Words to cool a harp solo and excite for history (ll.1063-1070)

Posted on 2015/10/15 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
A Harp Solo Before a History Lesson
Words of War Mingled with Words of Mirth
Closing

A scop, like those at Heorot in Beowulf, recites a story and plays a harp

Image found at http://www.comm.unt.edu/~ktaylor/scop/boasting.htm.

The poet describes the joy and noise of the hall before diving into a summary of a tale that’s about to be told.

“There was song and clamour together there
before the Danish commanders.
The harp was played, many tales told,
when the hall joy Hrothgar’s poet
among the mead benches would recite:
He sang of Finn’s children, when calamity struck them,
when the Halfdane hero, Hnæf Scylding,
in the Frisian slaughter found death.”
(Beowulf ll.1063-1070)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

You know there’s not a lot happening in an old poem when there are bits like this passage. What makes this passage such a red flag for a low ebb of action? The lack of specificity for starters. Until the next part of the poem (another poem within a poem) is described, we’re just told how the Danish commanders are regaled while song and tale telling are happening all around everyone.

It’s also clear that this is a bridge sort of passage because immediately before hand we had some wisdom dropped on us. It wouldn’t surprise me if before this passage was recited there would usually be a little harp solo. It’s just the appropriate time for that sort of thing.

After all, things are going to get heavy again fairly soon, and the end of this passage is the warning for that. I mean, before we even get into the poem that’s about to be recited, the poem itself is telling us that the children of Finn will meet calamity and the Danish hero Hnæf Scylding will meet his end. So a little solo and maybe a re-enactment of the celebration would help.

But the story that follows this passage is definitely something inserted, a kind of gem embedded in the woven metal art piece that is Beowulf.

Perhaps it was a lovely poem that was much admired when Beowulf was being composed, maybe even just a piece of poetry that came to a poet’s mind after having told his audience about the gifts Beowulf and the Geats got. Whatever the case, the coming story is offset explicitly like the story of Sigmund and the dragon told the morning after Beowulf’s victory.

So we can tell that spirits are indeed high since Beowulf’s been fêted before with this kind of embedded story.

Likewise, the tale of Sigmund foreshadows Beowulf’s own fight with a dragon, and we can expect more foreshadowing from this passage. Though it’s not likely to be as clear.

Why?

Because all of the names and roles in Anglo-Saxon society can get a little tricky. And this poem is, if nothing else, historical and political, so it’s trying to exemplify something political and social. If the story of Sigmund is like Shakespeare’s The Tempest, the story of Finn’s children and Hnæf Scylding is like Titus Andronicus or Julius Caesar. It’s a neat yarn, but only really interesting if you’re already familiar with the history or are interested in it.

And, actually, given that this is something with a little more grounding in history than Sigemund’s fight with the dragon, it’s interesting how the poet doesn’t really try to hook us with any special detail about the story.

Before the Sigemund story we’re told that the poet brought stories of Sigemund from far off lands, but here we’re explicitly told that what we’re about to hear tell of calamity and death. But I think that’s just part of mustering authority. The poet’s introduction to what’s about to be recited needs to be simple and clear to set the tone of what’s to come and also to make clear that this isn’t an embellishment or grand story, but a retelling of facts. Plus, most people hearing Beowulf, or even reading it, would probably be familiar with the calamity that befell Finn’s children and Hnæf’s end, so things are primed as being familiar rather than new. What’s to come is history rather than mythology, after all.

Though, maybe that’s why history feels boring to a lot of people. Even if we don’t know the details, the stories within history are familiar because we’ve heard the archetypal historical stories before (stories of people in war, of intrigue, of the ambitious). But works of fiction (or mythology) seem fresh and new because there’s the promise of a story we’re unfamiliar with – including twists and surprises that we aren’t expecting.

What do you think makes a good story? Something unlike anything you’ve ever come across before, a regular story with a twist at the end, or something that’s mostly familiar? Why?

Well, because this passage is leading us into history, things get pretty serious by the end of it. But that doesn’t mean they don’t get the poet revved up to use a bunch of compound words.

We get four here, including one that must have been made up specifically for this occasion. However, none of these compounds are particularly deep or complex. So perhaps the excitement the poet feels as he gets ready to launch into a little history isn’t as unbridled as it’s been in the past but is more like the excitement of a professor about to lecture on her favourite subject.

Anyway, the four compounds we come across in this passage are “hilde-wisan” (l.1064), “gomen-wudu” (l.1065), “heal-gamen” (l.1066), and “Fres-wæle” (l.1070).

The word “hilde-wisan” means “commander.” Though I think “veteran” works, too.

After all, “hilde” means “war,” “combat,” “keeping,” “custody,” “guard,” “protection,” “loyalty,” “fidelity,” “observance,” “observation,” “watching,” “secret place,” “protector,” or “guardian”; while the Old English word “wisan” means “leader,” or “director.” So combining the two gives us something like “director of combat,” or “leader of protecting,” which sounds like a veteran or commander to me. Of course, I think that goes without saying since all commanders would likely have been veterans (though not all veterans would be commanders).

Line 1065’s “gomen-wudu” is probably the neatest compound of this bunch, and quite appropriately so.

This word means “harp.” It derives that meaning from “gomen” (“sport,” “joy,” “mirth,” “pastime,” “game,” or “amusement”) and “wudu” (“wood,” “forest,” “grove,” “tree,” “the Cross,” “Rood,” “wood,” “timber,” “ship,” or “spear-shaft”). So literally, this compound for “harp” means “mirth wood.” I rather like how how the mirth is focused in the wood.

Not because it takes the emphasis off of the skill of the person playing the harp. But because it suggests that the musician playing the harp is more of a medium than someone actively creating music, that they’re someone through whom the music flows rather than someone who just plays. Which makes sense since, in a joyous meadhall where its namesake alcohol is freely flowing, I imagine the harp player would get pretty into their playing. And it’s really cool how the compound reflects that.

The word “gamen” comes up again in “heal-gamen.” Though in this case it’s combined with “heal” (as a form of “healh” it could mean “corner,” “nook,” “secret place,” “small hollow in a hillside or slope”; or as “heall” it could mean “hall,” “dwelling,” “house,” “palace,” “temple,” “law court,” or “rock”) to simply mean something like “hall joy.”

Though Clark Hall and Meritt drily define this compound as “social enjoyment.” But I think that definition makes the compound sound like it’d be more comfortable in a piece of Old English sociology rather than Old English poetry.

Then, rounding things out, is a word that the poet must’ve just mashed together to fill the line and fit the alliteration: “Fres-wæle.”

This word must be unique to Beowulf because it’s just the name of a group of people – the Frisians (“Fresan” in Old English) – and “wæle,” which we’ve encountered before (which means “slaughter” or “carnage”). Hence, “the Frisian slaughter.” It’s not a very complex compound word, nor is it one that allows for a lot of misinterpretation, but it’s definitely something I take as a sign of the poet’s transcendent sort of state at this point in the poem.

What’s your take on “Fres-waele”? Is it used just because it’s a word? To alliterate? Or to show how the poet’s beside himself with excitement?

In the next passage we’ll start to get a sense of what this Frisian slaughter, and the matter of Hnæf Scylding are really all about.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

A fair and square exchange and the simple words for it (ll.1043-1049)

Posted on 2015/10/01 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
The Legality of Hrothgar’s Giving
Why the Plain Speaking Compounds?
Closing

The poet describes how Hrothgar gives Beowulf all of the stuff that was described in the last two passages.

“And then the lord there, descendant of Ing,
conferred both those gifts unto Beowulf,
horses and weapons; commanded/entreated him to use them well.
Thus the famed lord nobly,
The guardian of those treasures rewarded the warrior for the storm of battle
with treasures and steeds, so that no man might ever find fault with
the two, for what those words exchanged were rightly aligned with truth.”
(Beowulf ll.1043-1049)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Since the last two passages pretty much covered Beowulf getting the gifts, there’s more to this passage than simply restating that Hrothgar gave him the horses and four weapons. This little cap off for this part of the poem could just be a formality, or part of the poetic practice of making things just a bit longer than they need to be. But there’s a reason for the poet to say that Hrothgar, then and there, “conferred both those gifts unto Beowulf” (“Ond ða Beowulfe bega gehwæþres/…onweald geteah” (ll.1043-1044)).

The crux of this passage comes at its end, and I think it’s directly related to the poet’s foreshadowing Heorot’s doom on line 1018-1019 (discussed in this post).

Just as that passage ended with the poet saying that treachery would not yet tear Heorot apart, the poet’s statement here that Beowulf and Hrothgar acted in such a way that “no man might ever find fault with/the two” (“swa hy næfre man lyhð,” (l.1048)) is meant to make it clear that the Geats played no part in the treachery that does Heorot in.

Just as I discussed two posts ago, whether Hrothgar is first referred to as Halfdane’s sword or his son makes no difference when it comes to the substance of the gifts themselves – whether it’s familial or political, the gifts are given to solidify an alliance.

And here, since the “words exchanged were rightly aligned with truth” (“se þe secgan wile soð æfter rihte” (l.1049)), that alliance is definitely a clear and forthright one. It’s not the sort of agreement where one part misinterprets the other’s intention or aim (which was a fairly common cause of tricksters justifying their treacherous deeds in some of the Norse sagas and no doubt in similar Germanic stories). So this passage firmly establishes that the Geats and the Danes are perfect friends. There is no bad blood between them whatever.

