Andreas re-lineation is complete

I have finally finished re-lineating and revising Andreas. The line breaks should feel more comfortable and less breath-stretching now, with a concomitant increase in the energy of the translation. Let me know how it works for you.

I have also considered and reconsidered a tough word choice at line 1478-81 (the first lines of section IX):

Hwæt, ic hwile nu haliges lare,
leoð-giddinga, lof þæs þe worhte,
wordum wemde

Listen, I have defamed [proclaimed?] for a while now the teaching of the saint, the praise of what he achieved, in the words of poetic songs

There is an untranslatable pun possible between weman “to announce, persuade, entice” and wemman “to mar, spot, spoil" and "to defile, besmirch” (both are weak verbs and may look the same in the preterite). Both of the translations I rely upon translate it as weman: Kennedy rendering it as “singing” and Bradley as “proclaiming.” The Bosworth Toller Dictionary, however, translates this line as “I have not given a good account of the saint," and suggests a definition for the phrase wordum wemman "to reproach, blame."

The line is repeated from line 740, where it is used to describe the animated statue speaking. There the pun also works, but not so urgently: it could mean either "proclaiming [to them] in words" or "reproaching [them] ('them' being the priests of the Temple at Jerusalem).

My preference is to go with the unusual, but defensible "defamed" in line 1480—it becomes then a humility topos that fits in with the author's need to re-introduce himself in direct address and begins his apologetic statement. What do you think? Can I keep it as "defamed" or should it be "proclaimed?" I'd like to hear from you on this?

Updates and revisions

There have been many changes made to the Andreas translation. I spent the afternoon reading it aloud, making many changes to the lineation in order to create a better rhythm as well as correcting many errors and reconsidering many lexical choices. So far I've blazed through the first three parts and anticipate getting through a few more before the evening is finished. Please see for yourself (by following the sidebar link).

Anglo-Saxon Futures 2

Next week I'll be participating in a translation workshop at the Anglo-Saxon Futures 2 conference at King's College, London. This is my second trip to the conference, which promises to great fun again -- there will be papers by my advisor Kathleen Davis, Tricia Dailey, Hal Momma, Eileen Joy (who I'm super-psyched to meet), and Gillian Overing, among others, and the meeting is always very fun.

My panel will be on translating Old English poetry, focusing on "The Ruin" and "Durham," and led by Marijane Osborn. Although, the session will probably focus most on "The Ruin," the pairing is very cool. I've always been interested in how "The Ruin" is over-burdened by critical pieties, that lament for the shattered and scattered condition of OE poetic manuscripts. "Durham" seems like the perfect antidote for the austerity and dead-ends of "The Ruin." It's chatty and open-ended, enthusiastic about the multiplicities it enumerates, and active and vigorous in its language. It's hardly as pyrotechnic as "The Ruin," but it shows OE verse to be quickened and participating in linguistic change in post-1066 England. Past and present have a continuity, a relation of something other than nostalgia or melancholia, in the "Durham" that "The Ruin" does not seem to.

I hope that we can break down some that fusty edifice that contains "The Ruin" and free up its voice so that its formidable poetic innovation and energy can be revealed in a new way. I have always felt that the poem plays perhaps a bit too well into the traditional medievalist pose of focusing on Christian exegetics, where everything is an expression of contemptus mundi, and the use of wyrde twice in the poem forces the entire thing into a tried-and-(therefore-has-to-be)-true Boethian, Ælfredian frame.

