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Michael R Burch Jun 2020
Deor's Lament

(Old English/Anglo-Saxon poem circa the 10th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Weland endured the agony of exile:
an indomitable smith wracked by grief.
He suffered countless sorrows;
indeed, such sorrows were his ***** companions
in that frozen island dungeon
where Nithad fettered him:
so many strong-but-supple sinew-bands
binding the better man.
That passed away; this also may.

Beadohild mourned her brothers' deaths,
bemoaning also her own sad state
once she discovered herself with child.
She knew nothing good could ever come of it.
That passed away; this also may.

We have heard the Geat's moans for Matilda,
his lovely lady, waxed limitless,
that his sorrowful love for her
robbed him of regretless sleep.
That passed away; this also may.

For thirty winters Theodric ruled
the Mæring stronghold with an iron hand;
many acknowledged his mastery and moaned.
That passed away; this also may.

We have heard too of Ermanaric's wolfish ways,
of how he cruelly ruled the Goths' realms.
That was a grim king! Many a warrior sat,
full of cares and maladies of the mind,
wishing constantly that his crown might be overthrown.
That passed away; this also may.

If a man sits long enough, sorrowful and anxious,
bereft of joy, his mind constantly darkening,
soon it seems to him that his troubles are limitless.
Then he must consider that the wise Lord
often moves through the earth
granting some men honor, glory and fame,
but others only shame and hardship.
This I can say for myself:
that for awhile I was the Heodeninga's scop,
dear to my lord. My name was Deor.
For many winters I held a fine office,
faithfully serving a just king. But now Heorrenda
a man skilful in songs, has received the estate
the protector of warriors had promised me.
That passed away; this also may.

Footnotes and Translator's Comments
by Michael R. Burch

Summary

"Deor's Lament" appears in the Exeter Book, which has been dated to around 960-990 AD. The poem may be considerably older than the manuscript, since many ancient poems were passed down ****** for generations before they were finally written down. The poem is a lament in which someone named Deor, presumably the poet who composed the poem, compares the loss of his job and prospects to seemingly far greater tragedies of the past. Thus "Deor's Lament" may be an early example of overstatement and/or "special pleading."

Author

The author is unknown but may have been an Anglo-Saxon scop (poet) named Deor. However it is also possible that the poem was written by someone else. We have no knowledge of a poet named "Deor" outside the poem.

Genre

"Deor's Lament" is, as its name indicates, a lament. The poem has also been classified as an Anglo-Saxon elegy or dirge. If the poet's name "was" Deor, does that mean he is no longer alive and is speaking to us from beyond the grave? "Deor" has also been categorized as an ubi sunt ("where are they now?") poem.

Theme

The poem's theme is one common to Anglo-Saxon poetry and literature: that a man cannot escape his fate and thus can only meet it with courage, resolve and fortitude.

Plot

Doer's name means "dear" and the poet puns on his name in the final stanza: "I was dear to my lord. My name was Deor." The name Deor may also has connotations of "noble" and "excellent." The plot of Deor's poem is simple and straightforward: other heroic figures of the past overcame adversity; so Deor may also be able to overcome the injustice done to him when his lord gave his position to a rival. It is even possible that Deor intended the poem to be a spell, incantation, curse or charm of sorts.

Techniques

"Deor's Lament" is an alliterative poem: it uses alliteration rather than meter to "create a flow" of words. This was typical of Anglo-Saxon poetry. “Deor's Lament" is one of the first Old English poems to employ a refrain, which it does quite effectively. What does the refrain "Thaes ofereode, thisses swa maeg" mean? Perhaps something like: "That was overcome, and so this may be overcome also." However, the refrain is ambiguous: perhaps the speaker believes things will work out the same way; or perhaps he is merely suggesting that things might work out for the best; or perhaps he is being ironical, knowing that they won't.

Interpretation

My personal interpretation of the poem is that the poet is employing irony. All the previously-mentioned heroes and heroines are dead. I believe Deor is already dead, or knows that he is an old man soon to also be dead. "Passed away" maybe a euphemism for "dead as a doornail." But I don't "know" this, and you are free to disagree and find your own interpretation of the poem.