But why establish that?

Well, without knowing a lot of the history of the actual interactions between the Geats and the Danes (so long as the Geats actually were a people at the same time Hrothgar’s Danes were around), it’s hard to say. This whole passage could be sarcastic and the Geats, in actual fact, could be a central player in the downfall of Heorot. But I don’t think that’s why this passage is here.

I think it’s a sincere expression of an actual state of the alliance between Geats and Danes. Maybe it’s overstating the strength of the bond between real life Geats and Danes, but I think it’s here mostly to underscore Beowulf’s success. He’s defeated Grendel handily (*ahem*), brought peace back to Heorot, and didn’t let too much damage mar Heorot while it was legally his. Hence Hrothgar’s legally handing these things over to Beowulf (as the word “conferred” (“onweald geteah” (l.1044)) implies).

Everything is fair, square, and above board because that’s the kind of clean acting hero Beowulf is. He’s uncomplicated as far as his deeds go because that’s just who he is.

And perhaps it’s just how young he is. As we’ll see later in the poem, the older Beowulf we find in the poem’s latter half is a more complicated hero. But for now, he and his dealings are straightforward and simple. Singing out the legal transference of goods is part of expressing that, I think.

And, maybe this singing is a clue to the poem’s age since the early Scandinavian “skalds” were responsible for poetry as well as preserving and chanting the laws (mostly from memory). This repetition for legality’s sake could refer to that Scandinavian legal singing and so suggest that the Beowulf scribes were familiar with the practice. Though maybe only through books about it.

Everything medieval’s muddy, isn’t it?

What’s your theory on why the poet repeats Hrothgar’s giving Beowulf the arms and horses?

After having been indulged these last few weeks I feel a little cheated by what the poet’s left me in this passage. There’s a serious shortage of compound words. But, as always, I think there’s a purpose behind that lack.

The two compound words that are given are “hord-weard” and “heaþo-raesas.” Both of these compounds are very straightforward. If you’ve been following this blog for a while you might even be able to translate their parts on sight.

The first of these, “hord-weard,” means “guardian of treasure,” “king,” “heir,” or “firstborn.” To get to this meaning, it combines “hord” (“hoard” or “treasure”) and “weard” (“watching,” “ward,” “protection,” “guardianship,” “advance post,” “waiting for,” “lurking,” “ambuscade,” “keeper,” “watchman,” “guard,” “guardian,” “protector,” “lord,” “king,” or “possessor”). So all together, the word means, “guardian of treasure” pretty plainly.

Though, there’s some interesting stuff in the meanings of “weard” that lean more toward stealth or even sneak attacks rather than outright guarding of something, But the two are still related within those senses, I think. If you’re setting traps, you’re guarding your life after all. The same goes for “waiting for” or “lurking”; you’re present in a place and in an active state of watching for something or someone. So the sense of “guardian of treasure” is pretty consistent throughout.

The next word in this pair is “heaþo-raesas.” This one means “onrush,” “attack,” or “storm of battle,” and comes to use from the union of “heaþo” (“war”) and “raes” (“rush,” “leap”, “jump,” “running,” “onrush,” “storm,” or “attack”). And, just like with “hord-weard” that meaning, “storm of battle,” is consistent throughout combinations. The word basically means a fierce, sudden attack.

At the top of this section, though, I mentioned that I think having only these two compound words in this passage is intentional.

In past entries it’s been clear that the complicated compound words come out when the poet (or the poet’s subjects) become excited. When big speeches with rhetorical flourishes are made, or wise asides, or descriptions of action and battle – those are the times when the compounds come out in full force. And the complexity of those compound words matches the level of excitement to some extent. These speakers (or the poet themselves) don’t have time to come up with common compound words – they need to make up their own!

And there’s no saying that the calm, clear giving of gifts for a job well done is anything but heart pounding in the same way as a battle or a rousing speech. So there being no complex compounds fits the tone of this part of the poem.

But, I also think the poet keeps the compounds toned down here because of the legality of this little recap. Yeah, this kind of turns on the legal implications of “confer” (which I’ve translated from “onweald geteah” (l.1044)), but I think that’s enough. Simply giving us a summary of the goods exchanged practically stands in as a kind of receipt after all. And what’s a receipt except a record of a transaction that can later be used for bureaucratic stuff like taxes. And what’s the language of bureaucracy? Law.

So I think we can consider any kind of legal passage or bit of the poem that’s a formality as a stretch where the compound words that are used will be pretty straightforward to keep confusion to a minimum. Like a receipt, this section of the poem is probably meant to be as bare bones as an alliterative poem can be.

But so what? Well, the idea that clarity of language is important to this sort of legal passage suggests that the Anglo-Saxons liked their laws simple, or at least the poet wanted to promote the clean dealing of a trade of gifts for services rendered. Perhaps it’s a bit of anti-feuding, anti-treachery propaganda – give gifts plainly instead of with malicious machinations!

Plus, that simple compounds appear at all in such a straightforward passage suggests that compounds are so important to Old English that they’re simply everywhere – even in legalese.

It’s not exactly related, but what’s your favourite weird law? I’m not sure if it’s on the books any more, but in 19th century Canada it was illegal to wear a mask in the woods – a pretty good weird law.

After all of this gift giving, there’s more still to come in the next passage. Hrothgar’s rewarded Beowulf, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the other Geats.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf as storyteller, words sharp and simple (ll.957-970a)

Posted on 2015/08/06 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf Embellishes Grendel
Rich and Simple Compounds
Closing

Beowulf speaks of his fight with Grendel and the monster’s god-defying strength.

“Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow:
‘We that brave deed did with much good will,
carried out the fight, daringly risked ourselves
against strength unknown. Wish I very much
that thee thyself might have seen it,
the enemy entangled and exhausted to the point of death!
I swiftly grasped him tight and thought
to bind him then and there to his death bed,
so that for my handgrip he should
lie struggling for life, but his body slithered out.
For I might not, though god willed it not,
prevent him from going, nor could I then firmly enough grasp him,
that deadly foe.'”
(Beowulf ll.957-970a)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

The first thing that struck me about this passage is Beowulf’s first word. He says that “we” defeated Grendel (l.958).

He doesn’t put the brunt of the glory on himself, but on his team of Geats. His team that was, as far as the poet told us, not even really around for the start of the fight and not really all that effective by the time that they came in to help. Yet Beowulf spreads the credit around. Almost as if, being a warrior but not yet a leader with a castle and treasure of his own, all he has to share out among his band is that glory.

It’s a curious idea, if you think about it. I mean, it’s what would happen with Anglo-Saxon social groups with treasure, so why not with glory, too? After all, the actions of the leader reflect upon that leader’s followers. So Beowulf’s defeating Grendel suggests that his fellow Geats are also quite powerful and formidable.

Though not so powerful as Grendel is made out to be.

Because as a boaster and storyteller Beowulf knows his way around suspense, we’re told by our hero that he had Grendel in a grasp designed to kill the fiend. Yet, the monster’s “body slithered out,” suggesting that he lithely escaped Beowulf (l.967). Though there’s the implication that Grendel’s morale took a serious hit. What I’ve translated as “body” is “lic”, after all, a word that is hard to disassociate from the notion of a physical form (since it generally means “body” or “corpse” and is the root of the Modern English word “lich,” referring to a sort of zombie). So Grendel’s body slithered out, but his spirit might not have escaped quite so easily.

What’s more, Beowulf doesn’t let this example of Grendel turning the tables on him work as an example of his own mortal weakness. No. Beowulf quickly moves on to the point that he didn’t want Grendel to escape and that he did so even “though god willed it not” (“þe Metod nolde” (l.967)). So, first off Grendel was a bit more of a slippery guy than Beowulf imagined. And he was strong enough to openly and effectively defy god itself. In this single line, Grendel is made into the ultimate outlaw. Even if you don’t buy the idea that Beowulf is the instrument of God’s justice in the world of the poem, at the very least Grendel’s escape from our hero is said to go against god’s own will. According to Beowulf, anyway.

He is, after all, the one retelling this story.

And that in itself is neat.

Here (and elsewhere in the poem) Beowulf is framed as a hero not just because he’s got the strength and the poise for the job, but because he’s also an experienced speaker and storyteller. So he can do the deed, sure, but he can then head back to the hall and spread the word about that deed himself. It’s like he’s a self-publishing author writing a novel and then going out and shouting about it himself rather than relying on someone else to cover marketing. Here, though, his duality of fighter and storyteller is mildly threatening to the poet writing this epic and to every poet before or since – poets after all were said to be the ones with the ultimate power, no matter what the strength of a hero, since it was the poets who made and kept the detailed records of their deeds.

Do you think that Beowulf is a reliable story teller? He’s a known boaster, sure, but does that mean that his retellings of events will always be embellished?

This passage is rich in compound words. So, let’s get right to them.

Up first is line 962’s “fyl-werigne.” This is a straightforward compound, especially if you can wrap your mind around the words “fyl” and “werigne” and sort of sense by linguistic intuition, that the compound brings together a word generally meaning “very” and another meaning “weary.” More specifically, “fyl” (a form of “fyllu” meaning “fulness (of food),” “fill,” “feast,” “satiety,” or “impregnation”) and “werig” (“weary,” “tired,” “exhausted,” “miserable,” “sad,” or “unfortunate”). The one thing to note here is that the Old English word for weary doesn’t just encompass physical weariness, as Modern English’s “weary” seems to (you can be “weary in spirit” or “weary of heart” but need to specify as much in most instances), it also includes more emotional or spiritual weariness as well. So when someone or something is “fyl-werigne” you know that they’re simply done.

