Beowulf: A New Translation

by Beowulf Poet

Even ghosts must be fitted to fight.

Bro, Fate can fuck you up.”

Hashtag: blessed.

Now his mother was here, carried on a wave of wrath, crazed with sorrow, looking for someone to slay, someone to pay in pain for her heart’s loss.

This is what real men must do, come on, we all know the truth: if you want to win, you have to forget you’re afraid to die.

The Geat was ready to rumble, pissed now.

Below, in Beowulf’s hands, the slaying-sword began to melt like ice,

just as the world thaws in May when the Father unlocks the shackles that’ve chained frost to the climate, and releases hostage heat, uses sway over seasons to uncage 1610 His prisoner, Spring, and let her stumble into the sun.

So beautiful

Beowulf made a speech to end all speeches, that son of Ecgtheow.

Speed was my only advantage, solo as I was. I snatched the sword, striking down the bitch that sought to slay me, scoring the other, too, her son.

a fossil from forgotten days,

Love the alliteration.

golden boy,

Beowulf was the original golden boy.

Beowulf. You’ve bonded two tribes. The Danes and Geats are peace-woven now, despite our harrowing history. We’ve fought fiercely in the past, but now we’re friends forever.

Hrothgar hoping, kingdom-keeper that he is, that sending his precious daughter to fuck his foe’s son will fix the fatherly feud: heal bitter hearts and bandage 2030 weeping wounds.