I Read Therefore I Am discussion
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273. The Battle of Finnsburh: a fragment - Translated by XJ Kennedy
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I first read this fragment of an Anglo Saxon saga (though not in this translation) years ago, and it's haunted me ever since - there's something very haunting about it.
I've read this three times now and liked it better each time. Have you ever read iSir Gawain and the Green Knight the translation I have is a 1998 one by Keith Harrison. It's a lovely, but very long, poem written in the late 1300s. I'd really recommend it.
Just reread my comment and have realised that I really need to expand my vocabulary!
Today's poem is part of a collection called "The Word Exchange : Anglo Saxon Poems in Translation" and the poems are all translated by modern poets.
Yes I read Sir Garwain a few years ago and really liked it -I'd like to see if I can find a translation of this by a poet rather than an expert in Anglo Saxon too.
Today's poem is part of a collection called "The Word Exchange : Anglo Saxon Poems in Translation" and the poems are all translated by modern poets.
Yes I read Sir Garwain a few years ago and really liked it -I'd like to see if I can find a translation of this by a poet rather than an expert in Anglo Saxon too.
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I've been rummaging through my books for another version but have only got Kevin Crossley-Holland's translation and I think I prefer this one.
Have you guys read Tolkien's version of Sir Gawain? It's not the most scholarly version out there but if I'm just reading for pleasure then it's my absolute favourite.
Also have you read The Battle of Maldon? It's another incomplete one but great heroic poem about the battle against the Vikings at Maldon in 991.
Ooh - like the sound of the Tolkien - yes I have read the Battle of Maldon
- Here is a translation from the same book
The Battle of Maldon - Translated by David Slavitt
The bold one, Byrhtnoth, raised up his weapon
and set his shield to stride toward a soldier,
the earl to the churl and each meaning evil.
That seaman marauder hurled his southern spear
and wounded was the warriors’ lord.
Byrhtnoth banged the shaft, shaking it free
and stabbed with the spear-point its Viking owner,
giving him back the bite of its wound.
Skillful was Byrhtnoth and he struck with his lance,
hitting the Viking and piercing his-neck
and in that quick thrust reaching his life.
He turned to another and hurled at this Viking
that lance that landed and pierced through his chain mail
the hard point hitting his heart.
Elated, the earl, the valiant victor,
laughed aloud and gave thanks to his God.
for the work of the day, the deitys grant.
But one Viking then loosed from his hand
a javelin striking Aethelred’s noble thane,
Byrhtnoth, and biting into his body.
Hard by his side a fledgling fighter,
Wulfstane’s son the young Wulfmaer
drew from his lord the bloodied spear
and flung it forward back at that Viking
to get him for getting the lad’s -lord.
This strike was successful and the Viking lay down dying.
Came then another Viking marauder
up to the earl to harvest rich pickings,
rings and armor and patterned sword.
But Byrhtnoth could draw his blade from its scabbard
to strike at that sailor and would have, but one
of the cutthroat’s comrades hit the earl’s arm
and rendered it useless. His biting blade then
fell to the earth, for Byrhtnoth could no more
hold the weapon’s weight. Still, he could speak,
that white-haired war man, to encourage his people
and urge them onward. His legs were unsteady
and footing uncertain, as the hero to heaven
spoke his last words: “I give you my thanks,
O King of Kings, for all my achievements
in this life I have lived. Now, my king Maker,
I ask a last favor, that you may admit me
into your high domain. Lord of the Angels,
grant peaceful passage and hear my petition
that the demons of hell not snare my spirit.”
Then heathen men hacked him and his two companions,
Ælfnoth and Wulfmaer who had stood beside him
and, along with their lord, they too gave their lives.
- Here is a translation from the same book
The Battle of Maldon - Translated by David Slavitt
The bold one, Byrhtnoth, raised up his weapon
and set his shield to stride toward a soldier,
the earl to the churl and each meaning evil.
That seaman marauder hurled his southern spear
and wounded was the warriors’ lord.