Next up is another straightforward word (it seems that Beowulf is laying rhetoric on thick, but keeping it simple, too – maybe as a courtesy to a Hrothgar who’s just woken up?): “wael-bedd.” This word just means “slaughter bed.” That’s it. Even the combinations across the different senses of “wael” (“slaughter,” or “carnage”) and “bedd” (“bed,” “couch,” “resting place,” “garden bed,” or “plot”) come out to this (though there could be a bit of a horticultural slant to some combos). So, onto number three.

The word “lif-bysig” isn’t entirely what it seems. At first glance you might think that it refers to having a busy life or some such, but there’s a bit of a spin that seems to have been lost over millennia. Indeed, this word does bring “lif” (“life,” “existence,” or “lifetime”) and “bysig” (“busy,” “occupied,” or “diligent”) together, but the result is a word meaning “struggling for life.” This word is exclusive to Beowulf, and definitely sounds like something a performer could’ve come up with on the fly or to fill out a line. Either way, it’s neat how this word demonstrates the compound’s power to be more than the sum of its parts.

Actually, the next word in my list does something similar. And this one’s exclusive to Beowulf; it’s the word “feorh-geniðlan.” This word means “mortal foe.” And it comes to that meaning through a combination of “feorh” (“life,” “principle of life,” “soul,” or “spirit”) and “nið” (“strife,” “enmity,” “attack,” “war,” “evil,” “hatred,” “spite;” “oppression,” “affliction,” “trouble,” “grief”). So, much like “lif-bysig,” “feorh-geniðlan” takes its parts and twists them together to create its compound meaning rather than just sticking two concepts together. By combining the concept of life and struggle this compound refers to something or someone that is striving against the principle of life or oppressing it in a major way. Hence “mortal foe.”

Do you think that Beowulf’s going easy on the compound words because Hrothgar’s just waking up, or is there another reason for his relatively simple diction?

In the next passage Beowulf finishes his account of the fight with Grendel, and declares his opponent painfully dead.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Grendel as the Goddess’ champion, three neat words (ll.791-801a)

Posted on 2015/03/27 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Grendel as twisted champion
Three neat words
Closing

Beowulf, Grendel, Old English, Anglo-Saxon

An illustration of Grendel by J.R. Skelton from Stories of Beowulf. Grendel is described as “Very terrible to look upon.”Stories of beowulf grendel” by J. R. Skelton – Marshall, Henrietta Elizabeth (1908) Stories of Beowulf, T.C. & E.C. Jack. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Beowulf is aided by his troop of Geats, who move valiantly to defend him.

“For nothing at all would that man
allow the death-bringer to leave alive,
he did not consider that one’s life days of
any worth to anyone anywhere. Then the mobile host
moved swiftly to defend Beowulf with fathers’ swords,
they wished to defend the very soul of their leader,
those of the famed people, where they might do so.
But they knew not that their work was in vain,
the tough-spirited war men,
that each man’s looking to hew the beast in half was faulty,
their seeking his soul with the sword point unsuccessful:…”
(Beowulf ll.791-801a)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This week’s passage is one half of a complete scene. As such, it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. Just why is it that Beowulf’s men’s swords are being used in vain? All will be revealed next week.

For now, however, I think we have enough to spin some theories around. Once again, I’ll be basing my ramblings here on Robert Graves’ The White Goddess. I’m breaking this book out again because it’s what gives the most interesting reading of this passage. Though the most interesting reading isn’t always the most supported one. I’ve got to say up front that my idea here might not stand up outside of Beowulf and in our collection of known Anglo-Saxon literature.

However, in the world that the poem creates and within the poem itself, I think it’s a valid way of looking at things.

Grendel’s being immune to swords I read not necessarily as a side effect of his being some sort of monster. Instead I see it as an effect of his being a twisted version of the goddess’ champion. I base this in the interpretation of the first part of Beowulf as a play on what Graves points out as the trifecta of goddess, god of the waning year and god of the waxing year. Grendel’s mother is the goddess in this case, though she is, perhaps a twisted and gnarled one who lacks the power she had of old since Beowulf is a predominantly masculine poem and, at least for the purposes of this reading, an artifact of a patriarchal society.

As such, a woman who may have headed her own power structure and not just occupied a high place in one defined by men (as Wealhtheow does) would be be depicted as some sort of monstrosity. As Grendel’s mother is just a little later in the poem.

If Grendel is the champion of this goddess, then he could be either the god of the waxing or waning year. However, in keeping with the idea from an earlier entry that Grendel is actually the god of the waxing year whom Hrothgar hasn’t acknowledged for a full cycle of twelve years, he has begun to wane. And now Beowulf acts the part of the king of the waxing year. This changing of roles allows Beowulf to defeat Grendel because of his position.

I also think that Beowulf beats Grendel because he challenges the otherwise slightly feminized creature with sheer masculinity. The two of them engage in a wrestling match, which from classical times was a thoroughly masculine sport, and Beowulf is said to have the strength of thirty men. And strength has always been considered one of the primary virtues of masculinity.

Of course, that means that Grendel must be feminine, at least in some ways. I don’t think these ways are obvious, however.

Looking at the poem as a whole, three things are expected of great men. They must think right thoughts, do right deeds, and speak the right words. Since Grendel does none of these he is obviously no true man.

It might be a bit of a stretch (what’s this blog for otherwise, though?) but I think that Grendel’s is aggressively feminine in his devouring of his victims. Say what you will about men’s thoughts of women’s genitalia, but I think a yonic reading of Grendel’s devouring his victims is definitely valid.

With all this in mind, as much of a cliffhanger as this passage is, I also think that it’s a commentary on the old matriarchal system of government.

Not only is the goddess that society used to worship decrepit (I am getting a little ahead of myself there still), her champion shows no proper masculine virtue and is himself feminized. My point here is that the entire matriarchal system of a cyclical kingship that Graves outlines in The White Goddess is too feminine and not as stable as the more long lasting male kingship that was coming about during the lifetime of the scribes (if not the poet(s)) of Beowulf.

But back to my jumping off point. In my reading of this week’s passage, swords don’t work against Grendel because he’s not subject to the usual ways of masculine warfare, hence Beowulf can only defeat him in hand to hand, unarmed combat.

Do you think it’s useful to use one book as a lens through which to view another book? Or should you just stick with figuring out one book at a time?

This week’s passage offers up some neat words.

First among these (in their order here, and in general interesting-ness) is “cwealm-cuman.”

A combination of the word “cwealm” (“death,” “murder,” “slaughter,” “torment,” “pain,” “plague,” or “pestilence”) and “cuman” (“come,” “approach,” “get to,” or “attain”), together these words are taken to mean “death-bringer.” As you might’ve noticed, there aren’t any really crazy combinations for “cwealm-cuman”, but it’s neat because of how it’s used in the poem.

Alliteration aside, the poet’s referring to Grendel as a “death-bringer” as he struggles to escape Beowulf’s hold and the overwhelming power that the Geat wields strikes me as a clever way to talk about Grendel the death-bringer getting adose of his own fatal medicine. It seems to me that he’s saying that Beowulf wanted Grendel to leave Heorot with a taste of the same death that he had visited upon it countless times before.

Next up is “frea-drihtnes,” a combination of “frea” (“ruler,” “lord,” “king,” “master,” “the Lord,” “Christ,” “God,” or “husband”) and “drihten” (“ruler,” “king,” “lord,” “prince,” “the Lord,” “God,” or “Christ”).

What’s neat here is that this is another instance of intensification through doubling, as we’ve seen in an earlier entry. Perhaps the sentiment contained in this compound word might also have become the phrase “lord and king,” too. They are both poetic terms, after all.

And that brings us to “heard-hicgend.”

I want to say that this compound is cool because it’s intuitive, but only “heard” is probably recognizable to Modern English speakers. It is, unsurprisingly, Old English for “hard.” The word “hicgend” translates as “mind” or “spirit”.

So, literally, “heard-hicgend” is a “hard spirit” or “hard mind,” a way of expressing the idea of courage. After all, what’s courage if not a certain kind of hardness (or immovability or unwaveringness) of spirit or mind? As odd a way to express courage as saying “hard spirit” might be, it still makes sense on a kind of basic level.

Do you ever find yourself doubling negatives or adjectives to intensify what you’re saying?

Next week, all is revealed about the enchantment that Grendel has on himself, and why Beowulf’s fellow Geats are of no help to him in this fight.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

How Grendel contrasts with Heorot, and an exalted humbling (ll.710-719)

Posted on 2015/01/29 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Grendel and Heorot contrasted
Cliffs as lids, and an exalted humbling
Closing

Grendel and Heorot are described as Grendel makes his way towards it.

“Then came from the moor under misty cliff
Grendel bounding, he bore god’s ire,
meant the sinner against humankind
some to ensnare in that humbled hall.
Raging beneath the heavens, he headed to that wine hall,
the gold hall best known to men,
shimmering with ornaments. That was not the first time
that he the home of Hrothgar sought out.
Never had he in earlier days nor afterwards
found a thane so hard in the hall.”
(Beowulf ll.710-719)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This week’s passage is at odds with last week’s. Not in that it’s written in a completely different style or anything like that, but because it takes the emphasis on Grendel’s appearance and shifts it onto his intent.