I have also been wondering about the relationships that can be made between the ruins of Andreas and those of "The Ruin." It seems to me that the saint's life shows that (esp. in the animated statue episode (ll. 706-801, or in the final flood (esp. 1489b-1523a)) ruins and old buildings have a productive, two-way, relationship with the present. The eald enta geweorc can be spoken to by St. Andrew (He wið anne þæra... mæðel gehede (1495-6)), and he can expect them to give him an answer. Also, at the structural emblem of the old world, the Temple in Jerusalem (a building that described as heah ond horn-geap, just like Heorot) contains an image of a timeless world, the statues of the Seraphim and Cherubim that are "þæs bremestan þe mid þam burg-warum/ in þære ceastre is" [the most illustrious of angel-kind that there is,
among the citizens in that city] (718-9); a representation of an eternal world that will seek out and revivify the past to act on the present time, in the form of the buried corpses of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (edniwinga andweard cuman [to come forth into the present renewed] (783)). In both cases, the past that is decayed and buried is renewable, recyclable and able to be reinscribed with the terms of life now. Ruins in Andreas do not just sit still, mouldering and tottering and fading away: they can explode with life and action at any minute.

This is what I imagine could be part of "The Ruin" -- ruined places are not always waste; they grow up new cities in and around, and on top of, the old stones. The walls of Durham, for instance, stanas ymbutan/ wundrum gewæxen [the stones without/wondrously have waxed] (2-3) -- doubtlessly remnants of Roman times but that are still alive -- are shown in the lyric to be places of multiplicity and abundance, of living things that flourish now (the fishes and forest creatures of lines 5 and 8), and the unarimeda reliquia [countless relics] in the city's churches contain the promise of new life and everlasting life.

I will perhaps post my translations here soon, but they need a bit of time to dry -- it's not like I've ever been bashful to post first drafts here before, but I'm a bit unsure about the voice being right.

Update: 1206-1359

Another batch of lines have been posted to the Andreas translation, completing the sixth movement and entering the seventh. With only 400 lines to go, I'm getting a bit giddy.

Slight changes

I have split the Andreas translation into eight pieces, one per post, in order to break that increasingly large block of text into more manageable pieces. These divisions do not have basis in the manuscript presentation, but breaking a long poems into chapters, based on the judgment of the poem's thematic units, seems acceptable.

At this point, I am very nearly done -- with only parts seven through ten yet to be completed (Seven will concern Andrew's torments and his confrontation with the devil, eight the final day of torment, nine the narrator's pause and the flood, and ten Andrew's victory and the poem's conclusion).

I'm thinking the next poem will be Elene: the similarities to Andreas in theme, genre, language and presentation make it the obvious choice, really. Plus it's only 1300 lines long. So you will shortly see a new link to follow in the sidebar.

Cheers!

And another...

The translation is now posted up to line 821. Andrew has just about reached Mermedonia, and the poem's first movement is nearing a close.

Andreas Update

Please head over to the Andreas page for the next installment of the translation: lines 349-400, representing the departure of the ship for Mermedonia and the coming of the terrible storm.

This is a pretty exciting moment: line 400 roughly marks the point where one quarter of the poem is completed.

Andreas Translation, cont'd (168b-254)

(168b-230: Andrew is summoned; he doubts he can help)

Then from heaven a voice was heard in Achaia,
where the holy man Andrew was instructing the people
in the life’s way, when the King’s Glory, the Creator
of Mankind, the Lord of Hosts, unlocked his mind-hoard
to Andrew, decision-bold, and said thus in words: “You
must travel, bearing your peace, and seek out a journey,
where the self-eaters defend their domain, hold
their homeland through murder-craft. Such is the custom
of that multitude that they do not wish that any
unkindred men be granted their lives in that folk-land,
after the malicious discover the miserable in Mermedonia.
Killed by wretched men, a life-parting must afterwards
take place. There I know your victory-brother
to languish, in fast bounds amid those citizens.
There are now but three nights until Matthew must
yield up his soul to the spear’s grip for the sake of
the hand-strife of heathens, unless you, ready to depart,
should come before.”

At once, Andrew gave him answer:
“How can I, my Lord, accomplish this so hastily across
the deep waters, upon the far-flung wave, before that moment,
O Heaven-shaper and Wielder of Glory, as your word instructs?
That an angel can easily travel, holy from the heavens, the course
of waters known to him, the salty sea-streams and
the swan-road, the struggle of surf and the water-terrors,
the ways over the wide-lands. There are no friends
known to me there, these strange nobles, nor do
I know any of the thoughts of those men, nor are
the troop-roads over cold water familiar to me.”

