Deor

translation by Jesse Glass

Welund him be wurman         wræces cunnade,
anhydig eorl         earfoþa dreag,
hæfde him to gesiþþe         sorge ond longaþ,
wintercealde wræce;         wean oft onfond,
siþþan hine Niðhad on         nede legde,
swoncre seonobende         on syllan monn.
                   þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!
Beadohilde ne wæs         hyre broþra deaþ
on sefan swa sar         swa hyre sylfre þing,
þæt heo gearolice         ongieten hæfde
þæt heo eacen wæs;         æfre ne meahte
þriste geþencan,         hu ymb þæt sceolde.
                   þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!
We þæt Mæðhilde         monge gefrugnon
wurdon grundlease         Geates frige,
þæt hi seo sorglufu         slæp ealle binom.
þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!
ðeodric ahte         þritig wintra
Mæringa burg;         þæt wæs monegum cuþ.
                   þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!
We geascodan         Eormanrices
wylfenne geþoht;         ahte wide folc
Gotena rices.         þæt wæs grim cyning.
Sæt secg monig         sorgum gebunden,
wean on wenan,         wyscte geneahhe
þæt þæs cynerices         ofercumen wære.
                   þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!
Siteð sorgcearig,         sælum bidæled,
on sefan sweorceð,         sylfum þinceð
þæt sy endeleas         earfoða dæl.
Mæg þonne geþencan,         þæt geond þas woruld
witig dryhten         wendeþ geneahhe,
eorle monegum         are gesceawað,
wislicne blæd,         sumum weana dæl.
þæt ic bi me sylfum         secgan wille,
þæt ic hwile wæs         Heodeninga scop,
dryhtne dyre.         Me wæs Deor noma.
Ahte ic fela wintra         folgað tilne,
holdne hlaford,         oþþæt Heorrenda nu,
leoðcræftig monn         londryht geþah,
þæt me eorla hleo         ær gesealde.
                   þæs ofereode,         þisses swa mæg!

Wieland felt grim misery, wrack knew
this stubborn maker, suffered hardships,
sorrow, longing his boon companions;
faced an exile’s freezing winter, trouble, teen, of every manner
once Nithad hacked the heels, so cunningly to cage
this far worthier man.
                 That changed, this may too.
Beadohilde little mourned her murdered brothers
her mind was burdened by her own condition
as dimly she guessed a child moved within her
her bold mind fled, in fear she saw the future.
                 That changed, this may too.
We’ve heard of Maethild, hapless wife
her Geat’s strong love, their love so sorrowful
all sleep was driven from that harried couple.
                 That changed, this may too.
Kind Theodoric ruled Maeringburg fortress
thirty hard winters; his fame was known to many.
 That changed, this may too.
We’ve heard the lay of fierce Eomanric’s
wolf-like bearing: so cruelly he captained
the wide-spread Goths, spread sorrow among them
stacked hell upon hell, till nobles wished
his rule overthrown.
                 That changed, this may too.
Anxious, sad, gloomy at heart
a man feels hardship’s portion without end.
Then he must think, throughout this gray world
Heaven’s wise Lord, comes often, giving
gifts to many, enduring blessings;
to some apportions woe.
As for this singer, I will tell you
I once was the scop of Hoedeninga,
beloved of my Lord.  My name was Deor.
I spent many winters, gem of his retinue.
He valued my service, but now—Heorrenda—
master of poemcraft is gifted with landgift
my Lord and fair protector once gave to me.
                 That changed, this may too.

I’ve always been attracted by the Old English poem “Deor” (Day-Or), a name which means “wild beast.” There is the poignant image of the Anglo-Saxon bard himself, dispossessed of his Lord’s gift of security, and offering himself and others, the cold comfort of his stoicism. Then there are the allusions to the old legends, so exotic to us now.  Wieland, for instance, is a Daedelus-like figure—an ingenious worker of gold—who falls afoul of King Nithad of Sweden. Nithad hamstrings Wieland to keep him from breaking free from imprisonment, but the smith fashions metal wings and escapes his “clever cage.” Before he does, however, he stops to drug and rape Nithad’s daughter Beadohilde as well as murder his two sons.

The details of the Tristan and Isolde-like story of Maethild and the Geat have been lost to all but the most imaginative scholars, who presume that the star-crossed lovers were reunited.

King Theodoric the Ostrogoth is an historic figure. He was known as an oppressive king, but not as terrible a ruler as the perverse Eomanric.

Yet another feature that makes this poem almost unique in the 11th century Exeter Book is its song-like refrain. Only one other poem in the collection has this structure, the striking “Wulf and Eadwacer”, which gives further credence to the idea that “Deor” was originally meant to be recited to the five or six string harp.

This translation is dedicated to the memory of Cid Corman.

—J. G.