Needs work, but it's a start

And, if anyone has an idea for the "middle", I'm all ears!

The City of Trebhor

Once upon a time there was a young squire named Roderick Peredur. Squire Roderick, or simply Roderick to his friends, was a courageous and humble young man. His family, the Peredur’s, were of modest means, but they were sure to give Roderick every opportunity to grow into an intelligent and well-schooled young squire.

As part of Roderick’s education, he was sent out into the world to travel and experience other cultures. Roderick was provided all the basics for his excursion: a horse named Cabalina, canteen of water, blanket, basket of food, weapons, parchment, and writing quill. Roderick’s mission was to meet others, live with them for at least one moon cycle, learn their ways, and write of his experience. To his question, “What if I run out of supplies?” the answer was, “You must work with others – and with nature – to replenish your supplies.”

One late spring morning, Roderick set out to the west. He travelled in the early morning, and found shade in the mid-day, so as not to dehydrate himself or his horse, returning to his campaign in the late afternoon. Finding shelter at night was not difficult; knowing whether or not another creature inhabited the spot was so. One night he had to make peace with a black bear, who kindly let Roderick escape after his offer of an armful of apples. Another night, wolves circled he and Cabalina until Roderick threw them the dead rabbits from his satchel. Roderick began to hope for a civilization soon.

On the fifth day out, supplies running low, and Cabalina in need of more than grass, Roderick came upon a field with children playing with hoops and sticks. Roderick stopped and the children surrounded him and Cabalina. Their eyes were filled with wonder and the mouths smiled with awe.

“What a beautiful creature she is,” whispered one girl, so as to not upset the horse.
“We do not have any such creatures as beautiful in our kingdom. Please, sir, who are you and from whence do you come?”

Roderick smiled. “My name is Squire Roderick Peredur of Sylvian. I am on an educational quest – to meet and learn of new cultures. From what town do you come from? And how far a distance? My Cabalina and I need proper food and rest. I would be most grateful for your help.”

An older boy, not much younger than Roderick, anxiously approaches the squire. “Please, sir, my name is Carsten, of the blacksmith Logan. My friends and I are from the city of Trebhor, just down this hill and over the next. We will take you there, if you will allow us.”
“Thank you, Carsten. I would be much appreciative if you and your friends would accompany me to Trebhor.” Roderick lifted Carsten and one of the girls, Bedlia, onto Cabalina. The other children ran playfully with Cabalina’s riders down the hill and over the next.


Once upon a time in the town of Trebhor there lived a blacksmith named Logan. Logan’s son, Carsten, and three daughters, Chloe, Constance, and Christabelle, lived in one of the larger houses near the town center. The children’s mother, Cosmina – whom all the children resembled, with their flaxen hair and bright green eyes – died when giving birth to Chloe. Over the last ten years, the family lived a rather normal and ordinary life; Logan was teaching Carsten the blacksmithing trade, as Constance and Christabelle kept house and raised Chloe. While Constance was content with her place, Christabelle was anxious and knew there was more to the world than dishes, diapers, and dairy cows.

During one of Christabelle’s walks through the market she noticed a new cart on the street. It was very different from all the others: the wood was painted beautiful shades of peacock violet and lemon yellow, a myriad of bells and chimes hung from the bright orange canvas shade, as did pieces of glass flashing with rainbow light. The older woman leaning on the cart was someone Christabelle did not recognize but somehow seemed familiar. With apprehension, Christabelle moved toward the cart and the woman.

“Hello Madam,” said Christabelle. “I do not recall seeing your cart here before. Are you new to our town of Trebhor?”
The woman’s smile was warm and friendly. “No, my dear, I am here only for a few days. I am on my way to Mornastead to meet with my,
“Sisters.” The woman’s hesitation intrigued Christabelle as did the name of the town – Mornastead, she said to herself; Mornastead. Her emerald eyes flashed with revelation.

“Madam?” Christabelle’s voice was hurried and excited. “May I go with you, on your travel to Mornastead? I will be of no bother, I promise you. I know how to hunt small game and cook it; as well as forage for edible nuts and berries. I have gold coins to offer you, if necessary.”
The older woman’s smile grew. “My child, there is no need to bribe me to take you on my journey. It will be my honor to have a bright and vital soul travel with me.” With her hand out in greeting, “My name is Merilyn Zephyrine Septimus. Oh, don’t look so bewildered, Christabelle, I would not expect you to say that mouthful each time you address me! No, please, just call me Merilyn.”