Then the Lord Eternal answered him: “Alas,
Andrew, that you would ever be sluggish to the journey’s path!
There is nothing difficult for the All-wielding God
upon the earth-ways, so that that city, the king-throne renowned,
with all its inhabitants, could be planted into this very land
under the course of heaven—if the Owner of Glory decreed it in word.
You may not be slow to this journey, nor feeble in your wits,
unless you truly conceive contrary to your Sovereign,
and His true token. Be ready at the proper time—
there can be no delay of this errand! You must then set out
on a journey, bearing your spirit into the grip of furious men,
where a war-struggle will be offered to you through
the rushing crash of battle, through the war-craft of warriors.
You must mount a ship by necessity with the dawn,
even at next morrow, at the seashore—and on the cold water,
burst forth over the bath-way. Have my blessing across
my middle-earth wherever you go!”

Then the Holy Holder and Wielder, the Source of High-Angels and
the Guardian of Middle-earth departed from him, and sought
his own country, that renowned home, where the souls
of the sooth-fast can brook life after their bodies are gone.

(231-54: Andrew heads down to the shore & finds a ship)

When the message was declared to the champion of noble cities,
Andrew had no timorous mind, but was resolute
for valiant deeds, firm and stout-hearted—not at all battle-slow—
but readied by war for the contest of God. Then he himself
departed at dusk in the earliest morn, across the sandy dunes
to the sea’s shore, bold in mind, and with his thegns,
to walk upon the sand. The spear-waves* resounded, beating
the brim-streams. The warrior was hopeful after he discovered
on the shore a ship, broad-bosomed and high-spirited.
Then came the morning-shine, brightest of beacons,
over the water, holy from the darkness. The candle of heaven
gleamed over the sea-floods. Andrew found there
the ship-wards, proud and glorious men, three thegns
sitting in their sea-boat, such as they had come in over the sea.
That was the Lord himself, the Wielder of Multitudes, the Eternal
Almighty, with two of his angels. They were in the raiment
of seafarers, nobles in wave-sailors’ guise who bounce upon
the water’s embrace across the distant wave in ships upon the cold water.

238: The word here is "gar-secg," a kenning that according to Bosworth-Toller literally translates to "spear-man." It is fairly common and used to mean "the sea" (particularly in the translation of Orosius, according to Dictionary of the Old Englsih Corpus), and operates as a personification, perhaps imaging an ocean deity like Poseidon--though not necessarily, since the waves could be perceived as a field of soldiers bearing pointed weapons. The noun "secg" can also mean "sword," "sedge (grass)," or "sea" -- though it is easy to see how all four are derived from one central signification of "man" -- i.e. by metonymy, "sword" as a part of a man's possessions; the grass through simile, because it has sharp blades, and "sea" (but only attested once in this sense) by dropping off the first part of the kenning through habitual use.

An introduction to Andreas

Andreas is the first poetic text in the Vercelli Book, a late tenth-century compendium, consisting of mostly prose homilies with six poems mixed in throughout: Andreas, "The Fate of the Apostles," Elene (both believed to be written by Cynewulf), "The Dream of the Rood," "Soul and Body I" and one other poetic fragment. The volume is located in Vercelli, Italy, and it is a matter of speculation about how or why this volume arrived at that place.

Andreas is the story of the mission of St. Andrew to save St. Matthew from being eaten by the cannibalistic Mermedonians, who dwell on an island far away from Achaia (Greece). The Mermedonians elaborately prepare their victims for consumption, blinding them, forcing them to drink a potion that deprives their victims of reason, and locking them in a prison for thirty days. St. Matthew is captured as soon as he arrives in Mermedonia, but is delivered from blindness and insanity through divine intervention. God promises Matthew will be delivered from his bonds and Andrew is sent from Greece.