Byrhtnoth banged the shaft, shaking it free
and stabbed with the spear-point its Viking owner,
giving him back the bite of its wound.
Skillful was Byrhtnoth and he struck with his lance,
hitting the Viking and piercing his-neck
and in that quick thrust reaching his life.
He turned to another and hurled at this Viking
that lance that landed and pierced through his chain mail
the hard point hitting his heart.
Elated, the earl, the valiant victor,
laughed aloud and gave thanks to his God.
for the work of the day, the deitys grant.
But one Viking then loosed from his hand
a javelin striking Aethelred’s noble thane,
Byrhtnoth, and biting into his body.
Hard by his side a fledgling fighter,
Wulfstane’s son the young Wulfmaer
drew from his lord the bloodied spear
and flung it forward back at that Viking
to get him for getting the lad’s -lord.
This strike was successful and the Viking lay down dying.
Came then another Viking marauder
up to the earl to harvest rich pickings,
rings and armor and patterned sword.
But Byrhtnoth could draw his blade from its scabbard
to strike at that sailor and would have, but one
of the cutthroat’s comrades hit the earl’s arm
and rendered it useless. His biting blade then
fell to the earth, for Byrhtnoth could no more
hold the weapon’s weight. Still, he could speak,
that white-haired war man, to encourage his people
and urge them onward. His legs were unsteady
and footing uncertain, as the hero to heaven
spoke his last words: “I give you my thanks,
O King of Kings, for all my achievements
in this life I have lived. Now, my king Maker,
I ask a last favor, that you may admit me
into your high domain. Lord of the Angels,
grant peaceful passage and hear my petition
that the demons of hell not snare my spirit.”
Then heathen men hacked him and his two companions,
Ælfnoth and Wulfmaer who had stood beside him
and, along with their lord, they too gave their lives.
Haven't read either of these but I will track them down!
…”Are this hall’s gables burning?”
Then King Hnaef answered, though callow in battle,
“That glow is not dawn, nor a dragon in flight,
nor are this hall’s horns, its high gables burning.
It’s our foes in bright armor preparing attack
Birds shall scream, gray wolf howl, and war’s wooden spears rattle,
shield shall stand up to shaft. Now behold: the moon shines
as it wanders through clouds. Deadly deeds are to follow
from this host who hate us. Hard struggle impends,
Awake! Take up linden-wood shields, my good soldiers!
Now muster your bravery, gird up your minds
to be dauntless today at the forefront of battle.”
Then up rose those thanes clad in gold, strapped on sword-belts.
great Eaha and Sigeferth strode to the door
with drawn swords, to the other door Ordlaf and Guthlaf
did spring, and with Hengest himself close behind.
At the sight of their foes Guthere pled with Garulf,
“Do not rush to the fore in the very first onslaught
on the doors of the hall at the cost of your life,
from which powerful Sigeferth means to undo you.”
Yet Garulf the gallant to the hall-holders boldly
called out his demand, “What man holds the door?”
“I am Sigeferth,” said he, “a prince of the Secgan,
a wandering warrior known the world wide
for my many fierce combats. Your fate now awaits you,
my hand shall deliver whatever you want.”
Then in the hall burst clash and clatter of battle,
with shields shaped like ships that a warrior wields.
The sound of swords clanging shook planks in the floor.
Then at the door Garulf was first man to fall,
Garulf, son of Guthlaf, the foremost of Frisians
died surrounded by good men while dark overheard
you would think from their flash Finnsburh were all aflame.
I have never heard tell of warriors more worthy
than that band sixty strong who so bravely bore
war’s brunt, nor of any who so well repaid
those cups of sweet mead Hnaef gave to his guards.
For five days they fought, not a man of them toppled
but fearless, united, held fast at the doors.
Then one warrior, wounded, withdrew to the sidelines,
his armor in tatters, breastplate split apart,
his helmet impaled. And the folk’s stout defender
asked that weary warrior how the wounded fared
and which of the young men…
Translated by X J Kennedy.