However, this passage does include some description of Heorot itself that sets up a contrast between it and its attacker.

Last week, Grendel was described as a being who moves in the shadows, who slinks around. As a result, I think the Anglo-Saxons imagined Grendel as the antithesis of brightness.

Now, it only gets about a line and a half of description here, as opposed to the three we had for Grendel last week. But in those one and a half lines, Heorot is described, quite simply, as “shimmering with ornaments” (“fættum fahne” (l.716)). It is also referred to as a “gold hall” literally, since “goldsele” translates handily from Old English to Modern English with little change (l.715). So Heorot, in very short order, is clearly made out to be the pinnacle of colour, of brightness.

Perhaps that’s why it’s given so little description here. I mean, it could just be that way because the poet has already described the hall on earlier occasions, but I think that what’s happening here goes beyond being mere shorthand by which the poet intends to remind people that Heorot is bright and shiny.

I think that this description is less lingered on than that of Grendel because the hall’s brightness makes itself apparent. Just how the eye worked wasn’t likely to have entirely worked out when Beowulf was being set down in writing, but the Anglo-Saxons would definitely have been aware of how the eye’s drawn to light. Thus, they probably had some sense that bright things are immediately bright while dull things are dull over time.

In other words, I think that Heorot is being characterized here as a flash to Grendel’s dull wall. The former is so bright it overcomes you, while the latter is so not bright that you can stare at it for hours.

So why set up this contrast? I think it’s to show how diametrically opposed Grendel is to the Danes. He’s there to steal them because they are his opposite, not only in the eyes of god or whatever, but simply in how they are perceived.

Or, if you like, the Anglo-Saxons may have had some concept of darkness swallowing light as much as light creating darkness. It’s possible that this idea may also have come in with Christianity, since the metaphor of darkness eating light sounds like something that any zealous missionary would bust out to frame Christianity as the underdog in a perpetual struggle not between the forces of nature or great heroes, but between the Anglo-Saxon’s two poles of perception: darkness and light.

One other thing that struck me about this passage, though it’s less thought out, is the line “he bore god’s ire” (“godes yrre bær” (l.711)).

This one is pretty easily a reference to Grendel bearing the mark of Cain and all of that, but it also ties neatly into an idea that I brought up in my entry two weeks ago.

What if, if Beowulf is god’s champion or god’s representative on earth in some way, Grendel’s bearing god’s ire isn’t just some poetic phrasing, but is actually a reference to his being marked for death by Beowulf? After all, if Beowulf’s stories and oaths are true, he seems very much to be the worker of that wrath. It’d be a neat bit of foreshadowing, I think

One other thing about Heorot as it’s described here.

In line 713 the poet notes that the hall itself is “humbled” (“hean”). Given Heorot’s glory and grandeur in its description here, this seems odd. But I think that it’s the poet/scribe tying off the contrast that I’ve noted. I think that it’s their way of saying that Heorot wasn’t just deteriorating because it was so often empty since Grendel started attacking, but it was actually losing its lustre because it had fallen under the shadow that is Grendel.

On the one hand this might sound like a simple reading of the contrast of light and dark and the notion that the darkness is overpowering the light. But think about it for a second. Grendel’s not just dimming brightness or being shadow incarnate — he is taking the lustre from the brightest thing of all: gold.

How can any one — Geat, Dane, or even god — stand up to that? Grendel is a darkness so powerful that it is stripping away the characteristic property of an object.

What do you make of the contrast between Heorot and Grendel that seems to be set up in this passage?

Okay, so there’s not much to write about when it comes to words that stand out in this week’s passage.

I’m actually starting to wonder if there’s some sort of pattern to watch for in these stretches where the poet is describing physical things.

For the most part, it’s these descriptive, geographical parts of the poem (as far as I can tell, and from memory) that contain the straightforward compounds — those compound words that, even when defined as separate words and then recombined, mean simply what they’d mean paired up otherwise.

For example, “mist-hloþum” sounds like it could be something really badass — maybe about the way that Grendel moves or his villainous intent. But, taken together these words just mean “misty cliff.” Apart they mean “mist, misty” (mist) and “cliff, precipice, slop, hillside, hill” (hlið). So, again, “misty cliff.”

Now, Old English would be far more straightforward if each word only had one meaning. But, because spelling was far from being standardized, some Old English words have various spellings, which makes Old English dictionaries networks of meaning.

For instance, in the Clark Hall and Meritt dictionary entry for “hlið” there’s a note that redirects you to “hlid,” a word that can mean “lid, covering, door,gate, opening” — basically a word with the sense of there being an opening that is also covered.

Now this definition of “hlið” could combine with mist to a similar effect.

If you think of the mist as enveloping a space, then the cliff jutting out from it is a covering for what would otherwise be open: the hole in the mist.

But that doesn’t open much up aside from a discussion of Anglo-Saxon metaphysics and their take on the nature of holes and openings. A topic that I know nothing about.

So instead let’s turn away from compounds and write about the word “hean.” As mentioned above, it’s used in this passage to describe Heorot.

Now, what’s neat about this word’s use here is that it’s not just a matter of its being another weird word with two, practically opposite meanings. As it appears here either of its meanings could work without any sort of linguistic stretching.

So, here’s how the word appears in the passage: “…in sele þam hean” (713).

And here’s what the word “hean” can mean: “lowly,” “despised,” “poor,” “man,” “bar,” and “abject” or “raise,” “exalt,” and “extol”

So, in that context, since the poet’s talking about Heorot, he could be praising it. It could be the “exalted hall.” Or it could be a reference to the hall’s current, fallen state: “that humbled hall.” I’ve chosen the latter because I think it best fits the situation and were it supposed to be “exalted hall,” I think that “hean” would be “hiēhst,” the superlative form of the Old English word for “high.”

Though I have to say that it’s fairly clever of the poet to use this word. Not just because it fits in with the alliterative line but because I think it is supposed to carry both meanings simultaneously. It was indeed the most exalted of halls but it is now humbled.

What do you think of the idea that simple compound words generally refer to geographical features?

Next week, Grendel arrives at Heorot and peeks in on his prey.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s boast before bedtime (ll.675-687)

Posted on 2015/01/09 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf’s boastful address
A compound word for “prowess”
Closing

Boasting was a sort of performance among Anglo-Saxons. Rocking the harp while telling tales of your deeds would make those tales even more convincing. Image found at http://www.comm.unt.edu/~ktaylor/scop/boasting.htm.

Beowulf boasts about what he will do to defeat Grendel and invokes the judgement of god regarding who shall have the victory in the upcoming fight.

“Spoke he then some good boast words,
Beowulf the Geat, before he went to bed down:
‘I consider my own prowess with battle work unbowed
when compared to Grendel;
as Grendel himself slays without sword,
that thief of life, nevertheless I shall do all.
He has not the advantage, that he shall slay me,
though he hew away my shield, though he be vigorous in his
evil deed: but we this night should
forego the sword, if he seeks to dare
a battle beyond weapons; and afterwards wise god
shall decide which of us, oh holy Lord,
is worthy of glory, as he deems proper.'”
(Beowulf ll.675-687)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This week’s passage is weird in that there isn’t a whole lot to pick out that hasn’t already been picked out.

Beowulf speaks a final boast before he (and likely the rest of the Geats) head to bed for the night. In this boast he covers mostly familiar ground: he won’t be bowed by Grendel, let god decide, etc, etc.

But who is he boasting to?

Hrothgar and the bulk of the Danes (all of them, perhaps, since who among them would want to stay in the hall?) have left.

The fourteen warriors that Beowulf has with him are, as always, it seems, silent extras, so if they’re listening we don’t get any impressions of what they think about their leaders’ boasts. Yet, anyway.

Then, since Beowulf appears to have no audience, the boast is likely for himself and himself alone. It’s another of his means of psyching himself up.

But then, why, I have to ask, does he make this boast with the same formal diction that he used when addressing Hrothgar?

Beowulf’s sentences in this passage are chopped up and rearranged across multiple lines, making translation trickier than usual. Perhaps Beowulf’s engaging in some apostrophe here — addressing god itself with this boast of his.

Or maybe he’s just speaking his intention so that, in a way no doubt familiar to contemporary self-help readers and motivational speakers, it’s given an existence outside of him before he performs it. That is, in speaking about his defeating Grendel, even if it comes to a “a battle beyond weapons” (“wig ofer wæpen” (l.685)), Beowulf could be putting it out there so that he has something outside of himself to hold himself to; he’s giving himself something to grasp at in the upcoming struggle. It’s also a good way to clarify, one more time, just what his intentions are — for himself and for anyone listening.

Or, based on nothing from the poem thus far, but instead on the inclusion of a bard-like character in Sturla Gunnarsson’s 2005 film Beowulf and Grendel, maybe one of the Geats that Beowulf brought with him is making a record of this adventure and Beowulf wants to make a definite statement before the action takes place?

That last one, though possible, seems unlikely, -since Beowulf is fairly well-spoken himself and presents his adventures at great length to Hygelac when he returns to Geatland. Though, even Anglo-Saxons (or their folktale analogue, the Geats) probably appreciated the importance of back-up plans. Especially of things that could lead a person to great glory.