Poetically, Andreas is a remarkable text, notable both for what seem to be a widespread practice of quotation from earlier poems, as well as (and perhaps paradoxically) a powerfully unique poetic vocabulary and frequently hair-raising moments of descriptive and narrative power.

ANDREAS: A VERSE TRANSLATION (59-168a)

(59-87: Matthew’s Lament)

Then he, weeping with wearied tears,
lamented unto his Victory-lord
with sorrowful speech, to the Lord of Men,
in a wretched voice, Giver of the People’s Good,
and he spoke in words so: “How the strangers
have prepared for me a treacherous net, a guile-chain!
Always was I ever on the paths according to your purpose,
eager in heart; now through anxieties,
I must perform my deeds as those dumb beasts.
You alone know all thoughts, Lord of Mankind,
the heart in breast. If it be your will, Prince of Glory,
that I am to sleep by pledge-breaker’s swords,
the weapon’s edges, I am immediately prepared
to endure in exile what you wish to ordain,
my Lord,Bliss-giver of Angels, Deed-origin of Hosts.
Give to me your mercy, Almighty God, light in this life,
lest I must, blinded in this fortress after the sword-hate,
by hateful sentence of blood-greedy, malign man-harmers,
suffer at length their scorn-speak. I affix
my heart solely to you, guardian of middle-earth,
with fast love of my soul, and I wish to ask you,
Father of Angels, Bright Bestower of Fruits,
that you number me not amid your guilt-foes,
the weary crime-wrights, in the worst death
O Deemer of Hosts, upon the earth!”

(88-118: God answers Matthew & promises him help)

After these words, came a holy sign of glory,
a banner so clearly from the heavens to the prison.
There it was revealed that holy god had effected help,
when the voice of the Heaven-King was heard,
curious under clouds, the voice of the famous prince’s sentence.
Bright-voiced God announced cure and comfort
from the battle-bold to his retainer within the harm-coffer:

“I give my peace to you, Matthew, under the heavens.
Do not be fearful in heart, do not mourn
in mind--I abide with you and shall ransom you
from these storied fetters,* and all those multitudes
that dwell with you in sore confinement. For you,
paradise* is opened by holy powers, brightest of prosperities,
the fairest weal-house, a hopeful and splendid home.
There you may enjoy glory and delight as long as you may live.
Endure these people’s affliction! There is not much time
that the pledge-breakers, sinful through spiteful art,
will be allowed to afflict you with tormenting bonds.
I shall dispatch Andrew immediately as shelter and solace
for you in this heathen city. He shall redeem you
from this folk-hate. There is until that moment a finite number,
a space of time equal to seven and twenty counts of night
truly until you, one sorely aggrieved yet deserving of victory,
will be allowed to depart from your constraint,
from your humiliation into the hold of God.”

(119-168a: Exit God, intrant Mermedonians)

Then from Matthew the holy helm of all beings
withdrew, the shaper of angels, to his uppermost native-realm—
he is by right the king, stirring steadfast, in any place.
Then Matthew was greatly inspired by the new voice.
The night-helm glided past, swiftly slipping away.
Light came after, the rush of dawn.
The multitude assembled, heathen warriors,
crowded in heaps, armor ringing, spears shaking,
swollen-minded under shield-cover.
They wished to prove whether the ones,
while they dwelt in that comfortless place,
remained alive in the prison, secured by chains;
who they would be able to deprive of their spirit
the soonest according to their appointed time
for eating. They, slaughter-greedy, had inscribed,
in both secret letters and computation, the conclusion of men,
when their victims should be made into food
for the meat-lacking in that nation of men.
The cold-hearted cried out to their fierce leader—
one band pressing upon another. They heeded not
the right nor mercy of the creator. Often their thoughts
were taken by the devil’s edicts in the dark shadows,
while they entrusted themselves to his miserable might.

