Poetry Friday - Beowulf

Chers Amis,

I love Poetry Fridays because they call me back to this mysterious form of the written, spoken, chanted word. It is purer than prose, each syllable seeks to touch the whole, to resonate or support the music within. Most of the poetry I have read in the last ten years/three children has been chosen for little ears and it is balm for the soul, sweet and poignant ear candy. Sometimes I long for more.

A few months ago I went to the library ALONE (I know this is a foreign concept for mothers. It is legal, don't worry, I checked.) There I was drawn to an audio recording of the new translation of Beowulf by Seamus Heaney and with almost guilty pleasure, slid the cassette into my car stereo. As the lines flowed by like the waves slapping the whorled "wood-wreathed ships", my heart sighed deeply. It was the sigh of recognition and remembrance. Of seeing a dear friend in the face of a stranger.

I had never heard or read any translation before, but like most school children knew the tale of the warrior/king defeating the primordial monster Grendel. Here is a beautiful, noble epic, an ancient rhyme retold with craft, weaving and molding modern words to the Anglo-Saxon forms. Now, after listening to the whole epic, I am reading it again. It is gorgeous, but I love the spoken verse so clean and strong. Here is a link to several passages read by Heaney himself, a modern bard. It is a finely wrought treasure. Don't miss it.

-- Marjorie