Christabelle felt warmth and calmness move through her body. She felt mysteriously safe and almost enchanted by Madam Septimus; or as she reminded herself, Merilyn. But, curiously, she did not remember telling the woman her name. “Madame, oh, Merilyn, I do not recall giving you my name. How did you know it was Christabelle?”

“I heard someone talking to you at another cart. The man said your name and asked how your siblings – Carsten, Chloe, and Constance – were doing. He also asked about the health of your father. He is not ill, is he?” Merilyn was quick with her response and the words flowed like an easy stream from her lips. She did not miss a beat.

Christabelle assured her new friend that her father was just fine, but was worried he would not understand her wanting to leave Trebhor. She asked Merilyn to go with her and speak to her father. Merilyn agreed. Christabelle helped her pack up her cart, tie it to her horses, Meadow and Storm, and they walked toward Blacksmith Logan’s home. Along the way, Christabelle told her brief life story and how she thought it odd her father would not talk about his ancestors, the Heled’s. Merilyn assured her that, when it was time to know more, all would be revealed.

Logan met Christabelle and Merilyn a few feet from the family’s house.
“Oh Father! I have the most wonderful news!” Christabelle leaped into her father’s arms. “I am going to Mornastead with Madame Septimus! I can finally see the world, meet new people, experience more of life!” Her fervent joy nearly overwhelmed Logan. Logan was suspicious, but managed a slight smile at Merilyn as he hugged his daughter.

“Now, hold on, sweetheart. You have only just met this woman; and why the hurry to leave your home? You are still not married, nor even promised to anyone. How can I trust that you will be safe?” Logan’s voice was fearful but gentle. He always knew the day would come when his restless daughter would leave Trebhor; he had just hoped it would not be so soon.

Constance and Chloe stood at the house door beckoning for their father and sister to bring the new friend in for supper. Christabelle ran to her sisters, lifted and hugged them both. She said something just above a whisper, and the three girls let out shouts of glee. Logan looked at Merilyn, who herself was smiling so broadly the wrinkles on her nose and forehead looked lovely to Logan. He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs, and with a smile, he waved his arm inviting Merilyn to go ahead. “After you, Madam Septimus.”

But Wait, there's more! If you act Right Now...

Amelia opened her black umbrella immediately before she strode out the door. Why had she purchased a black umbrella? She didn’t care for black items; she preferred more bright and colorful accessories like her fuchsia leather purse and magenta deer skin gloves. Just as she remembered why her umbrella was black, a blaze of lightning and roaring thunder shook her. Her eyes shifted upward. When was the last time she had enjoyed nature’s artistry?

The sheets of rain poured from the sky, beating on her umbrella like a drummer’s riff. As Amelia turned to walk the shiny flagstone path, she noticed tiny gray-green creatures frantically hopping left, right, over her feet. Tree frogs, she thought, happy to freely leap, sensing that death would no longer become them. What sense was there in squashing these playful critters anyway? She smiled slightly and lifted her head observing through the rain the leafy trees lining the path. Her eyes followed the trees out the yard, cut off by blacktop, continuing on the other side of the street, flourishing over the land and marching up the mountain. The last time Amelia gave notice to the mountain was the day she moved to this town. She remembered her life was full of hope, grand expectations, and…

Another shot of lightning; this one over the group of trees across the street. Was it following her line of sight? Amelia had always believed in omens and premonitions, until her life changed. Perhaps, now, with the weight lifted, she could find that magical part of her she had lost. No, not lost, given up, all for the sake of the illusion of happiness. But, wasn’t happiness something you find and not make?

The rain eased as Amelia gingerly walked the path. As she approached her mailbox she spied tiny violet flowers encircling the mailbox post. Her smile peaked again, and there was a glimmer in her eyes. She stooped down and gently touched the delicate lime-green stems feeling the minute water droplets from the petals. Was it the shimmer of the water or the gleam in her eyes that made these flowers bright and surreal? Why had she never seen these before? Had she been so dominated, so isolated from the outside world that she did not know what lived in her own yard?

