—Poetry by Victor Kennedy, Maribor, Slovenia
—Public Domain Illustrations Courtesy
of Victor Kennedy
—Public Domain Illustrations Courtesy
of Victor Kennedy
Beowulf: þe sōþġiedd
Oþer dæl
Hwaet! Ic wille secgan þe be þære færstice,
þær Beowulf and Rondel cōmon to scúras.
On a gewlitlic dag, þa Beowulf and his geferas
wæron æt þære meduselde, wæċċa fōtbǽl
þonne in þurh þá dōr ancōm Rondel, ġesēċgan
feoht.
Beorfyllen waes se ond yrre.
“Hwá ofercume?” he rārode.
“Mann Untwifeald,” ācwæþ Beowulf.
“þa mæġ nat beo,” ācwæþ eoten. “Beswīcaþ!”
“Séo heaðufremmendee worda,” scȳeþ Beowulf.
“Gearwa armwraxle!”
Sittan Rondel þa hwile þe þegenas ġelǣfaþ fram
þe healle.
Grunnetten ond þennen, feondas feohtaþ,
oþþæt, mid mihtiġum creac, Rondel ys oferdrifan.
Héanmód ond giscung, healtaþ into niht
ond þe Þegenas bieldaþ Beowulf mid ceahhetunge
“Drenċas on þe hūs,” ċeallaþ Beowulf,
Ond hie singan ond drincan þurh þe niht.
Tweo dæl
Þe níehst morgenmete, Freawilly, þe cynings bearn
sege to Beowulf, “Segest mára heorodaédum!”
“Nó again!” segaþ Beowulfs æðelings.
“Hwael, þer waes þis án tyme…” biganne Beowulf,
but ac aér mihte he boaste and bragge;
Bang! Godsyllas móðor, Rondaraus, ábræceþ inne
ðe dor.
“Hwā hast gebéaten míne bearn?” héo áscaþ.
“Þæt wæs him,” segeth Freawilly, pointe æt
Beowulf.
Beforan hero canne sprece, wið grimman grapum
héo bocce his eors, tweacce his nosu,
knocce him ūt in þrítig secconde.
“Takeð þat!” héo sege, þen stempeð þider to þe fen.
“Eow!” Segeð Beowulf, þenden nurseð ábrocenne
héafod,
“þat ealuwif hafa hella strang earm! Ic neód a beór!”
Þreá dæl
Æfter a hwíl Beowulf reste in ealde folces hám.
Þonne word cóm Þæt drédeful dracan,
Draco Malflye, bin spíwan fór,
berstan uppe Þinge bærnan up Þe lande.
Greben scyld strang ond sweord scearp
(lȳtel rustig be nū) hé forgyteð sáre bæc,
hæd ūt on hēahweg sēcan fore adventūr.
Wigles ðe Bald, Wiglacs bearn segeð to lǣder,
“Rustig eald sweord nē ēow helpan, Ic þencan.
Betera þē habban fȳr-hōs!” Beowulf ceallian
fȳr brigad,
ac nūmber bysig. Þæt Beowulf and Wigles gāð
findan dracan,
mētað him. Beowulf sæð to Wigles,
“Hwæt! Hēolde mīn bēor and wacast þis!”
Beowulf stepeþ uppe to dracan hitte hym on þe
heod,
wyð rustig ealde sweord whych sōn tōbrecaþ.
Wigles snēkeð ābūtan behindan dracan
hym to stingan wið swich-blæd būtan ǣr hit mote,
dracan befielð dēad.
“Hwæt þe hecke?” āscað Wigles.
“Dracan mōt hæfde yfel sēocnes.”
Æfter a hwíl Beowulf reste in ealde folces hám.
Þonne word cóm Þæt drédeful dracan,
Draco Malflye, bin spíwan fór,
berstan uppe Þinge bærnan up Þe lande.
Greben scyld strang ond sweord scearp
(lȳtel rustig be nū) hé forgyteð sáre bæc,
hæd ūt on hēahweg sēcan fore adventūr.
Wigles ðe Bald, Wiglacs bearn segeð to lǣder,
“Rustig eald sweord nē ēow helpan, Ic þencan.
Betera þē habban fȳr-hōs!” Beowulf ceallian
fȳr brigad,
ac nūmber bysig. Þæt Beowulf and Wigles gāð
findan dracan,
mētað him. Beowulf sæð to Wigles,
“Hwæt! Hēolde mīn bēor and wacast þis!”
Beowulf stepeþ uppe to dracan hitte hym on þe
heod,
wyð rustig ealde sweord whych sōn tōbrecaþ.
Wigles snēkeð ābūtan behindan dracan
hym to stingan wið swich-blæd būtan ǣr hit mote,
dracan befielð dēad.