Then they found the holy hero, wise-minded,
under the dark enclosure, battle-strong, expecting
what the bright king, source-point of angels,
wished to give. When the time was passed,
the stipulation of the time-mark save three nights—
as the slaughter-wolves had inscribed it—they intended
to break apart the bone-rings, quickly separate body and soul,
and then distribute the fated flesh-home to old and young,
a meal and a grateful repast for men. They mourned not
for life, the greedy warriors, how the journey of the soul
after the death-throes was decreed by word.
So they called a feast after thirty counts of night;
there was much desire to swiftly break with bloody jaws
human flesh-homes, for their sustenance.

Then he, who had established middle-earth
with strong powers, was mindful how Matthew
dwelt in a strange people’s misery, locked up
with storied fetters, he who had often suffered
for God’s love before the Hebrews and the Israelites—
he who had withstood quite strongly the magic arts of the Jews.


100: The word here is leoðu-bendum, which appears 3 times in Andreas but otherwise unattested in other texts (according to the Dictionary of the Old English Corpus.) The first part resembles leoð: "song, poem, story."

102: This is my favorite A-S word neorxna-wang which is used fairly frequently, and is glossed by Ælfric as "Paradisum." Except for the -wang part ("plain, field"), it is uncertain how the word is derived.

A bit of translation to start things off...

To get things moving, I will provide the first 58 lines of Andreas. I will set out some my considerations and values next post, but this should get things moving.

(1-18: Invocation & Introduction)

Listen to what we have learned in former-days—
of glory-blessed heroes, twelve under the stars,
the thegns of the Lord? Their force did not fail
in the war-reckoning when the banners clashed together —
afterwards they separated as their lord himself,
Heaven’s High-King, had assigned their lot.
Those were illustrious men upon the earth,
bold folk-leaders on the fate-plain,
doughty warriors and battle-brave, when shield
and hand defended their crown on the harrying-field.

There was among them a certain Matthew,
who, first among the Jews, began to write
the Gospel in words with wondrous skill.
Holy God had decreed the portion for him:
out to the island of Mermedonia where they did not allow
any strangers to enjoy the prosperity of their native land.
Often he had encountered stoutly
the hand of slayers in the harrying-field.

(19-39: The Land of Mermedonia)

That whole march-land was wound in murder,
the enemy’s deceit, the dwelling-place of men,
homeland of heroes. There was neither bite of bread
nor drink of water for Mermedonian men to enjoy.
Instead they consumed blood and skin, throughout the nation
the flesh-homes of foreign-coming men.
Such was their custom that they made all strangers,
who sought their island from outside, into meat for the meat-lacking.
Such was the peace-less token of these people,
the violence of the wretched, that the gore-grim enemy,
sad-minded, destroyed the sight of the eyes,
the head-gems, with the point of spears.
Afterwards, druids bitterly mixed together
a frightful drink through error-craft for their victim—
their wit was perverted, the conscience of men,
the heart in breast, mind changed,
so that their victims mourned no longer for the joys of men,
the bloodthirsty heroes, but, exhausted, tormented by hunger,
they ate hay and grass instead.

(40-58: Matthew arrives in Mermedonia)

When Matthew was come to that notorious city,
into that fortress, there was a great clamor
throughout Mermedonia: a band of the wicked,
the defiled's tumult, after the devil’s thegns
had learned of the noble one’s arrival.
Then they went against him, swiftly under shield,
armed with spears —none were late—
the enraged ash-bearers, towards the fight’s flame-point.
They bound the hands of the holy one there
and fastened Matthew by the fiend’s craft,
those hell-hastening heroes. His head’s flags
they burst with the sword’s edge. Nevertheless he honored
the guardian of the heaven’s realm in his breast,
even though he accepted the terrible drink of poison.
Blessed and single-minded, Matthew with courage still
worshipped the Prince of Glory wordfully,
the heaven-kingdom’s guardian with a holy voice,
from his prison. For him, Christ’s praise was
wound up tightly in his soul-enclosure.