Young Beowulf’s Melancholic Tale [ll.2430-2440] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/02/10 by NSCZach

Summary
What is and What’s to Come
All About a Name
Beowulf’s Phrasing
Closing

This part of Beowulf is one that makes the Anglo-Saxon propensity for melancholic reflections painfully obvious. We see the old king sitting on the sea cliffs and talking with his thanes about his life, and how even at an early age he witnessed something tragic – fratricide.

Lines 2430 to 2440 actually present a curious kind of contrast. In the first five lines Beowulf tells of Hreðel’s (Hrethel) warm reception (“mindful as kin,” “sibbe gemunde” (l.2431)).

But then in the second, we get his report of the murder. According to Beowulf (no mean storyteller, he did, after all, boast to Hrothgar about his deeds, clear up the matter of the swim with Breca, and give Hygelac a slightly diverging story about his fights with the Grendels upon his return to Geatland) Hreðel’s eldest son, Herebeald, was shot and killed by the youngest, Hæðcyn (Haethcyn).

Within his account, two things come up that I want to expand upon here. First is one of the brother’s names, and second is Beowulf’s phrasing.

Perhaps a bit of Christian propaganda, Herebeald’s name echoes a similarly killed Aesir in Norse mythology.

This Aesir is the son of Odin, Baldur, god of Light and Spring. For the full story of his death check here. The gist of it is that Baldur’s death is foretold, all of the things on the earth take an oath that they will not hurt Baldur, yet through some of Loki’s trickery and a technicality Hodor is given a sprig of mistletoe that did not take the oath. Hodor fires and Baldur is killed.

This could be some low level Christian propaganda because it points towards fratricide within Nordic myth, thus attempting to show its wrong-headedness. However, Beowulf seems to be defending Hæðcyn.

Here is how he describes Hæðcyn’s act: “he aimed for a misted mark and shot his own kin” (“miste mercelses ond his mǣg ofscēt” (l.2439)). Because this is a whole line and not just a word or phrase, I think that strategic language on the poet/scribe’s part for the sake of form can be ruled out.

Within the phrase itself, all of the words are quite clear. “Miste,” “ond,” “his,” and “ofscēt” are all more or less left unchanged on their way into Modern English. “Mǣg” is less immediately clear, but translates as “kin, family.” Ah, but “mercelses,” that offers some difficulty.

Knowing that the word is a form of “mearc” meaning “mark, sign, standard, border, etc.” means that it’s just a matter of figuring out its case. That it ends in “es” gives solid ground to say that it is indeed in the genitive case, which I expressed by adding in “aim” to clarify a more literal translation.

Such a literal translation is: “mark of mist and his brother shot.” Since it’s mentioned that Hæðcyn has a bow in line 2437 (“bogan”), the logical step that must come between his having it and the mention of a “mark of mist” is that he must have been aiming his bow. Hence the addition.

Though even without this addition, the emphasis that the line’s alliteration puts on “misty” suggests that Hæðcyn was in some sort of daze.

I think that this ambiguity absolves him of the murder, in a way. it certainly makes it more ambiguous, and might even be pointing towards the moral idea that a person cannot be judged on their actions but only on their intent.

Beowulf (and/or the poet/scribe) might just be unclear on what his motivation was, but there is a germ of something more here, I believe. Why? Because it’s coming in at a part of the larger story of Beowulf in which Beowulf is looking for solace in the sorrows of his past.

Perhaps, some might argue that he is trying to forgive himself for killing Grendel whom he somehow viewed as a brother. Or perhaps he is just trying to work out his feelings for the Geats that he will be leaving behind through an analogy with Hreðel and the loss of his son.

Beowulf has seen the Geats come far, but also has seen their youth lose their spark. Whatever the case is, the ambiguity presented here makes it plain that this whole episode is more opaque than evil dragons and troublesome killers.

Next week the story continues, as Beowulf adds more detail to his tale – what becomes of Hæðcyn? Just how melancholic can Anglo-Saxon poetry get? Read on next week to find out!

And if you’ve got any opinions, arguments, or points on or about this week’s section, toss them in the comments.