“Hwæt þe hecke?” āscað Wigles.
“Dracan mōt hæfde yfel sēocnes.”
* * *
BEOWULF: THE TRUE STORY
Part One
Lo, I will tell you this hard tale
when Beowulf and Rondel came to blows.
On a sunny day, when Beowulf and his
companions
were at the meadhouse, watching football
in through the door came Rondel looking for a
fight.
Full of beer he was drunk and disorderly.
“Who is winning?” he roared.
“Man United,” replied Beowulf.
“That cannot be,” grumbled the monster. “They
must be cheating!”
“Them’s fighting words,” says Beowulf, “Prepare
to arm wrestle!”
Down sat Rondel as the thanes cleared the room.
Grunting and straining, the foes contend,
until, with a mighty crack, Rondel is pinned.
Downcast and sobbing, he limps off into the night
and the thanes congratulate Beowulf with a loud
cheer.
“Drinks for the house,” cries the hero,
and they sing and drink through the night.
* * *
Part Two
Next morning at breakfast, Freawilly, the king’s
son said to Beowulf, “Tell us a story of heroic
deeds!”
“Oh yes, please do!” cried Beowulf’s followers.
“Well, there was this one time…” began Beowulf,
but before he might hold forth,
Bang! Rondel’s mother, Rondaraus, broke in the
door.
“Where is the bully who beat up my boy?” she
demanded.
“It was him,” said Freawilly, pointing at Beowulf.
Before he could speak, with a grim grip
she boxed his ears, tweaked his nose,
and knocked him out in thirty seconds flat.
“Take that!” she said, and stomped off to the fen.
“Ow!” said Beowulf, nursing his broken head,
“That alewife has a helluva strong arm! I need
a beer!”
* * *
Part Three
After a while Beowulf retired to an old folks’
home
Then word came that a dreadful dragon,
Draco Malflye, was spewing fire,
destroying everything burning up the land.
Grabbing a strong shield and a sharp sword
(a bit rusty by now) he forgot his sore back
and headed out on the highway looking for
adventure
Wigles the Bald, son of Wiglac said to his leader
“A rusty old sword won’t help you, I think.
It would be better to have a fire hose!” Beowulf
called the fire brigade,
but the number was busy. So Beowulf and Wigles
went to find the dragon,
and when they met him, Beowulf said to Wigles,
“Here! Hold my beer and watch this!”
Beowulf stepped up to the dragon and hit him on
the head
with his rusty old sword which immediately broke.
Wigles snuck around behind the dragon
to stab him with his blade but before he could
strike, the dragon fell dead.
“What the Hell?” cried Wigles,
“That dragon must have had some serious
condition.”
“Yes,” quoth Beowulf, “Reptile disfunction!”
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Wanting to stay, we go, all beings here on God’s earth, wherever it is written that we go, taking our bodies from death’s cold bed to unbroken sleep that follows life’s feast.
—Beowulf
____________________
About his poem, Newcomer Victor Kennedy, a Canadian from Scotland who is currently living in Maribor, Slovenia, says, “I wrote both the faux-Old English ‘original’ and the modern English version. It’s a parody of the epic Anglo-Saxon poem, Beowulf (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beowulf). Most texts of the poem today have a parallel translation, like this: https://www.mit.edu/~jrising/webres/beowulf.pdf/. Mine is as a sort of pseudo-Old English (which I learned at grad school at U of Toronto). It’s what was spoken in England before the Norman invasion in 1066. Middle English is the term used to describe the 15th-century language of Chaucer, which most people today can figure out fairly easily. I think the only people living today who could figure out Old English would be Icelanders; when I went there to visit, I found I could understand Icelandic fairly well, having some memory of my Old English course. Icelandic is basically the same language, but it didn’t change as much over the centuries.
There have been movie versions of Beowulf made in 1999 and 2007. The 2007 was an animated version starring Angelina Jolie as the female troll-monster: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beowulf_(2007_film)#Home_media/.”
Originally from Scotland, Victor Kennedy studied guitar at Berklee School of Music, Boston; Astronomy at James Cook University, Townsville, Australia; law at York University, Toronto; and English Literature at the University of Toronto. At various times he has eked out a living as a truck driver, lawyer, musician, scuba diving instructor, lexicographer, and English professor. He is the author of Strange Brew: Metaphors of Magic and Science in Rock Music (2013) and co-editor of Words and Music (2013); Symphony and Song (2016); Ethnic and Cultural Identity in Music and Song Lyrics (2017); Words, Music, and Gender (2020); and Words, Music, and Propaganda (in press).
Welcome to the Kitchen, Victor; don’t be a stranger, and congratulations on trying something altogether different!
__________________
—Medusa
Victor Kennedy (with Brad)
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Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
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five dollars buys
the changing face
of time…