[Turambar]

Bethberry --

Interesting thread. I didn't know (among many other things on this page) that all the stressed syllables had to be alliterated.

I love the Seamus Heaney Beowulf. I have a CD of him reading the whole story, it's great during commutes to work. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

For no good reason other than, I like this poem, here is a similarly alliterative translation from Old English. Actually Pound says, "from the Anglo Saxon" - that would be different I suppose? (Totally fearless about showing my ignorance. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img])

May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Known on my keel many a care's hold,
And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent
Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head
While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,
My feet were by frost benumbed.
Chill its chains are; chafing sighs
Hew my heart round and hunger begot
Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not
That he on dry land loveliest liveth,
List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea,
Weathered the winter, wretched outcast
Deprived of my kinsmen;
Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew,
There I heard naught save the harsh sea
And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries,
Did for my games the gannet's clamour,
Sea-fowls, loudness was for me laughter,
The mews' singing all my mead-drink.
. . . .

No man at all going the earth's gait,
But age fares against him, his face paleth,
Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,
Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,
Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,
Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,
Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,
And though he strew the grave with gold,
His born brothers, their buried bodies
Be an unlikely treasure hoard.

(Edited to remove 50 lines or so. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] )

[ March 03, 2003: Message edited by: Turambar ]