The Fourth Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Posted on 2012/02/08 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translations
Vocabulary Boost
We’ve Made a Few…Changes
Closing

Well, just as the winter of the song has wrapped up so too does the song itself now wrap up. This entry marks the final verse of the song “Tempus Adest Floridum” (which you can read in its entirety, in Latin, here).

So, here is my translation of verse four:

“The earth is ornamented by flowers and much beauty.
We dignify by death and certainly loving.
Therefore we rejoice in the pleasing time,
We praise and laud the Lord from the bottom of our hearts.”

And the more metrical version:

“The earth is filled by flowers now, and with much beauty,
Death and love we now do dignify absolutely.
Thus in this pleasing season we now rejoice,
Praise and laud the lord with heart’s voice.”

Having already worked through the previous three verses, this one gave me little trouble.

Aside from a few words that I added to my vocabulary (honestis-dignify, maybe root of the verb sense of honour; pectoris-heart, mind, breast~I had to look it up because I had confused it with peccator, meaning sin; and iucundo, meaning pleasing or delightful), there was little that caused difficulty.

But difficulty was still had.

This time it came in the form of the last line of the verse. I know (and confirmed) that the suffix “que” means “and, both” and that sort of thing, but as far as I can tell there’s no other verb present in the sentence. Thus, I just unpacked “laudemus,” the result being “praise and laud.” It might not do for the literal translation, but there is something there for the more liberal version, I think.

Speaking of the liberal version. A few changes were necessary throughout this verse to make the words more or less fit the melody and rhyme scheme. For example, “certainly” was replaced with “absolutely” in line two, and “voice” was subbed in for “depths” in line four. Replacing “time” with “season” is a little less egregious though – the two words are practically synonyms.

If you think otherwise, however, or have something that you want to suggest, correct, or just plain comment on, feel free to do so in the comments below.

Since that wraps up “Tempus Adest Floridum,” next week I’ll post a full, metrical and rhyming version of the song, my own performance of it, and an introduction to the next text. And, of course, that’s another thing that you can toss into a comment: a request for me to translate any text.

Beowulf [ll.2419-2429] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/02/03 by NSCZach

Introduction
Summary
Beowulf’s Greatest Foe?
Beowulf’s Opening Lines
Genæs: Further Analysis
Briefly Autobiographical
Closing

When we last left Beowulf, he was sitting on a cliff, looking out to sea. His mind was heavy with thoughts of his impending death, and this week’s section gives us an idea of what those thoughts were like.

We’re told that Beowulf knows that he would soon “encounter old age,” (“gomelan grētan sceolde,” l. 2421) that it would seek his “hoarded (?) soul,” (“sēcean sāwle hord,” l. 2422). And before Beowulf at last addresses the 12 with him the poet offers the elaborations of Beowulf’s life being rent from his body (“sundur gedǣlan/līf wið līce,” l. 2422-3) and of his “flesh…soon unravel[ing] from his spirit” (“nō þon lange wæs/feorh æþelinges flǣsce bewunden,” l. 2423-4).

Death is definitely violent, but very firmly not the end, and Beowulf knows this well. But all of this is mentioned in the context of Beowulf sitting in “sorrowful mind” (“geōmor sefa,” 2419). There’s definitely a strong sense of the elegy that J.R.R. Tolkien detected in the poem here (see page 14 of this article). And there’s also the sense that Beowulf feels some remorse. But why?

Because his kingdom has been ruined by the dragon and, upon seeing its lair, he realizes that he will die fighting it? Because he feels that those he has taken with him, the leaders of the next generation, surely, are not capable of the glory that he achieved? Perhaps he regrets the conquests and triumphs of his youth? Or is it merely an expression of the extreme anxiety around death?

The first line and a half of the section set the atmosphere by telling us that Beowulf was “restless and ready for death,” that he could feel “fate immeasurably near” (“wǣfra ond wæl-fūs, wyrd ungemete nēah,” l. 2420). Then the poet/scribe offers things more concrete.

Beowulf’s ensuing speech is about his youth and accomplishments, but I’ll get more into that next week. This week, I just want to focus on the first two lines (one sentence) of it.

Beowulf opens by saying that he “survived” (genæs) countless battles and war-times in his youth. His choice of words here is curious, since, according to my dictionary, all senses of “genæs” suggest the last-minute removal from a dire situation (survive, escape from, be saved).

