Читать книгу Beowulf in Parallel Texts - Sung-Il Lee - Страница 8

Reading Beowulf aloud always proves a unique experience: it allows the reader to relive the moments of listening to a minstrel’s recitation of the epic and participating in the poetic situation of oral delivery and aural reception. The lapse of ten centuries since the time when the poem was composed and recited is no hindrance to our reliving the moments of the mutual transaction between the vocal performer and the auditor. This realization consolidates our belief that the Beowulf-poet must have envisioned the “theatricality” of the poetic situation that the lines he was composing would create while being recited—an awareness of the poem in the making. Every single line reflects the poet’s keen awareness of the impact that its sound quality will have on the auditors’ imagination. Narration at any given moment thus mandated the poet’s full exertion of his verbal power for a maximum effect of striking the right notes in conveying the poetic messages.

The major task of a translator of the poem is thus to make the sound quality of the original lines felt all along in translation—to transfigure it in a modern tongue all the way through. In order to attain that goal, neither providing a word-to-word lexical rendition nor creating new verse for the sake of comfortable reading in a modern tongue will do. Within the confinement set by the verbal rhythm and the sound quality of the original poem, a translator must produce verses acceptable to the ears of the speakers of a modern tongue.

Here are some of the principles that I have tentatively set up in translating Beowulf:

i. Since the original text is heavily loaded with alliteration, the translation should reflect its sound quality by containing as much alliteration as possible;

ii. The verse rhythm maintained in the original text, each verse containing on-verse and off-verse, should be reflected in the translation with verses containing caesurae;

iii. The translation should be in a colloquial language with idiomatic expressions; it should be in a live language—easy to follow, both in aural perception and oral delivery;

iv. The translation should evoke the sense of remoteness both in time and place, but it should be attained through the use of familiar language;

v. The word order and the sentence structure in the original text should be honored; but the text of a translation should sound natural. In other words, the original lines should reverberate in the translation.

Rather than prolonging a discussion on the theory and practice in the translation of Beowulf with critical jargon, I will go directly to what I have done, sampling a few passages in my translation, in hopes of having the readers’ reception of them attuned to mine.

Beowulf’s first adventure is, of course, his encounter with Grendel. The appearance of Grendel in Heorot after Beowulf’s arrival at the Danish court, therefore, has to be narrated with a lot of dramatic tension, for it is the first encounter with the monster—not only for the hero of the epic, but for the audience or the reader:

Com on wanre niht

scriðan sceadugenga. Sceotend swæfon,

þa þæt hornreced healdan scoldon,

ealle buton anum. Þæt wæs yldum cuþ, 705

þæt hie ne moste, þa Metod nolde,

se scynscaþa under sceadu bregdan;—

ac he wæccende wraþum on andan

bad bolgenmod beadwa geþinges.

Đa com of more under misthleoþum 710

Grendel gongan, Godes yrre bær;

mynte se manscaða manna cynnes

sumne besyrwan in sele þam hean.

Wod under wolcnum to þæs þe he winreced,

goldsele gumena gearwost wisse 715

fættum fahne. Ne wæs þæt forma sið,

þæt he Hroþgares ham gesohte;

næfre he on aldordagum ær ne siþðan

heardran hæle, healðegnas fand!

Com þa to recede rinc siðian 720

dreamum bedæled. Duru sona onarn

fyrbendum fæst, syþðan he hire folmum æthran;

onbræd þa bealohydig, ða he gebolgen wæs,

recedes muþan. Raþe æfter þon

on fagne flor feond treddode, 725

eode yrremod; him of eagum stod

ligge gelicost leoht unfæger.

Geseah he in recede rinca manige,

swefan sibbegedriht samod ætgædere,

magorinca heap. Þa his mod ahlog; 730

mynte þæt he gedælde, ær þon dæg cwome,

atol aglæca anra gehwylces

lif wið lice, þa him alumpen wæs

wistfylle wen. (ll. 702b−34a)