Analysis of Characters and References

Weland/Welund is better known today as Wayland the Smith. (Beowulf's armor was said to have been fashioned by Weland.) According to an ancient Norse poem, Völundarkviða, Weland and his two brothers came upon three swan-maidens on a lake's shore, fell in love with them, and lived with them happily for seven years, until the swan-maidens flew away. His brothers left, but Weland stayed and turned to smithing, fashioning beautiful golden rings for the day of his swan-wife's return. King Nithuthr, hearing of this, took Weland captive, hamstrung him to keep him prisoner, and kept him enslaved on an island, forging fine things. Weland took revenge by killing Nithuthr's two sons and getting his daughter Beadohild pregnant. Finally Weland fashioned wings and flew away, sounding a bit like Icarus of Greek myth.

Maethhild (Matilda) and Geat (or "the Geat") are known to us from Scandianavian ballads. Magnild (Maethhild) was distressed because she foresaw that she would drown in a river. Gauti (Geat) replied that he would build a bridge over the river, but she responded that no one can flee fate. Sure enough, she drowned. Gauti then called for his harp, and, like a Germanic Orpheus, played so well that her body rose out of the waters. In one version she returned alive; in a darker version she returned dead, after which Gauti buried her properly and made harpstrings from her hair.

The Theodoric who ruled the Maerings for thirty years may have to be puzzled out. A ninth-century rune notes that nine generations prior a Theodric, lord of the Maerings, landed in Geatland and was killed there. In the early sixth century there was a Frankish king called Theoderic. But the connections seem tenuous, at best. Perhaps the thirty year rule is a clue to consider the Ostrogoth Theodoric, born around 451. He ruled Italy for around thirty years, until 526. Toward the end of his reign Theodoric, then in his seventies, named his infant grandson heir. There were rumours that members of his court were conspiring against his chosen successor. Furthermore, the Catholic church was opposing the Arian Theodoric. As a result of these tensions, several leading senators were arrested on suspicion of conspiracy, including Boethius. It was while he was imprisoned and awaiting execution that Boethius wrote his famous Consolation of Philosophy. Theodoric's final years were unfortunately marked by suspicion and distrust, so he may be the ruler referred to by Deor.

Eormenric was another king of the Ostrogoths who died in about 375; according to Ammianus Marcellinus, he killed himself out of fear of the invading Huns. According to other Old Norse Eddic poems (Guðrúnarhvöt and Hamðismál, Iormunrekkr), Eormenric had his wife Svannhildr trampled by horses because he suspected her of sleeping with his son. So he might qualify as a "grim king" with "wolfish ways."

Deor has left no trace of himself, other than this poem. Heorrenda appears as Horant in a thirteenth century German epic Kudrun. It was said that Horant sang so sweetly that birds fell silent at his song, and fish and animals in the wood fell motionless. That would indeed make him a formidable opponent for the scop Deor.

Keywords/Tags: Deor, Lament, Old English, Anglo-Saxon, translation, scop, mrbtr, Weland, Wayland, smith, exile, fetters, dungeon
VIKNEYSH RAJ Jun 2020
She is a sparkle
She is a shine
She is the only thing
That I want to call mine
She is my everyday
And every night
She is every morning
And every twilight
She is all I know
She is all I see
She is a sweet melody
She is an  unmatching rhythm
She is a word
A bunch of words
She is a poem and that is all that I could say.
Aditya Roy Jun 2020
In the shade of apple trees
Lived a hermit of the east
Under starlight and beaten breeze
Flights of flowers lay underneath
Written in trochaic trimeter, with a catalectic at the fourth foot of every line.
C May 2020
The English language knows no accurate
Description
Of feeling
“In love”

Of the creeping smile
When they enter your head;
Of the ecstacy
When they fill your bed.
When you lie together
Skin on skin,
A head on a shoulder
Nestled in.
Of the agony
Of parting ways –
Forever, or sometimes
Only for days.

L – O – V – E
Just one word.

Love for a child:
Love for a god:
Love for a parent:
Pet: Friend:
Love of house:
Love of home:
Love of sun,
Sea, fresh air!
Love for a partner:
Love for a lover;
They certainly bare traits
Of one another…
With a partner we may have
Real love;
Care, concern,
Empathy,
And sometimes we flash
That in-love feel:
Apaixionados.
Empassioned.