Nonetheless, I don’t think Beowulf is boasting here for the sake of a bard in his party.

Beowulf’s addressing god is definitely possible, and the constant recourse he makes to god as the agent of his victories suggests a certain kind of devotion on the Geat’s part.

Maybe Beowulf is even addressing god here to garner some of the deity’s favour — something that Grendel, as kin of Cain, surely has no access to. Though, with such a reputation, maybe it was thought that Grendel had the help of Satan (I’m pretty sure that concept had made its way into Christianity by the sixth century, the earliest date for Beowulf‘s composition) and so Beowulf calls on god to judge the victor as a counter to his opponent’s demonic support. Addressing a deity would definitely be reason for Beowulf to speak with the diction that he does.

Though it’s possible that he’s also just being overly eloquent because of a buzz or his being slightly drunk. I mean, he has been drinking all evening, right?

Matters of record or prayer/deity acknowledgement aside, I think it’s most likely that Beowulf makes this boast for his own good.

I think he puts his aspirations into words to make them more real so that he can have something to reach for beyond the abstract idea of beating some sort of hitherto unseen monster. It could be argued that even if Beowulf is addressing god here, that too is done as a way of psyching himself up. Though whether or not such ideas would be current among the Anglo-Saxons is another question all together. They may still have totally thought that prayer pierced the firmament of immutable stars overhead and made an inroad for god’s power to enter the realm of mortals.

Do you think giving yourself pep talks before you face major challenges helps make them easier to overcome?

Just as Beowulf’s boasting doesn’t bring much new to the table thematically, this passage is pretty light on new words that are awesome. Easy puzzles like “gylp-word” (“boast word) and “guþ-weorca” (“war work”) make appearances, but those words are too straightforward to easily go into depth with.

However, one word stands out (as always seems to be the case in this section, right?). This word is “herewæsmun” — a word that looks like a compound (and, I’m convinced, is one), but, at first look, defies being broken into its constituent parts.

The “here” part is pretty straightforward: “predatory band, troop, army, host, multitude.” Easy enough.

But there’s no entry in my Clark Hall and Merrit dictionary for “wæsma.” The closest thing is an entry for “-wæsma” (acknowledging that it is only a suffix) which redirects you to “here-w” and the compounds definition: “prowess.”

The word “wæstm” is pretty close to “wæsmun”/”wæsma,” so I think that it’s a good candidate for defining the latter half of herewæsmun. Though wæstm’s meaning “growth,” increase,” “plant,” “produce,” “offspring,” “fruit;” “result,” “benefit,” “product;” “interest,” “usury;” “abundance,” “stature,” “form,” or “figure” doesn’t mesh neatly with a word for “army” to give us a compound that means “prowess.”

However, in the glossary included with my copy of C.L. Wrenn’s second edition of the Old English Beowulf (published in 1958 by Harrap & Co.), “herewæsma” appears as “herewæs(t)m.” The inclusion of the “t” (even in parentheses) suggests that, though Wrenn doesn’t include “wæstm” in his glossary, “herewæsma” is indeed a compound of “here” and “wæstm.” Wrenn’s definition of the compound as “vigour in war” also makes a little more sense than Clark Hall and Meritt’s generalized “prowess.”

Plus, “vigour in war” isn’t that difficult to arrive at given the combination of words presented.

For, if you take a word meaning “troop” or “army” and combine it with another meaning “fruit” or “stature” then you get a word with the sense of something that is the fruit of a war band or one of great stature in such a band. And, if you think about what it’d be like to fight in a band of warriors, something that’s likely to come to mind is how you and the group might coalesce into one unit and be rallied by each other in the heat of battle. What would come from such rallying? Vigour in war — or, more generally, prowess.

Neat, huh?

Though passages like this might be light on interesting words, this is the stuff I love about readin Old English literature. It gives me a chance to really stick my hands into the muck of words (even if that muck is already pre-sifted by people like C.L. Wrenn and John R. Clark Hall and Herbert D. Merrit). Actually, this depth of language is one of the reasons why I think Beowulf is so rich; its language is much more sensitive to context than much of Modern English seems to be.

Which language do you think has more fluidity: Old English or Modern English?

Next week, check back here for a run down of the passage wherein the narrator tells of how none of the Geats thought they’d ever see home again.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar maybe jokes, and compound words abound (ll.652-661)

Posted on 2014/12/05 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Hrothgar’s Joke?
Compound words and a single seed
Closing

Interlaced men motif. Image from http://public.wsu.edu/~hanly/oe/503.html.

Hrothgar hands authority over the hall to Beowulf and promises him great riches if he survives the night.

“Greeted the men each other then,
Hrothgar Beowulf, and to him wished health,
gave rule of the drinking hall, and these words said:
‘Never before have I to any man yielded up,
since I could raise my own hand my own shield,
the noble house of the Danes but to thee now.
Have now and hold this best of houses:
Have remembrance of fame, mighty valour’s seed,
be wakeful against the wrathful one! Thy desire shall not
lack if you this brave deed survive with your life'”
(Beowulf ll.652-661)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

The main focus of this week’s passage is Hrothgar’s handing the hall over to Beowulf for the night. This is a pretty big deal. And not just because Hrothgar says that it’s unprecedented (lines 655-657).

The lord of Heorot’s handing the hall over to Beowulf for the night suggests that he, Hrothgar, has full and utter trust in Beowulf to be successful. Beowulf isn’t just a glorified night watchman; he’s been made the ward of the hall. It is his to use as he sees fit. But what does such ownership confer?

Well, no doubt there are some things in Anglo-Saxon law that could shed some interesting tints of light on the matter, but I don’t have those to hand, nor do I have the time to chase them down just now. However, in and of itself, I think the trust that Hrothgar is putting into Beowulf is significant enough.

Hrothgar knew Beowulf’s father, so there’s a connection between them. Nonetheless, Hrothgar has only just met Beowulf, really. So his handing over his hall — the hall that he built when the Danes were powerful and prosperous — into the power of one whom he’s really only just met shows a great deal of trust.

But, of course, I think that there’s something more here, too.

After Hrothgar hands the metaphysical/figurative keys to Heorot over to Beowulf he adds something to his wishes of luck and success. He tells Beowulf to “be wakeful against the wrathful one!” (“waca wið wraþum” (l.660)).

On one level the “wrathful one” is clearly Grendel. Again, his wrath goes unexplained, but as hearers of the poem, wrath alone is really the only motivation that the marsh monster is given for the repeated raids against Heorot. Simple wrath.

But, given all of the previous points at which I found readings of the poem that take references like these and point them to Beowulf, I think it’s possible that Hrothgar is throwing a bit of a jibe the Geat’s way.

I think that Hrothgar, having never before given control of his grand hall over to someone else, is trying to coolly warn Beowulf to not get too carried away. I think he’s saying “hey, be careful and try not to bring the place down tonight, okay?” or more philosophically, “when you confront the monster don’t become monstrous yourself, all right?”

After all, Beowulf’s stories of overcoming terrible beasts have involved him becoming just as savage to overcome them.

In this passage I think reading Hrothgar’s wish of luck as a lighthearted warning against his own strength and temper gives a little more credit to Hrothgar, a character who is often depicted as being in the very dredges of despair.

That Hrothgar could crack a joke at a time like this, even one that would probably be accompanied by a slight glint of the eye and a weak half-smile, suggests that he’s got some resilience left in him. Hrothgar’s still able to rule, it’s just difficult for him to ask for help and to acknowledge that he needs it.

Though that only further supports reading this line as a crack at Beowulf as well as a warning to be vigilant against Grendel. Comedy is often a disarming way for people to assert themselves and why not give the otherwise utterly melancholic Hrothgar a bit of a joke line as he makes his way out?

Besides, later on, we’ll hear Beowulf throw a jibe right back at him.

In the meantime, I think it’s also interesting that Hrothgar feels the need to tell Beowulf he’ll be rewarded handsomely for his efforts. It’s possible that along with being just a simple incentive, mentioning the reward is also Hrothgar’s way of reminding Beowulf what’s in it for him if he doesn’t destroy the hall in the process of defeating Grendel. His stories of might and courage have painted him as being rather reckless after all.

What do you think about this situation? Is Hrothgar joking with Beowulf? Or is he just wishing Beowulf rote luck?

There were a lot of words of note in this week’s passage. Some more so than others because of their placement in the poem, and some because they’re just curious words. Well, because they’re compound words.

Actually, there were two sets of compounds in Hrothgar’s speech. The first is “winærn” and “ðryþærn.” The common element between these two words (“ærn”) means “dwelling,” “house,” “building,” “store,” or “closet.” The first of the pair’s modifier is “win” which means simply “wine,” while the second’s, “ðryð” has a broader variety of meanings: “might,” “power,” “force,” “strength,” “majesty,” “glory,” “splendour;” “multitude,” “troop,” or “host.”

The first of the pair isn’t really all that interesting. It pretty much just means wine-house. I could also mean “wine-closet,” but that’s basically just a shade of the meaning of “wine-house” (that is, a house for wine) spelled out rather than left up to implication and context.

The word “ðryþærn” is slightly more interesting because of the variety of meanings for “ðryð.” Though if you look at the list of them, they all, again, kind of make sense translated as simply “great house” or “powerful house.” After all, a great house is what you’d need for a multitude of people, just as it’s what you’d need to express strength or power.

