This week’s translation is a guest post from Wendy Hennequin. Wendy is an Associate Professor at Tennessee State University where she is currently researching the connection between Grendel’s mother and Beowulf’s kings, as well as the comitatus bond in contemporary literature. We’re posting her translation and commentary back-to-back because the commentary discusses issues of translation and so is best read alongside the poem.
Ic eom mundbora minre heorde,
eodorwirum fæst, innan gefylled
dryhtgestreona. Dægtidum oft
spæte sperebrogan; sped biþ þy mare
5 fylle minre. Frea þæt bihealdeð,
hu me of hrife fleogað hyldepilas.
Hwilum ic sweartum swelgan onginne
brunum beadowæpnum, bitrum ordum,
eglum attorsperum. Is min innað til,
10 wombhord wlitig, wloncum deore;
men gemunan þæt me þurh muþ fareð.
I am herd-protector, hand-ruler of the flock,
fast in wire-fences, and filled inside
with army-treasures. Often, in daytime,
I spit spear-terror. My success is greater,
5 luck-might, with fullness. The lord sees how
battle-arrows from my belly fly.
Sometimes, I begin to swallow dark
brown battle-arms, bitter spear-points,
painful poison-spears. Precious to the proud
10 is my bright womb-hoard, wonderful stomach.
People remember what passes through my mouth.
Highlight the box with your cursor to reveal the possible solutions: Ballista, Fortress, Quiver, Bee-skep, etc.