Filled –
Brimming,
Warm,
Beaming,
Sexed-up,
Loved-up,
Overflowing

Can we not behold the beauty of
Passion
For what it is?
No pressure for the passion
To deepen into love,
No pressure to make plans
To obey systems we despise,
No next steps,
Heart wrecks
No expect-ations.

Just
that creeping smile
When they enter your head;
And the ecstacy
When they fill your bed.
Hrithik Hiran May 2020
Walking through the forest route
I use to pick up stones, pointy as well as smooth
Stacked them in an infinte jar of memories
With every stone, sharing stories

My precious were of different colours
But it all looked the same to others
For my dreams, the jar was a shrine
Every stone was a memory my heart coudnt confine

Throughout my everyday walk
I searched for that special rock
Pearl, ruby, topaz or emerald
But the one not meant to be hurled

Little did I know about moments passing by
It's after everything when gone, we cry
Images flashing and nostalgia striking
Stones from my jar began smiling

Every stone was a special one
Reminding memories of someone
Childhood, youth ,adulthood
My jar contained everything it could

Life is a regret of letting go of some stones
Tinier than the memory it owns
All I need is a pool of such stones to dive
To bring my dead forgotten dreams alive
aya May 2020
you look happier
without these ragged edges
overlapped colors
smudged painting
as i paint you
without my touch
its been a while since i posted something here,, ngl ms rona ***** HSBHUFHU
Naveen Kumar May 2020
Some poets
mislead
you.

"Don't give up"
is written
by those who write
"Leave when it hurts."

They
confuse
you.

Leaves change
colors
with seasons.

Poets
write
accordingly.

Sometimes,
they behave
homeless.

Poems are fake.
They write in
masks.

People say
beautiful
things.

But they
don't follow
them

They knew
they are
wrong.

Poetry is
not a philosophy.
It's only a confused
poet's diary.

So don't read
poetry.
Or atleast,
don't take them serious.
Ofcourse I wrote this in mask.
Read more poetry, this world needs them.
Victor D López Apr 2020
If you'd like to hear,
A reading of my new poems,
Click the link below

Cut and paste to your browser:  https://youtu.be/CacB8e-UT_4
The link is to an about a sixteen minute YouTube video that shows several short poems in both English and Spanish read by me with the text of each poem showing via a quick narrated PowerPoint presentation. I needed a break from working from home and this distracted me for a little over an hour--welcomed during the current lockdown. They are cold readings, nothing special. But fun for me at least to create.
Mary E Zollars Apr 2020
My teacher asks for the theme,
But I don’t know how to answer
I know and I know that
A theme is or is not one word,
A common thing, a binding spell
A theme is or is not an instruction,
Told by the character’s actions,
Shown in carefully crafted consequences.
A theme is or is not a quality,
Something which defines a character,
Which determines the course of the story
It is or is not more than one sentence.
It is or is not subjective to the reader.
It is or is not, so I don’t know the answer.

But I could tell you about the Little Chinese Seamstress
About blind obsession,
About jealousy, about wonder
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
I could tell you about how reading is so personal,
Its effect on one
Can not be understood by another
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or how skill is developed by tragic experience
How learning comes from failing to learn
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or if I told you that the quality of a book
is only as good as its final passage,
If I told you that
a story shouldn’t be told until its last word,
Bound by something so profound,
The book must be reread, reanalyzed
Delving into the intricate mind of the author,
With full control over life and reality,
With the power to make one word thousands,
A detail into a novel,
Anything into anything without writing it down,
Because if you can understand what the author was thinking,
Then the author was not thinking at all
Would that be enough?
Could knowing be enough?

If you asked an author
To name to you one of their themes,
Do you think they’d know the answer?
Do you think they’d care what you mean?

Is it more valuable to the student
To understand or to define?
Is it more telling of the mind
To describe an impact,
Or to save time?
G A Lopez Mar 2020
You fought silent battles
You cried because of loneliness
But no one noticed your brokenness
And you let depression **** your happiness

You started building your self-esteem again
Until someone tries to break you
But never happened
'Cause you are braver than them

This time, I choose positivity
Never let anxiety to eat me
I am a soldier
I am a brave fighter.
don't let negativity **** your happiness
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