I do think it’s kind of neat how it’s the narrator who refers to Heorot as a “winærn” and Hrothgar who refers to it as a “ðryþærn.” Alliteration is definitely at work in this, but still, there’s no real reason the poet couldn’t have composed this part so that he was left with “ðryþærn” and Hrothgar with “winærn.” Their order definitely suggests a kind of up-scaling of the house in he eyes of its owners. Though, really, even were it not for Grendel, Heorot would just be a drinking hall.

Similarly the words “ellenweorc” and “mægenweorc” star in this week’s passage. They mean “deed of courage” and “deed of might” respectively. But what’s so interesting about them is that they’re both spoken by Hrothgar. Either he’s feeling the pinch of alliteration, going for emphasis, or feeling a bit sleepy.

Maybe it’s a mix of all three. It’s definitely possible that along with his gentle jibe at Beowulf’s possibly losing control Hrothgar is trying to keep Beowulf in check with the promise of glorious deeds — something that he’s clearly after since his swimming contest story was so elaborate.

I’m not so sure, though, that there’s any special significance to the order in which these two compounds appear.

They’re both part of their respective lines’ alliterating pairs, so the poet/scribe likely just wanted to express the same idea with a bit of alliterative flexibility. In this case are deeds of might really that different from deeds of courage?

The last word that I found particularly interesting in this week’s passage is “cyð” from “mægenellen cyð” on line 659.

One interpretation of this word makes it “seed,” “germ,” “shoot,” “mote.” This makes for some neat natural imagery. Hrothgar’s comparing this great undertaking to a seed of glory puts me in mind of mythological, sacred trees — even Yggdrasil, the world tree.

But there’s also a second way to read “cyð.” It could be an altered spelling of “cyðð” meaning “kith,” “kinsfolk,” “fellow-countrymen,” “neighbours” or “acquaintance,” “friendship;” “knowledge,” or “familiarity.”

Similar to the above interpretation of “cyð,” this puts some figurative language into Hrothgar’s mouth. Though this time the imagery is more familial, more interpersonal.

This deed Beowulf is about to undertake is a close friend to glory; it’s glory’s next of kin.

I feel like this might actually be the better interpretation between the two. Why? Because it has more to do with kinship and interpersonal ties.

Hrothgar can offer all the treasures he likes, but I think that this sense of kinship is the true reward from Beowulf’s quest.

Reading the word in this way makes the store of treasure that’s waiting for Beowulf all the more meaningful, too, since all of that gold will come along with a strong bond, and that is practically invaluable in a world in which groups need to rely on other groups, either for goods, protection, or mutual peace.

Beowulf can win all the gold in Daneland, but what will really win him glory in Geatland is forging a strong alliance with the Danish tribe.

Which of the two interpretations of “cyð” do you think is better? As “seed” or as “kin”?

Next week, Hrothgar gets into bed, Beowulf prepares for Grendel, and the poet drops spoilers.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar’s gloom and Heorot’s hall cup (ll.607-619)

Posted on 2014/10/31 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Hall joy and Hrothgar’s mood swing
Straightforward compounds and the “hall cup”
Closing

The lady of Heorot serving Hrothgar. It looks genial enough.

Heorot revels in Beowulf’s promise. The beer-drinking commences!

“Then in the hall was the treasure-giver joyed,
grey-haired and battle strong; consolation lived
for the ruler of the bright Danes, he heard in Beowulf
the guardian of the people’s steadfast hope.
There was the laughter of men, the roar of singing,
words were joyful. Then came forth Wealhtheow,
Hrothgar’s queen, mindful of her king;
she greeted the gold-ornamented warriors in the hall,
and the freeborn woman dearly/quickly gave
first to the lord of the East-Danes’ realm;
told him to be blithe at the beer-drinking,
dear to the people; he then turned more to
the feast and the hall-goblet, a victorious king.”
(Beowulf ll.607-619)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

In this week’s passage of Beowulf we take a break from all that dialogue and get some good old fashioned descriptive narrative. Hoo yeah!

So, in the passage Hrothgar responds incredibly positively to Beowulf and his boastful promise to destroy Grendel. I use “boastful” because, well, that’s still what his promise is.

Beowulf has shared stories of past victories with the Danes, but none of his fellow Geats have stepped up to back him nor has he shown any proof of these past victories. So far, Beowulf has just boasted expertly and looked the part of a warlike leader.

And that’s enough for Hrothgar. At the beginning of this passage he seems to be smiling benevolently at Beowulf. The poet even goes so far to say that Hrothgar saw in Beowulf “the guardian of the people’s steadfast hope” (“folces hyrde fæstrædne geþoht” (l.610)). It seems that after months, probably even years, of feeling utterly defeated at the hands of Grendel, this monster that listens neither to reason nor responds to human valour, he will finally find relief in this Geat.

This sense of joy and happiness then disperses itself throughout the hall and washes over the poet.

I’m not sure if the poem’s suddenly simple sentences (ex 1; ex 2) are a reflection of this joy or not, but I can see how they could be. In extreme happiness (especially that of the drunken variety that seems likely in the hall once the festivities start) it’s probable that the Anglo-Saxons abandoned their usual poetic wordiness in favour of more straightforward three word statements.

But then Wealhtheow, queen of the Danes, comes into the poem.

And for a brief second, for the space of maybe a line at most, it seems like that joy drains out of Hrothgar.

Already, unless I’m missing something, he seemed to be blithe and happy as he recognized in Beowulf the hero on which his people had waited. Yet Wealhtheow, when she serves him first from the beer jug, tells him “to be blithe at the beer-drinking” (“bæd hine bliðne æt þære beorþege,” (l.617)). Did Hrothgar slip back into his depression while the poet went off and described the general feeling in the hall?

I’ll cut right to it. I think he did.

But I don’t think gloomy thoughts stormed back in on him once the poet turned from him to the hall at large. I think the renewed furrow in Hrothgar’s brow is the result of Wealhtheow’s appearing. I think that she and Hrothgar are in the middle of some sort of spat.

I can’t say that the particulars can be sussed out from such a short appearance, but the poet (for reasons of alliteration, mind) mentions that she is a “freeborn woman” (“freolic wif”). Such a description directly contradicts Wealhtheow’s name, both parts of which (“wealh” and “theow”) translate as “slave”.

Interestingly, though, the first part of her name could also translate as “Welsh,” or “Briton.”

In the context of Beowulf‘s being an Anglo-Saxon poem it could just be that she represents the people of the British Isles that the Anglo-Saxons subjugated. So as pleasant as Wealhtheow appears at this point, I can’t help but wonder if she harbours some sort of resentment for Hrothgar. That is, of course, if the Danes represent the ruling Anglo-Saxons.

Whether representatives of something larger, or simply husband and wife, there’s definitely a tension between Hrothgar and Wealhtheow in this scene. But, that said, it wouldn’t surprise me if the poet/scribe created Wealhtheow and the tension based on the plight of the Britons who were under Anglo-Saxon rule.

Of course, there wouldn’t even need to be marital difficulties or any deeper meaning behind the tension I feel in this scene. Wealhtheow is, after all, in the position of being a sort of peace offering between the Danes and another tribe. That could be reason enough for tension, I think.

But what does it mean, though, having the ostensibly only actually British character in a poem from Britain be a woman and a wife to the king of a fading people who hold a grand old palace of a hall?

Because so much of this passage is straightforward, there aren’t too many words of great interest.

Of the few compounds that are used, gamolfeax and guðrof seem like they should stick out. But the former literally means old hair or old head of hair. The latter compound, likewise has a straightforward translation as war renowned or strong in battle. There’s not really much room to wiggle around in either of these cases.

In the last part of the passage that describes Hrothgar’s reaction to Beowulf’s pledge (line 610, specifically), we’re given one compound that’s kind of neat.

The word “faest-raedne” means “steadfast.” Taken apart, translators got to this meaning by combining the security of “faest” with a word that generally means “counsel.”

That is, the word “raedne” means (aside from counsel) things like “resolution,” “deliberation,” “plan,” “way,” “design;” “decree,” “ordinance;” “wisdom,” “reason,” “intelligence;” “gain,” “profit,” “benefit,” “good fortune,” “remedy;” “help,” “power,” “might.” All of those concepts do sort of relate back to advice and advisers to some extent, but there are nuances. None of them are so far out of step as past parts of compounds, however.

Taken as a part of the larger sentence, though, “faest-raedne” as “steadfast” works with “geþoht” to shift the meaning of the clause away from simply “the people’s fervent thought” to the “people’s steadfast hope.” It’s a slight difference, but it’s still a curious one considering the elements that the poet put into place to achieve it (or, more large scale, considering how Anglo-Saxon developed to where it could express such things with this sort of nuance).

Oh, and there’s one more word that defies a simple breakdown but is still fun to speculate about. It’s the word “hall goblet” (“seleful”) on line 619.

The word “sele” is taken to mean “hall,” “house,” “dwelling, “prison,” or “tabernacle.” Given the importance placed on Heorot, this part of “hall goblet” fits most of those definitions quite nicely.

But add in “prison,” and the word fits Heorot almost like a glove. Since Grendel’s imposition, it’s a place that, for the Danes at least, is definitely prison-like.

The word “ful” is also pretty clear, meaning only “beaker, cup.”