It is a cliché that there should be correspondence between sound and sense in poetic lines. This principle of poetic composition is fully actualized in the above passage. Apart from the fact that the lines are heavily charged with alliteration, there is a certain sound quality that we can hardly miss. The resonance of the lingering sound [om], [un], and [um], for instance, helps to build up a certain atmosphere of ominous eeriness. The repeated use of the sibilant [s], along with the [sh] sound—

scriðan sceadugenga. Sceotend swæfon, (line 703);

se scynscaþa under sceadu bregdan;— (line 707);

mynte se manscaða manna cynnes

sumne besyrwan in sele þam hean. (ll. 712−13)—

creates the illusion of hearing the sound of serpentine gliding, or of sensing the gradual approach of foggy mist, though we cannot clearly envision Grendel with any definite physical shape. The gradual approach of the monster to Heorot, his tearing the door open in fury, stepping onto the hall floor, and casting his eyes glaringly on the thanes fast asleep—all this is narrated in one sweep of breath in the couple of dozen lines (ll. 710−34a) quoted above. My effort to make my translation reflect what I read in the above passage has led me to the following rendition:

Striding in the dark night,

The shadowy stroller came. The warriors were sleeping—

Those who should guard the gabled building—

All of them, except one. It was well known to men 705

That, when the Lord willed it not, the devilish foe

May not draw them beneath the dark shadows.

But watching out for the wretch in wrath,

He waited for the outcome of the fight in fury.

Then from the moor under the misty slopes came 710

Grendel, gradually approaching, bearing God’s ire.

The direful destroyer of mankind intended

To take one in his grip in that lofty dwelling.

He advanced beneath the clouds to the wine-hall,

Till he most clearly discerned the golden hall 715

Gleaming with gold plates. Nor was it the first time

For him to seek the home of Hrothgar.

Never in his days of life, neither before nor since,

He found the hall-thanes a harder lot to bear.

Then to the hall the marauder made his way, 720

A stranger to life’s joy. The door sprang open,

When his hands gripped the fast-forged bar.

He pulled it open to break the hall-door,

Wrapped up in anger. Then quickly

On the flowery floor the fiend stepped, 725

And walked in, full of anger. In his eyes

Gleamed a flame shooting out an ugly beam.

He saw in the hall many a man of strength,

A band of kinsmen, sleeping together,

A troop of young retainers. Then he exulted 730

At the thought of tearing, before dawn broke,

Each one’s life from his body, as the horrid fiend

Intended, his mouth watering in anticipation

Of a lavish feast.

One of the most chilling and startling passages in Beowulf appears when Hrothgar depicts the marshland where Grendel and his mother dwell. In retaliation for Beowulf’s physical victory in his first encounter with Grendel, the defeated monster’s mother makes an assault on Heorot, and Æschere becomes a victim of her vengeful attack of Hrothgar’s palace. Grief-stricken by the loss of his beloved thane, Hrothgar asks Beowulf to venture to visit the underwater dwelling of Grendel and his mother in order to eliminate the root of all the evil that has devastated his land.

Hie dygel lond

warigeað wulfheloþu, windige næssas,

frecne fengelad, ðær fyrgenstream

under næssa genipu niþer gewiteð, 1360

flod under foldan. Nis þæt feor heonon

milgemearces, þæt se mere standeð;

ofer þæm hongiað hrinde bearwas,

wudu wyrtum fæst wæter oferhelmað.

Þær mæg nihta gehwæm niðwundor seon, 1365

fyr on flode. Nō þæs frod leofað

gumena bearna, þæt þone grund wite.

Ðeah þe hæðstapa hundum geswenced,

heorot hornum trum holtwudu sece,

feorran geflymed, ær he feorh seleð, 1370

aldor on ofre, ær he in wille,

hafelan [hydan]; nis þæt heoru stow!

Þonon yðgeblond up astigeð

won to wolcnum, þonne wind styreþ

lað gewidru, oð þæt lyft drysmaþ, 1375

roderas reotað. (ll. 1357b−76a)

Hrothgar’s description of the moorland where Grendel and his mother dwell is a chilling narration that makes any reader of Beowulf shudder: the dreadful landscape that the lines invoke is unmatched by any passage that has ever been written to depict a nightmarish scene the human imagination is capable of envisioning. Here is my Modern English rendition of the above passage:

They inhabit a hidden land—

Wolf-infested slopes, windy headlands, and

A perilous fen-path, where the mountain-stream

Falls down in the mist from the headlands 1360

And flows beneath the earth. Not far from here,

A few miles away, stands the mere,

Over which droop trees covered with frost.

The wood darkens the water with entangled roots.

There every night a fearful wonder is seen— 1365

Fire flaring on the water. None alive among men,

No matter how wise, knows how deep it is.

Fleeing from far off, chased by hounds, a stag

May seek a holt-wood to hide his strong horns;

Yet he will rather give up his life, lingering 1370

On the bank, than plunge his head into the pool

To save his life; that is not a pleasant place!