Why doesn’t Beowulf (or the scribe/poet) simply use “won glory,” or “succeeded”? Is this a sign that Beowulf is well aware of the horrors of war and that the poem itself can be read not as a document glorifying it, but maybe the first recorded account in English of someone who has experienced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)? Or, is it just the only word that would fit the line’s meter and/or alliteration?

Following the line of reasoning that the poet/scribe could have used another word in place of “genæs,” here’s my analysis.

“Survived” makes it sound as though all of the battles that Beowulf has seen were trials or hardships sent by some greater entity, or merely as a part of life. “Escaped from” makes armed conflict seem like some terrible, impersonal machine or happening.

And, “been saved” makes it seem as though Beowulf got lucky each time he fought and was spared from the sword or arrow by the intervention of his fellow warriors or some sort of supernatural being. This last meaning of “genæs” perhaps gels the best with the laggard that everyone at the Geatish court believed Beowulf to be until he returned from Daneland with stories of slaying Grendel and his mother.

So then did Beowulf actually change from a weakling boy into a fierce warrior, or was his original softness just masked by luck – is this a propagandic Christian twist that suggests that trusting in god will keep you safe in skirmishes and war time?

Beowulf at this point is 50 years old – the same age as Hrothgar and Grendel’s mother when he was in Daneland. Rulers in the world of Beowulf seem to last their 50 winters and then tip off the mortal coil in one way or another. Though in such a world, living to see 50 does seem remarkable.

Whatever the case may be, modern interpretations of “genæs” all come with this connotation of getting through something larger than an individual human’s machination.

At the least, I feel secure in saying that this word suggests that human conflict is something outside of the control of individual people and possibly even groups of people. In fact, the word could be read as the poet/scribe suggesting that war is another kind of natural disaster. The cosmological implications are fascinating.

The next sentence of Beowulf’s speech begins his auto-biography. At the age of seven he went to his treasure lord (“sinca baldor,” l. 2428) for fostering at his father’s command. This treasure lord, “leader and friend of the people” (“frēa-wine folca,” l. 2429), seems benevolent enough, and the practice of fostering is evident throughout the middle ages. Even Chaucer was fostered.

The transition from the first sentence of his speech and the second is where these two get interesting.

Beowulf ends his first sentence with the bold statement that he “remembers all of [the conflicts]” (“ic þaet eall gemon,” l. 2427). And from what comes next it seems that he also remembered much of his youth. He specifically recalls a story from his youth that may well be the earliest political strife he encountered. But I’ll get into that next week.

Think I’m a little too loose with my translations of words or phrases? Or that I dig too deep for meaning? Or do you think that I’m right on and should just write a book about it all already? Let me know in the comments.

The Third Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Posted on 2012/02/01 by NSCZach

Introduction
Translations
Words and Rhymes
Closing

Introduction

Seeing that it’s Tuesday, it’s time for the next installment of the song “Tempus Adest Floridum.” So here are my translations of and thoughts on the third verse of the song.

Here it is in its basic, literal translation:

This lovely creation shows you oh God,
Which also we entrust all deeds
O time therefore of great joy, which it pleases by laughter
Now renew the world, we are rightly renewed.

And then this is the smoother version:

This lovely creation shows you, oh God,
to whom we entrust deeds both bare and shod.
O time therefore of great joy, pleasing all by laughter.
Now we pray you renew the world as we too are e’er after.

For the most part this was very straight forward.

There were a few vocabulary issues, since I wasn’t entirely sure about “libet” (“it pleases,” an “impersonal” verb according to my dictionary), and “decet” (it becomes, suits, it is right, proper). But those were solved with a quick look in the dictionary.

Again, I confess that my memory for conjugations and declensions isn’t excellent, and so there may be some issues with those, but for the most part I just followed my general rule. Use the context to figure out the word’s function in the sentence or clause and then just translate the other words in the same conjugation in the same way.

Because the song rhymes in Latin, this generally means that words at the end of lines tend to be those that are the same in terms of conjugation. So I just trim those with the same scissors and everything ends up hunky dory.