So, taken together, “hall goblet” is just one sense of the word, the more general expression of which would be something like “sacred cup” or “exalted cup.” Basically, the sense that I get of the cup referred to with “seleful” is that it’s the one that the lord of the hall gets to use.

This cup may well have a ceremonial function, too, it being necessary for the lord of the hall to drink from this cup before any festivity or celebration really gets under way. There could also be a belief that any invited to drink from that cup shares in that lord’s glory.

More relevant to the poem, though, is the wondering that I got up to about the cup that’s stolen from the dragon in the latter half of the poem.

It’s just one cup, and it’s rust covered, but maybe it’s the hall cup of the forgotten people who used to live where the dragon took up residence. And maybe, since halls were generally places to go to be social and to drink, the hall cup represents the spirit of its hall.

As such, when the thief steals what could be the same cup from the dragon’s hoard, it recognizes the loss of this object with value beyond its physical worth and attempts to retrieve it to restore order to its hoard.

Or, when Wealhtheow fills Heorot’s “hall goblet” for Hrothgar maybe the act signifies the reinvigoration of Heorot and the Danes.

What do you think of a steadfast thought being a hope? Or of the hall cup having so much significance?

Next week we watch as Wealhtheow travels around the assembled host, doling out beer until she gets to Beowulf.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf gets mytho-poetic and words reveal more than meanings (feat. Robert Graves) (ll.598-606)

Posted on 2014/10/24 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Finding the goddess in Beowulf
Words with mythical connotations
Closing

A piece of Anglo-Saxon ornamentation. Image from http://research.uvu.edu/mcdonald/Anglo-Saxon/Art.html.

Beowulf finishes off his reply to Unferth with another boast.

“‘After all, against that apostle of violence none arise
from among the Danish people, so he wars as he likes,
killing and feasting, prosecution he knows comes not
from the spear-Danes. But I shall now surprise
him with the might and strength of the Geats,
bringing him battle. Afterward whomever wants to
go to mead shall and heartily, once the morning light
brings another day to humanity,
when the light-clad sun shall shine once more from the south.'”
(Beowulf ll.598-606)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Since I’m reading Robert Graves’ The White Goddess over on my reading and gaming log Going Box by Box, I feel like I might have some insight into the meaning of Beowulf’s language here.

After all, this is the end of his speech to Unferth and the Danes. As such, he’d not want to waste any words getting his point across. He will defeat Grendel because he will do things in a way that the Danes never yet have. Such a statement is impressively logical.

But impressive enough to complete steam roll all of the Danes and get away with it? Well. Apparently. I still think he says things like “none arise/from among the Danish people” (“nænegum arað/leode Deniga” (l.598-599)) to stir them up to some extent. And to show that where they failed, he will not.

Though, using what I’ve gleaned from The White Goddess, I think that Beowulf isn’t just boasting about strength and power and the ever important element of surprise. I think he’s also speaking in a poetic language. Since I’ve not absorbed everything from The White Goddess like some sort of giant sponge, I won’t be covering all of the poetically sealed things that Beowulf has to say in this passage, but I will be speculating about the two that are the most apparent to me.

In line 602 when Beowulf speaks of the “power and might” (“eafoð ond ellen”) of the Geats, the second word he uses in his alliteration stands out. This word is fairly commonly used in the poem Beowulf, and, although my reading’s limited, probably other Old English writing as well. It stands out here, though, because one of the definitions that my Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary offers is “elder-tree; elder-wood.” A large part of The White Goddess is about Graves deciphering the Druidic tree alphabet, and elder is amidst its letters.

I think that there might be a connection between that alphabet and Beowulf’s speech here.

According to Graves, the elder tree is the one that stands for the last month of the Druidic calendar. It signifies death and is said to have been the crucifixion tree. Graves backs this connection up with the mention of elder-leaf shaped funerary flints found in megalithic long-barrows.

In short, the elder tree is deeply associated with death.

It’s also quite deeply connected with witches and the devil itself. Though, because of its white flowers that are “at their best at midsummer” (185), the elder is also an aspect of the white goddess herself, the ruling triple deity of Graves’ Indo-European religion.

Setting this into the context of Beowulf’s speech, specifically his boasting that Geatish “might and strength” ((“eafoð ond ellen”) l.60) will prevail, does actually make sense.

The word “eafoð” specifically means “power,” “strength,” or “might,” and “ellen” means “zeal,” “strength,” “courage;” “strife,” “contention.” As a noun or adjective “ellen” means “elder-tree” or “elder-wood” respectively.

Pairing both words up is, thus, a little redundant. Though this apparent redundancy could be emphasizing the power of which Beowulf speaks. Combining the strength of eafoð with the death connotations of ellen as “elder wood,” though, I think that Beowulf is pushing his claim that he’ll beat Grendel with brand new tactics even further. He’s really saying that with the strength of death he will overcome the fiend that has been terrorizing the Danes for years.

Maybe that sounds a little far-fetched, even for something on the blog of someone who studied literature up to the graduate level. But hear me out.

The Geats have so far been characterized as a warlike people. Anyone who is so warlike will likely invest a lot of importance in their armour and arms.

The Anglo-Saxons clearly do this, as a good portion of the poem to this point has been about this or that bit of armour. Beowulf even gives Hrothgar explicit instructions to send his armour back to Hygelac should he fail.

In a sense, then, Beowulf identifies with his armour, as any culture that puts hereditary significance onto arms will. (Passing a sword down from father to son, I think, signifies a passing of a sort of family spirit, something that identifies the rightful wielder as a true member of the tradition and therefore of the family.)

When push comes to shove, Beowulf’s tactic for defeating Grendel is to fight him at his own game. Beowulf knows that conventional weapons have no effect on the fiend and so he strips away his armour and wrestles with him. Removing his armour signifies a death of sorts, and I think that (along, of course with alliteration), that’s why Beowulf refers to the might of the Geats with eafoð and ellen. I think that he’s definitely pulling on the alternate interpretation of “ellen” as “elder” and all that the tree connotes.

Jumping down to the bottom of the excerpt, I think that Beowulf completes very intentionally ends his speech about defeating Grendel and restoring Heorot with a reference to the sun rising and shining from the south.

Again, turning to Graves, he gathers quite a bit of evidence for the conception of the most terrible place on earth in many European myths being the far reaches of the north (it’s basically the whole point of chapter six). Thus, the sun’s shining from the south signifies a complete turn around in which the Danes’ troubles are over and the light of the sun (already equated to the light of god elsewhere in Beowulf) will shine down on them with all of its might.

Ultimately, then, I think that Beowulf’s not just boasting about taking a new tack against Grendel to beat him, I think he’s making the extreme claim (at least in the connotation of his full boast from lines 601 to 606) that he will defeat Grendel by dying and resurrecting.

If this is the case, then I have no idea what to make of the reference to one of the most important events in the pre-Christian year (the festival celebrating the death and rebirth of the year) in a poem that was very clearly written in its current form in a post-Christian time. The reference’s not being a direct one does suggest the sort of subterfuge that Graves writes about poets using to avoid church persecution, but I’m not entirely sure that’s at work here.

Though I could push my analyses of these references further by pulling one more thing from Graves.

In chapter three he writes that in the old poetic language, the roebuck signifies something hiding. A hart (the animal on whose name “Heorot” puns) isn’t exactly a roebuck, but again, maybe the poet/scribe was just covering himself.

Unsurprisingly for a passage that contains the sort of arcana that I pointed out in the first part of this entry, this one has some doozies so far as words go.

In its first line, for example, is the mysterious word “nyd-bade.”

The Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary I have defines it as “messenger of evil?[sic]” and grabs this definition from the word’s context in the Old English Exodus. Breaking down the word doesn’t give us a clear definition, but it might shed some light on just what it means.

The word “nyd” is an alternate spelling of “neod” meaning any one of “desire,” “longing,” “zeal,” “earnestness,” “pleasure,” or “delight” or of “nied” meaning “need,” “necessity,” “compulsion,” “duty,” “errand,” “business;” “emergency,” “hardship,” “distress,” “difficulty,” “trouble,” “pain;” “force,” “violence,” “what is necessary;” “inevitableness,” or “fetter.” This word could also signify the name for the rune “n.”

Notwithstanding the possible rune reference, the common denominator in the various meanings of “nyd” is urgency. Drawing urgency out of “fetter” might be a stretch, but something that’s fettered is usually so bound quickly to prevent it from doing any unnecessary harm.

Thankfully, “boda” is much more straightforward; it means “messenger, herald, apostle, angel; prophet”

Taken together, then, these words seem to refer to someone who brings something urgent.

In that general sense, they don’t need to bring something evil.

It could even be interpreted as referring to someone who is a forerunner for some important piece of information. Actually, following that interpretation could lead to reading Grendel not as some godless monster, but perhaps as a pagan priest who continually visits the freshly converted Heorot in an effort to bring them back to the old beliefs.

Grendel’s only known relation being his mother makes this a very curious interpretation indeed, since that could make Grendel the final, faded champion of a now perverted great goddess. Or perhaps even the champion only of the death aspect of Graves’ triple goddess.

Looking at it that way really casts the whole poem into a new light – it’s not just about a vaguely Christian warrior claiming victories over monsters in god’s name and ruling his people well, but about the decay of the old religion and the revitalizing force of this new one. As well as how the new one is integrating aspects of the old.