Amelia rose slowly. On the way up she focused on the tree trunks a street-width from her. I’m on my own schedule now, she announced to herself; I do not have to be anywhere or do anything that is not of my choice! Her smile filled her face and her mouth opened just wide enough to let out a girlish giggle. Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh, warm dampness. She dropped her umbrella near the mailbox – being sure not to injure the petite flowers – took off her sensible shoes and walked barefoot across the road.

Standing with hands on her hips, to the assembly of trees she announced, “I’d like to go for a walk amongst you. I promise not to pick your fruit without permission, and will steer clear of any exposed roots, if you will promise to not whack me with your dead branches. Do we have a deal?”

The rain had nearly stopped, but there was still the sound of rogue drops hitting leaves. Cool air scented of pine and antique wood streamed from inside the grove. Amelia entered. This time, she said to herself, this time I will not take my life for granted. She raised her arms from her side, held her palms and face toward the sky and began to laugh and dance freely in the soft, wet grass.

Something to keep you busy

Here is a very rough scene I wrote. There is swearing.
Comments welcomed!

A couple stands together in the ceramic tile aisle of a big-box do-it-yourself store lit by overly-bright fluorescent lighting.
With a saccharine calm voice the first person says, “I like the sandy-red color better.”
“Well, it fits your purpose, but not the room.” says the second, disgusted and gruffly.
The first moves toward the second, and with an asp hiss in their voice “Look, you told me you didn’t want to talk about it today. You just wanted a normal day and this adventure to Home Depot” the person pauses, and continues with added anger “was your idea of normal.”
In mumbled concession, “Fine. I think the gray and blue marbly one would be a better choice.” The second crosses their arms and moves closer to the displays.
“I dunno” the first trails off. Then with a smile and modest satisfaction, “If it gets wet, there’s the danger of slipping and falling.”. The first gives a vaguely audible menacing snicker.
The second spins angrily to face the first and speaks through gritted teeth, “Damn, can’t you leave it alone?!”
The first thrusts their arms in the air and in a near scream, “What?!”
Other people in the aisle perform quick turns to stare at the couple.
The first gives a nervous laugh and in a near silent angry voice, “Shit just because I’m trying to make our life better doesn’t give you the right to be such a bitch!”
With a calmer tone in order to appease the irate partner, “It’s just that everything you say seems to refer to…”
Hurried, “Shh!”
From the corner struts a young man with tan leathered skin and rough hands. He approaches the couple, “Can I help you folks find anything? Got any questions about tile?”
With innocence the first nervously says, “Oh, no, we are just starting to decide on color and texture.”
“Oh, OK. Is this for a bathroom or kitchen?”
The couple simultaneously speak out, “A second bathroom.” As if frightened by their words, they give each other startled and awkward glances
Stepping toward the display and reaching to touch a mock-sandstone the muscled employee says, “Well, you may want to stay with something that has a rougher texture and a neutral color. That way you don’t have to worry about a slippery surface and it will be easier to keep clean.” He gives that “I work on commission” salesman grin.
The second of the couple gives off a disgruntled huff.
Confused and concerned employee “I’m sorry?”
With a snide smile and breathy voice the first person approaches him slowly.
“Nothing, my husband is just frustrated with me taking so long to decide. You know, a woman wants everything perfect. And, clean, and, neat, and, tidy…”. Her Cheshire smile fills her face.
The employee takes an uncomfortable step backward from the couple. “Yea, I, uh, suppose.” He gives a questioning stare at the man. “Well, I’ll just let you two talk some more. If you need any help, my name is Brad. Here’s my card.” As he hands the woman his business card she lightly touches her hand to his.
As she approaches Brad, a scheming glint in eyes and smile, “That’s funny; my brother’s name is Brad, too. And, ya know,” prowling around him, looking slowly up and down his frame, “you look a bit like him. Same build, hair’s a little longer, no beard. I didn’t notice it until just now.”
Nervously the man moves over to her. “Honey, I think we should…
She stalks closer to Brad and purrs “No, maybe Brad can be of help to us.” She circles Brad, moving closer with each round.
“Well” unsure and uncomfortable, with motivation to earn commission Brad speaks, “I’ll be glad to help you”
She cuts him off sharply and with another purr, “Would you be willing to…”
“Tess, no!” he yells as he darts between the two.
Tess scowls at her husband and in a second smoothly turns to Brad and with a honey-dripping voice says, “Excuse my husband; he has been very anxious about our ‘project’.”
The husband regains his composure. “Brad, I should be the one to apologize. My wife just wants to make sure we make the right choices.”
They couple stands toe to toe, her shoulders rounded, and ready to pounce; he planted with bending knees ready to move in any direction.
Brad feels his hair stand on end. “I think I should be…”
Suddenly his hip radio blasts with a transistor man’s voice. They are all startled from their places. The hear, “Brad that shipment’s in. Can you come to the loading dock and give us a hand?”
With a quick nervous grasp, Brad pushes hard on the Talk button. In a hurried voice, “Yea! I’m comin’ right now!”
Brad politely turns to the couple and explains, “Uh, sorry I couldn’t be more help folks. I hope you find what you want.” He gladly rushes away.
Tess’s voice is guttural, “Oh, I found what I want…”
The husband has had enough. “Goddam bitch!” he tensely whispers. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Look” Tess snarls, pointing at him with her long finger nailed index finger, “you have been a pansy about everything since we got married. That’s why we live with this woman!” Her rage builds, her voice rasping, “She is a royal bitch and you are her lap dog! If you want to stay married to me, you either do this and make it look like an accident, or I’ll just reveal your sick secrets to the DA.”.
The husband opens his mouth, and then closes it slowly. With shoulders slumped, cowering to her, “OK, I hear you.” He gulps for air. “But, why does it have to be so, so,” he hesitates “so gory?”
Tess gives a sigh of disgust and, for the third time in three days explains, “You need to help me do this; she trusts you. We need to work as a team.”