However, this little experiment is coming to its end. I just have one more verse and then the song will have been finished, and I’ll be moving onto my next project. I’m not entirely sure what it will be, just yet, but I will be looking around my collections for something.

If you have any suggestions for my next Latin translation project please drop me a comment.

Beowulf [ll.2409-2419] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/01/27 by NSCZach

Introduction
Section Summary
A Word Wanted
A Difficult Word
Speculation on Hengest and Horsa
Closing

Introduction

Thursday is here again, and so I’ll continue with my work on Beowulf.

The next section of my Beowulf translation covers line 2409-2419: The part at which the thrall is forced to guide Beowulf and his eleven chosen warriors to the place where he found the stolen cup that Beowulf believes is the cause of the dragon’s rage. They reach the cave (hleaw, 2411) and discover that it is full of wondrous treasures (“wraetta ond wira,” or “wrought and wound,” as I translate it, 2413).

But, they also know that the treasure’s guardian is the dragon and, as the poet points out, no man is able to extract that treasure cheaply because of the dragon’s eagerness to guard it (“gearo guð-freca gold-maðmas heold” 2414) (2416). The passage ends when Beowulf sits down on the cliff-top overlooking the sea and wishes all of his warriors health and luck (haelo abead, 2418). For he already seems to know that his loan of days is due.

I always have a lot of fun with this language. Maybe it’s because the expression seems so fancy free or because it’s from a time before there was really a formalized register and diction that could be learned in school (since English wasn’t taught in school back then, it was just the common tongue – what people spoke to communicate with each other. Latin, Celtic, and probably even some Old French would have been used for business, since native Old English speakers would trade with those peoples).

Whatever the case, this degree of enjoyment tends to turn me onto a word that should still be around in one form or another.

In the case of this passage, the word that I want to see come back is heorð-geneat (hearth-companion). The origin of the term probably came from the practice of those fighting wars/feuds together sitting down and talking/eating/relaxing by a fire. The same sort of bonding happens today with MMORPGS or online forums. Flickering lights still help us to bond with one another.

But not too many people actually sit around fires on a regular basis. Sure, some people go camping, and maybe some use wood furnaces to heat their living space. But, it’s generally not a daily occurrence to wind up beside friends in front of a roaring blaze. But, it is a daily occurrence for people to bond while playing MMORPGS and other such online games (sorry TV, but high speed internet and wi-fi have done to you what you did to radio).

So, as a modernized version of heorð-geneat, I propose that we bring in the term connection companion. Or, for short, conn-comp. Think about it.

Within the passage the only word completely unfamiliar to me was “unhiore,” on line 2413. The word translates as terrible, a shuffle that is easy enough, but it’s parts are a little bit curious to me.

A hearty little particle, “un” meant then what it still means now – a negation of what follows (such as unsure for not sure). The rest of the word, “hiore,” as best as I can figure is a variant of “hearra,” meaning lord, master, or it is a variant of “heorra,” meaning “hinge, cardinal point.”

The latter actually makes a little bit more sense to me, since something that is “not a hinge/cardinal point” would mean that it is not tied into the world in an extremely structured way (perhaps not subject to wyrd/fate like everything else).

Basically, this combination makes the word “unhiore” seem like it refers to an anomaly in the system. Such a variation is a truly terrifying thing when your system is there to help navigate life in a world full of strife. Especially since that strife was not of the life-choice kind we face today (seriously think through grad school if it be among your choices, oh ye bright eyed senior undergraduate) but of the wayward sword cutting open an artery kind.

Of course, this interpretation of “unhiore” is primarily supported by my trusty Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary.

Since we’re in the realm of speculation already, here’s some more.

While looking up “yð-gewinne” (“wave-strife”) I came across the word “yð-hengest” (“sea horse,” a kenning for “ship”). This got me thinking.

Recently I listened to the Anglo Saxon podcast by frederic and he mentioned that Gildas calls only Hengest and Horsa by name among all of those Angles called in by the king of the Britons to help fend off the other Celtic tribes. On the podcast frederic noted that these names translate as horse and mare respectively. But what if Gildas meant yð-hengest instead of just Hengest? Then it would be ship and mare.

