnne ofer ȳðe umbor-wesende.

  Þā gȳt hī him āsetton segend gyldenne

  hēah ofer hēafod, lēton holm beran,

  gēafon on gār-secg; him wæs geōmor sefa,

  50

  murnende mōd. Men ne cunnon

  secgan tō sōðe, sele-rǣdende,

  hæleð under heofenum, hwā þǣm hlæste onfēng.

  Đā wæs on burgum Bēowulf Scyldinga,

  lēof lēod-cyning, longe þrāge

  folcum gefrǣge; fæder ellor hwearf,

  aldor of earde. Oþþæt him eft onwōc

  hēah Healfdene; hēold, þenden lifde,

  gamol ond gūð-rēouw, glæde Scyldingas.

  Đǣm fēower bearn forð-gerīmed

  60

  in worold wōcun: weoroda rǣswan,

  Heorogār, ond Hrōðgār ond Hālga til;

  hȳrde ic þæt . . . . . wæs Onelan cwēn,

  Heaðo-Scilfingas heals-gebedda.

  Þā wæs Hrōðgāre here-spēd gyfen,

  wīges weorð-mynd, þæt him his wine-māgas

  georne hȳrdon, oððþæt sēo geogoð gewēox

  mago-driht micel. Him on mōd be-arn

  þæt heal-reced hātan wolde,

  medo-ærn micel men gewyrcean,

  70

  þonne yldo bearn ǣfre gefrūnon,

  ond þǣr on innan eall gedǣlan

  geongum ond ealdum, swylc him God sealde,

  būton folc-scare ond feorum gumena.

  Đā ic wīde gefrægn weorc gebannan

  manigre mǣgþe geond þisne middan-geard,

  folc-stede frætwan. Him on fyrste gelomp,

  ǣdre mid yldum, þæt hit wearð eal-gearo,

  heal-ærna mǣst; scōp him Heort naman,

  sē þe his wordes geweald wīde hæfde.

  80

  Hē bēot ne ālēh, bēagas dǣlde,

  sinc æt symle. Sele hlīfade

  hēah ond horn-gēap, heaðo-wylma bād,

  lāðan līges; ne wæs hit lenge þā gēn,

  þæt se ecg-hete āþum-swerian

  æfter wæl-nīðe wæcnan scolde.

  Đa se ellen-gǣst earfoðlīce

  þrāge geþolode, sē þe in þȳstrum bād,

  þæt hē dōgora gehwām drēam gehȳrde

  hlūdne in healle; þǣr wæs hearpan swēg,

  90

  swutol sang scopes. Sægde sē þe cūþe

  frumsceaft fīra feorran reccan,

  cwæð þæt se Ælmihtiga eorðan worhte,

  wlite-beorhtne wang, swā wæter bebūgeð:

  gesette sige-hrēþig sunnan ond mōnan

  lēoman tō lēohte land-būendum,

  ond gefrætwade foldan scēatas

  leomum ond lēafum; līf ēac gesceōp

  cynna gehwylcum, þāra ðe cwice hwyrfaþ.

  Swā ðā driht-guman drēamum lifdon,

  100

  ēadiglīce, oððæt ān ongan

  fyrene fremman fēond on helle.

  Wæs se grimma gæst Grendel hāten,

  mǣre mearc-stapa, sē þe mōras hēold,

  fen ond fæsten; fīfel-cynnes eard

  won-sǣlī wer weardode hwīle,

  siþðan him Scyppend forscrifen hæfde

  in Caines cynne— þone cwealm gewræc

  ēce Drihten, þæs þe hē Ābel slōg.

  Ne gefeah hē þǣre fǣhðe, ac hē hine feor forwræc,

  110

  Metod for þȳ māne, man-cynne fram.

  Þanon untȳdras ealle onwōcon,

  eotenas ond ylfe ond orcnēas,

  swylce gīgantas, þā wið Gode wunnon

  lange þrāge; hē him ðæs lēan forgeald.

  Gewāt ðā nēosian, syþðan niht becōm,

  hēan hūses, hū hit Hring-Dene

  æfter bēor-þege gebūn hæfdon;

  fand þā ðǣr inne æþelinga gedriht

  swefan æfter symble— sorge ne cūðon,

  120

  wonsceaft wera. Wiht unhǣlo,

  grim ond grǣdig, gearo sōna wæs,