Beowulf

Hwat!

I use the above, because it's how Beowulf opens. Excpet it's a different letter, the ash, rather than our "a." It means, roughly, "pay attention," or "behold," but "behold" sounds sillily mangnanmous.

What I wanted to say is that I was in a foul mood about two hours ago. But when I started my glass of wine (this after deciding that life is too short to drink marginally bad wine any longer) and started reading a portion of Beowulf for my class tomorrow, I suddenly felt like a much happier, more likable version of myself. I guess that Beowulf and red wine seem to have that effect on me. The truth is, I find Beowulf endlessly fascinating. There's something satisfying about reading it. I don't know--I guess that I feel like I discover more and more each time I read it; maybe I find it speaking to what my needs happen to be each time I come to it. And I think that is a mark of good literature. I guess that Beowulf just makes me happy in this weird, almost primal way, but it appeals to me intellectually as well.

If anyone's interested, I think Seamus Heaney's translation is ab fab. I know that maybe really serious medievalists would prefer a more literal translation, but I think Heaney is just great. It's readable yet retains something of the structure of the Old English poetry.