Further, what if this is an old saying signifying men and supplies? Or families and rations? I mean, it’s clear that the Angles didn’t just bring two guys and a few ships over when they came, there were much more than that coming to the Britons’ aid.

Old English idioms like this are notoriously difficult to figure out because there are so few sources, but I think that this could be something. I mean, until England became the major super power, English was just a bunch of dialects that at times could pose some difficulty to each other.

Hundreds of years earlier, when the only permanent media was the written word, idiom would have traveled at a snail’s pace and probably would have taken years, if not decades, to work its way into everyday use between dialects.

So maybe horse and mare or ship and mare is an example of a dialect from Gildas’ region. Already clear is that ships are super important to Anglo-Saxons – they can be treasure houses, the means to travel for adventure and conquest, and potentially the final resting place for warriors. But what are horses to them? A means of transit? A thing to gamble on?

Maybe if I can establish what a horse *was* to the Anglo-Saxons of 800-1100 AD, then I can write more about what a mare by itself might signify beyond the animal. And what something like “ship and mare” might mean.

Anyway, with that question, and that quest, I leave off with Beowulf until next Thursday. Leave any suggestions, contentions or comments in the text box below.

The Second Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Posted on 2012/01/24 by NSCZach

Translations
Wrestling with Words
Liberties Taken
Closing

Translations

Alright, So here’s the translated verse that I did today. First, in the original, and then in my more artful, more free translation.

The meadows are full of flowers, these begin appearing.
Where these are brought for all to see, plants with pleasure.
Grasses and shoots, put winter to rest.
In time the spring gets strong and increases.

The meadows are full of flowers, as they start appearing.
These are brought where all may see, plants their pleasure bringing.
Grasses, shoots both rising through, making winter turn in.
Spring growing strong in due time, bringing renewed bird din.

If you want a refresher on the original Latin song, check it out here.

So there it is, but it wasn’t as easy as the first verse. This one had a few words that really threw me. “incunda” (which I take as a form of “incoho,” meaning to begin, start upon, turn to) was especially tough since I don’t really know how to fit it into the sentence. Nor am I entirely sure of its meaning. But, given the context, it seems to be the best fit.

The other two words that gave me trouble, “aspectu” (to look at/sight/catch sight of) and “delectu” (joy, take pleasure in, etc.), weren’t so difficult to define, but instead were tough to place within the sentence. This difficulty arises for me because I’m not entirely familiar with all of the verb forms once things get as complicated as passives in tenses other than the past and simple present.

However, I am sure that they are verbs since there aren’t any Latin nouns or adjectives that end with a “u” after being conjugated. There are “u” stem words, as there are in Anglo-Saxon, but those have “u” in the stem and do funny things with that. They don’t tend to keep the “u” in anything but the nominative case. And besides all of that, the rules of one language tend not to apply to another in such a direct way.

In any case, those discrepancies in tense make for a bit of an awkward translation which I’ve tried to smooth over in the dolled up version. This led me to a few liberties in my quest to come out with something that rhymes, and these are most noticeable in the last four lines.

Instead of winter just being “put to rest” I’ve changed it to winter being forced to “turn in.” A kind of synonym for put to rest, but with more of a shift-worker kind of tone. And given the regularity of the seasons, it seems like that’s appropriate since I’m working with a traditional personification of the seasons.

In the final couplet of the poem, I mixed it up a bit, and actually replaced the statement about the “increases” of spring with a line about the birds returning. This helps make the whole verse singable to the original melody and completes the rhyme pattern of ABCB for each four lines. I also think that the side by side combination of “bird” and “din” makes for a neat aural pun on the word “burden.”

After all, spring is coming back and so work does need to resume in a medieval agrarian society: the land needs to be cleared of the debris that winter leaves behind, fields need to be tilled and planted, and animals need to be transitioned from winter treatment to summer treatment.

Winter was also no walk in the park for those in the past (and those still without indoor heating/plumbing or refrigeration today), but the workload was comparatively less field-based, or at the least more household-based.

Of course, if you take issue with any of my generalizations here, or if you want to suggest an interpretation of one of the words with which I struggled feel free to do so in the comments.