From there surging waves rise up,

Darkening the clouds, while the wind swirls,

Threatening storms, till the air turns choking 1375

And the sky howls.

Any student of Old English poetry will face the exhilarating and painful moment of reading the last passage of Beowulf. The excruciatingly arduous journey is about to reach its end; and the memory of turning the leaves of the glossary provided by that literary giant, Fr. Klaeber, is about to recede into the past. It is a moment of tremendous relief—entailing a sense of wistfulness and regret over not having to cope with the lines—not for some time, at least. The Beowulf-poet must have felt the same way, as he was reaching the end of his epic, the composition of which must have exhausted him, both emotionally and physically. All this is reflected in the lines that conclude the epic. Beowulf, our hero, is no more; and those who have survived him, whether his thanes, or the listeners of the heroic saga, must mourn the passing of the warrior-king into the realm of the remote past and oblivion.

Þa ymbe hlæw riodan hildedeore,

æþelinga bearn, ealra twelfe, 3170

woldon care cwiðan, [ond] kyning mænan,

wordgyd wrecan ond ymb wer sprecan;

eahtodan eorlscipe ond his ellenweorc

duguðum demdon,— swa hit gedefe bið,

þæt mon his winedryhten wordum herge, 3175

ferhðum frēoge, þonne he forð scile

of lichaman læded weorðan.

Swa begnornodon Geata leode

hlafordes hryre, heorðgeneatas;

cwædon þæt he wære wyruldcyninga 3180

manna mildust ond monðwærust,

leodum liðost ond lofgeornost. (ll. 3169−82)

When a student of literature encounters lines like these, he or she should feel that the notes one could ever hope to hear at the end of a work have finally hit the eardrums. Here we find the convergence of what we have wished to hear and what we hear—the complete fusion of what the text has been brewing in our hearts and what we finally have attained after reading so many lines! It is a moment of catharsis; and the lines of Beowulf are finally loosening their grip on our heartstrings:

Then the battle-brave ones rode round the mound—

Inheritors of noble blood, twelve all told— 3170

Uttering words of grief over loss of their lord

In a mournful dirge to commemorate their king.

They lauded his manliness, and spoke highly of

His brave deeds—as it befits a man

To praise his dear lord in words, 3175

While longing springs in his heart, when he

Is finally freed from the confinement of flesh.

So the people of Geatland mourned the death

Of their lord, recalling the warmth of his hearth.

They said that, of all earthly kings, he was 3180

The gentlest of men, the most warm-hearted,

Kindest to his people, and most eager for fame.

When I was reading the very last passage of Beowulf, the above was roughly what I heard in my mind’s ear. I would not call it a translation; the above is only an echo of what dug into my heart while I was reading the concluding lines of the epic. Though falling short of the emotional elevation attained by the lines in the original text, the above was the outcome of my desperate attempt to revive in a modern tongue the most magnificent passage literature has ever produced.

Poetry means condensation of verbal expressions of human thoughts and emotions; and it demands not only succinctness but also accuracy in hitting the right notes that capture all the feelings that have to be expressed. When the Beowulf-poet wrote that the Geatish warriors had built a monument holding the ashes of their lord on a promontory, so that the sailors could see it from afar, it was an indirect way of expressing the poet’s wish that his work would be read and remembered by his posterity for a long time. Here is the convergence of what the actual lines of a poem say and what the creator of the work really wanted to say. As the last lines of the epic fade away with the last twang of the minstrel’s harp, both our hero of the epic Beowulf and the poet who composed the more-than-three-thousand lines recede into the past—along with the fading out of the minstrel’s voice. The last couplet contains a series of superlatives:

manna mildust ond monðwærust,

leodum liðost ond lofgeornost. (ll. 3181−82)

The emphatic use of the superlatives notwithstanding, the repeatedly heard sound [st] somehow leaves the lingering note of wistfulness over the poem that has reached its end. The epic opened with the powerful and fully inflated ejaculation, “Hwæt!” Now the very last lines create the feeling that the air is being released from an inflated ball. With the four adjectives in the superlative, carrying with them the tired minstrel’s hoarse voice, the poet himself steps back into the past, as does the hero of the epic.

Translation means reliving the moments when the poet was composing the lines. It is not a later-age person’s attempt to record what he or she has understood while reading the original lines for the readers. As a translator’s pen glides on a blank sheet, it should be a moment that resurrects the agony that the poet embraced, while groping for the right words, line after line.