A comparative study of Grendel’s mom and the as yet unintroduced Wealhtheow of Heorot could be quite curious in this light. But that’s a project for another day.

Another word worthy of note (and another compound!) is “sweglwered.” This word’s parts are much clearer than those of “nyd-boda.”

The word “swegl” means “sky,” “heavens,” “ether,” “the sun;” or possibly “music” while “wered” means “throng,” “company,” “band,” “multitude;” “host,” “army,” “troop,” or “legion.”

The combination of these two words creates a fairly vivid picture of the other things in the sky forming a sort of comitatus with the sun at its head.

Closing on this reference of a bright and shining lord and retinue really brings out the hope in Beowulf’s claim. He’s not just claiming that a new day will dawn on Heorot, bringing them all their old happiness, but that the sun will be out in all its grand array to herald this day, truly an omen of great things ahead.

Now, one more thing.

Something that’s clear to me from my reading of Graves is that the goddess of whom he writes is associated with the moon. The rising of the sun from its poetically strongest quarter, and with its full retinue then suggests something opposing the goddess.

In a general sense it could be the more aggressive, patriarchal religion that Graves believes overtook an older matriarchal one. This would make Beowulf’s claim all the grander, but it’s not as if his wrestling a terrible monster to death and then later facing a dragon were stories told with mind numbing regularity when one Anglo-Saxon asked another “how was your day?”

Next week there’s an interlude in the dialogue. Hrothgar takes in what Beowulf says and Wealhtheow, his queen, appears.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s wild accusation and some “near relatives” (ll.581b-589)

Posted on 2014/10/10 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf starts big
Who are these near relatives?
Closing

A young man makes a mead hall stand.

Having finished his version of the swimming contest story, Beowulf begins to properly lay into Unferth.

“‘I from no man of you
in such strife have heard tell,
sword terror. Neither you nor Breca
at battle-play, still neither of you two,
have done sincerely such deeds
with the stained sword – nor do I mean to boast in this –
though thou brought death to thine own brother,
near blood relation; thus thou in hell shall
suffer damnation, though thine wit thrives.'”
(Beowulf ll.581b-589)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Perhaps it’s just a formal formulation that Beowulf is quoting at the beginning of this week’s extract, but lines 581b and 582 stand out as being the most knotted of the bunch. That is, they’re the only ones in which his word order gets twisted around for some sort of effect.

My guesses are that these lines have their word order turned about to show Beowulf shifting from narrative to outright declamation (that is, in fact, defamation). He’s now turning his attention directly to Unferth and so perhaps there’s some dramatic value in having Beowulf speak in a more convoluted way as he turns to accusing Unferth of having done no deeds of note. Maybe there’s something there, but I’m not too sure about what it could be.

What’s much more explosive and attention grabbing is the meat of Beowulf’s attack on Unferth. He doesn’t pull any punches.

He starts by saying that neither he nor (for what it’s worth, I suppose) Breca have done any great deeds of might in battle to match his own against the sea monsters. He underscores this by saying that he doesn’t “mean to boast in this” (“no ic þæs fela gylpe” (l.586))

Then Beowulf very quickly raises the stakes, saying that Unferth is going to burn in hell because he killed his kin.

Wait. Where did that come from?

Is this a commonly known thing? Is this act something that’s been published abroad with Unferth as the fiend, the villain?

Or is Beowulf maybe misinterpreting something, sharing among the Danes some piece of news that was mangled by the time it reached the Geats?

It’s possible that Beowulf’s verbal finger wagging here is based on mangled, second hand news. In that case, Beowulf’s bold statement here makes him look like an ass. Though he’d put shame into the heart of Unferth (and the rest of the Danes) with next week’s words.

If, on the other hand, Beowulf’s accusations are based on a well known story, then where does that put Unferth?

I can’t help but get the feeling that Beowulf is being something of a prig in pointing out Unferth’s killing of his own kin. If he’s in a position of honour, close to Hrothgar, then this deed must be generally ignored. Beowulf’s dredging it up could be an oversimplification of what really happened.

Perhaps Unferth slew his kin because he was bound by some sort of complex system of alliances to do so?

Or maybe Unferth has a sister and her marriage soured to such a degree that her blood relations were forced to fight her relations by marriage?

The word “heafod-mægum” does, after all, merely mean “close kin.” And it can mean anything from wife to husband to uncle to aunt.

Whatever the case, I think that Beowulf is glossing over something major in his outright defamation of Unferth as a kinslayer.

I think there’s something here in Beowulf’s saying that even Unferth’s wits won’t be able to save him from burning in hell could be a reference to Unferth’s having reasoned his way out of whatever moral quandary lead him to kill his kin.

The weirdest part of this whole passage to me, though, is that no one interrupts.

No one steps in to say “Hey, Beowulf, lay off.”

It’s not as though dialogue gets interrupted elsewhere in the poem, but the way that things are presented here it feels as though Beowulf and Unferth are utterly alone rather than in a packed mead hall.

One way to read this whole bit is that it’s might calling out brains. Beowulf is very clearly might, and so it could be argued that his moral understanding is simplified to “good guys” and “bad guys.”

Whereas, Unferth, if he really is as witty as he’s said to be, represents the brainier side of things. He is perhaps, a coward at battle, but quick in his mind and able to evade the judgment of his peers because of this. Though, in true Christian fashion (and pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon beliefs, too?) Beowulf states that Unferth will face up to his crime in the day of judgment.

Perhaps, then, what Beowulf’s getting at is that his wits will save Unferth from the judgment of his peers, but not from the final judgment of god itself.

Do you think Beowulf is really being as religious as his reminding Unferth of his final judgment suggests?

Not to kick a dead brother, but this week, the second section is going to repeat the subject of the first.

The word that Beowulf uses to further describe Unferth’s slain kinsmen, “heafod-mægum,” is just too weird to pass up.

On its surface, the word meaning “near relatives.” It’s a combination of the Old English for “head,” “source,” “origin,” “chief,” or “leader” on the left side of its hyphen and the Old English for “male kinsman,” parent,” “son,” “brother,” “nephew,” “cousin,” “compatriot,” “female relation,” “wife,” “woman,” or “maiden” on its hyphen’s right side.

What we can take away from dissecting this one is that a near relative isn’t necessarily a blood relation (the only occurrences of blood relations in “mægum”‘s definition are “parent, son, nephew, cousin,” just 4 out of 11 total possibilities). It could be something as intimate as a spouse or fellow member of a close group that identifies as a singular unit.

I think that it’s also possible to see “mægum” being combing with “heafod” as a way to express that the connection implied by “near relatives” is something established through reasoning. The connection it describes relies on someone’s wits to understand it. Figuring out degrees of relation isn’t simple arithmetic after all.

Given the need for wits to understand the relationship denoted by “heafod-mægum,” could Beowulf be making a joke when he says that Unferth’s wits won’t save him from his hellish fate?

My thinking here is that if wits make this close connection, if the relationship between people joined through marriage or common membership in a certain group was regarded as being a connection based on understanding rather than anything physical, then it’s possible for such a connection to be cast aside using that same understanding. Wits can unbind what they have bound, though, if Beowulf’s right in saying Unferth is still damned, god does not forget what has been bound.

Disposing of a connection would mean forfeiting of whatever rights and privileges went with the connection. Reasoning your way out of a non-blood relationship also wouldn’t erase any heinous acts done to those near relatives. Acts like, say, murdering them. And it does sound like Unferth killed more than one of his close kin since both “broðrum” and “heafod-mægum” are in their plural forms.

Given all of this, I think Beowulf is speaking figuratively when he says that Unferth killed his own brothers. Rather than being blood relations, I think he’s going more towards the “compatriots” sense of “heafod-mægum.”

Why?

Because if someone were to slaughter his actual brothers, he would not end up in the inner circle of someone like Hrothgar.

However, it’s possible that Unferth is a turncoat, that he betrayed his birth tribe or group for the position that he now enjoys and Beowulf places the slaughter of his people squarely on his shoulders because if not for his betrayal they would have managed to overcome whatever was assailing them – even if that happened to be the Danes themselves as I’m guessing it was.

Because of the slithering sort of vibe I get from Unferth, I think it’s likely that he did betray the kin he slew. And that he probably did it for a place of honour with another group. However tarnished that place might be by a past that he has reasoned his way out of.

What do you think Unferth’s story is? Is he a stone-cold killer as Beowulf’s accusation suggests, or is he simply misunderstood by the Geatish hero?

Next week, Beowulf continues his haranguing of Unferth, laying the blame for Grendel’s terror on his cowardice.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

A Blogger's Beowulf

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

Tag Archives: Geats

Words to cool a harp solo and excite for history (ll.1063-1070)

A fair and square exchange and the simple words for it (ll.1043-1049)

Beowulf as storyteller, words sharp and simple (ll.957-970a)

Grendel as the Goddess’ champion, three neat words (ll.791-801a)

How Grendel contrasts with Heorot, and an exalted humbling (ll.710-719)

Beowulf’s boast before bedtime (ll.675-687)

Hrothgar maybe jokes, and compound words abound (ll.652-661)

Hrothgar’s gloom and Heorot’s hall cup (ll.607-619)

Beowulf gets mytho-poetic and words reveal more than meanings (feat. Robert Graves) (ll.598-606)

Beowulf’s wild accusation and some “near relatives” (ll.581b-589)