Beowulf – In Media Res [ll.2401-2409] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/01/20 by NSCZach

Introduction
Background to the Project
Old English Appreciation
Section Summary
Two Words
Closing

Introduction

Today I’m breaking out the glittering armour, gift from the ring-giver, a tight-knit coat in the battle-storm.

Yep. Today’s entry is the first about Beowulf.

It’s a project that started in my third year of studying for my BA, though it didn’t really take off until just after I had finished that degree. I’m using the bilingual edition of Seamus Heaney’s translation that has the Anglo Saxon original on the left and the poet’s translation on the right (an online version of the original can be found here).

Heaney’s arrangement is great, but the running glossary in George Jack’s student edition is even more helpful – when I borrowed it from the library for a graduate class I barely used my dictionary.

However, now that Jack’s edition is back in Victoria and I’m over in Ontario, I make good use of my copy of the Fourth Edition of the Anglo-Saxon Dictionary as edited by Hall and Meritt. If I can’t find a word in the dictionary then I’ll usually look it up in the website Old English Made Easy’s dictionary.

The weight of this project hasn’t crushed me just yet, but it is something that has provided an ongoing struggle. Not just because of the size of the poem, but because its use of multiple adjectival clauses can really cloud sense and make things seem obtuse.

However, when things get grammatical, my Magic Sheet is never out of sight. This handy little chart from the English Faculty at the University of Virigina summarizes the declensions and conjugations of everything in Old English, so it’s super useful.

So armed, I’ve been able to translate 5/6 of the poem over the years and once I’m finished my plan is to bring a consistent voice to the whole thing (possibly by re-writing), type it up, and try to get it published. A bold move perhaps, but this is something that I’m passionate about. Maybe it’s just a bunch of barbarians hitting each other (and monsters) over the head with pointy sticks to some, but to me it’s a piece of grand old art.

And it’s something that’s fun to translate.

Sure, the grammar can get sticky and there are points that scholars still contend to this day (was Beowulf swimming until nightfall to get to the bottom of the mire? Why does the Danish bard sing such a sad song after Beowulf’s victory?). But there’s a joie de vivre in the poet/scribes’ language that isn’t really present in a lot of Modern English.

And no, I’m not a snob. I think that Middle English (Chaucerian English) and Early Modern (Shakespearean English) are just as lovely. But when all of the grammarians stuck their fingers in the delicious hot pie that was English in the 17th and 18th centuries they sucked a lot of life out of it. They set it up to become a reliable and powerful lingua franca for all, but they made it a little bit dull in the process.

Now when somebody drops a consonant and replaces it with an apostrophe people are all up ins. And slang is slang. Before the grammarians came about (I’m looking at you Samuel Johnson) all of English (all the dialects) were pretty slang-laden. It’s just the way that the language was.

And it was grand.

Not so great for national or international communication maybe, but the plays, treatises, and poems that remain are all excellent examples of what a language can do.

Anyway, I don’t want this entry to be fully derailed by a rant. Right now I’m working through the scene where Beowulf fights the dragon, so I’m really sticking to the story-telling principle of starting in media res.

But, true to most modern novels, I’m starting just where the action is picking up – Beowulf has just gotten his band of 11 fellow Geats together and has compelled the slave that brought him the dragon’s cup to guide them the the lizard’s lair.

All of this happens in lines 2401-2409.

Two words really struck me in section:

First, “gebolgen” on l. 2401. It reminds me of the “Gáe Bolga,” the mysterious, foot-held spear that Cuchulain was trained in by the warrior woman Scáthach, and with which he killed his friend and rival Ferdiad in the Táin Bó Cuailnge.

The other word that caught my eye was “meldan,” from l.2405. This one means finder according to Heaney. The dictionary definition is “tell, reveal, accuse” – but I’m guessing that Heaney let his translation lean on “cwom” (come) the combination of which with “tell, reveal, accuse” suggests a kind of giving – like coming with tales or news, things which are only useful if given.

Plus, a shiny cup from a whole pile of treasure would indeed be welcome news to any Geat (or Anglo-Saxon listener).

Though, I do admit that combining words in this way is kind of like trying to stretch a single ox hide over an acre of land.

If you’ve got any suggestions/corrections for me, leave them in a comment. I’ll be back next week with Beowulf’s arrival at the cave.

First Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Posted on 2012/01/17 by NSCZach

Introduction
Translations
Word Issues
Liberties Taken
Closing

Introduction

So this song, “Tempus Adest Floridum,” is the origin of the tune for “Old King Wenceslas.” However, as you’ll notice from the title and from the song’s content it has nothing to do with old King Wenceslas.

You can find the full song in its original Latin here.

First my literal translation:

The time for flowers now is come, for the flowers rise up.
Spring in all things, the likeness/copy of nature.
This which ice had attacked, has recovered warmth.
We all see this weeping, by great work.

And my dolled up translation (with some rhyme):

The time for flowers now is come, for the flowers now arise.
All things now are of the spring, nature’s likeness is in all eyes.
This which winter once had attacked, has regained its fire;
We all see winter’s weeping, since spring has perspired.

The issues that came up for me during this translation were relatively minor, just a few issues with words not being in my Collins Pocket Gem dictionary. The words in question?

“Vernales” (an adjective meaning “of Spring” was the worst); “Cerno” (ere, crevi, cretum; a verb meaning to see, discern, understand, perceive, etc.); and “fleo” (ere, evi, etum; a verb meaning to weep, cry, lament, mourn for) were close seconds since I had to twist things around to make good sense of it all.

Obviously, I took some liberties with the second use of “hoc” (“this”) to bring in Winter again, but I like the personification of the seasons to which this song gives rise.

It isn’t direct personification, necessarily, but the conceit definitely helps to make the translation more fun. And, since the original image seems to be that of icicles dripping (hence weeping), making winter the weeper seems appropriate.

The conquest of spring also makes it a more joyous song, even if that joy is derived from conquest.

Though I must admit that a pop song about Spring coming in and ruining Winter’s shit might be fun as well, the cycle of nature can be pretty brutal after all.

“Transpire” could also have worked as the final word of the verse, but I think that spring is generally a wet season, and “perspire” is a wetter word. It also implies that much more effort was used, and if a season is going to be made to weep I imagine that even another season is going to need to break a sweat.

So that’s verse one of “Tempus Adest Floridum.” Expect verse two next week.

Salvete! Wæs hæl!

Posted on 2012/01/17 by NSCZach

Introduction
Purposes
Wrap Up

Introduction

This blog is a platform from which I’m going to be writing, gushing, and otherwise working through the sense of my various translation projects. Currently I’m working on a translation of Beowulf from Anglo-Saxon, and another of the thirteenth century song “Tempus adest Floridum” from Latin.

Two old and gone languages might seem a little, well, anachronistic in this internet-set age of ours, but as Facebook offers its site in Latin and other blogs for old languages exist, there is definitely a readership for the thoughts and meanderings of a wit as he moves meaning from one language and into another.

Of course, to reach the conclusion that there is an audience for this sort of thing I’m applying an idea that I’ve always tried to keep firmly in mind: that among a finite number of people with access to print media there’s definitely a sizable audience for anything from a slightly more finite number of genres and forms.

To put it more simply, there are a lot of people in the world, and somewhere out there there’s got to be a solid 5000 of them interested in what I have to say or the stories that I have to tell. Scale that number up or down as you please.

However, the primary purpose of this blog is to give me a space to write about my own reactions to what I translate. These will definitely include bits where I wax academical, but there will also be bits where I just laugh at the literal translation of a word, or sit in wide-eyed wonder at how a perfectly awesome word did not make it into casual Modern English.

I might even flex some alumni muscle and pull out etymologies from the Oxford English Dictionary Online (hereafter the OEDO) to show these words’ journeys if they’ve been traced.

So, as you might guess, what I write here is going to generally be scholarly but with a more casual tone than that which you’ll find in an academic journal or book. I’ll be keeping the long sentences, though.

A Blogger's Beowulf

An Old English enthusiast's translation of Beowulf. Plus a little bit about Beowulf's impact on modern culture.

Young Beowulf’s Melancholic Tale [ll.2430-2440] (Old English)

The Fourth Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Beowulf [ll.2419-2429] (Old English)

The Third Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Beowulf [ll.2409-2419] (Old English)

The Second Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Beowulf – In Media Res [ll.2401-2409] (Old English)

First Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Salvete! Wæs hæl!