School Days

School days, school days
dear old golden rule days...

Mondays have me in only one class, The Professional Teacher. I've never met the instructor - but apparently everyone else in class is on a first-name basis with him. I was anxious as I had heard conflicting reports - good and bad - mostly bad. I think this is one of those "keep my head down" classes - which, is fine with me. Homework is rather simple - a cover letter and a resume. "But, that's difficult!" you say. Yes, if I had to start from scratch. However, the instructor has a format we must follow. So, it is plug-n-play.

I sincerely hope tomorrow is a bit more challenging.

Do you want me to post what I write for this class?

Last Year

As in "This is my last year of school" (for now...)

Tomorrow marks the first day of the last in-school semester for me before I receive my teaching certification. I still have to take the Praxis 2 test, which I plan to do after student teaching.

In the meantime, I'm nervous & anxious about school. Why? What do you think?

British Literature

I realized I have left undone something I started. I do that alot and I don't like it at all!

But since I have so few readers, and none have complained, I still feel the need to complete my journey through British Literature.

So, over the next few days, I'll post some of my reflections on writers after 1700. If you want more, just ask.

Oh, BTW, I'm still stuck as to what to write my Lit Crit paper on for the 2nd 1/2 of Brit Writers. And, it is due Sept 4! Ideas?

Decisions

On the advice of a current Graduate student, I have decided to forgo the learnin' of po-etry, for now. I figure I can find plenty of books and books on tape about the subject to learn myself it.

Blogs here, blogs there, blogs everywhere

I've decided to blog here and for a class blog here, too.

Enjoy

To Blog or not to blog

If I have to keep this blog for school or career, then, yes, I will blog.

Canterbury has lost its shine

Oh, how disappointed I was! However, I don't know the correct placement of that disappointment - should it be on the Old English (OE) Modern English (ME*) mixture that I read; or should it be on myself for idealizing the Canterbury Tales (or Chaucer himself)? I do not know. Perhaps I will decide by the end of this writing/post.

I read part of the General Prologue (insert number of lines here). I knew I did not need to read the entire Prologue in order to get information about my tale of focus, the Wife of Bath. I did, however, read the entire (quite long) Wife Prologue and her tale. Tiring, these readings were. This is why I think the OE/ME mixture interfered with my enjoyment of the reading and created the disappointment (perhaps I am using the incorrect word...I shall see).

I will also admit to using Spark Notes. With the back and forth from OE to ME to footnotes to just notes..I lost a lot of the story idea. After reading SN, I think I missed much more than I realized.

The General Prologue

I wonder if Chaucer picked 29 travelers for a reason, or was it just a number he pulled out of the air. If he had lived long enough to finish all 29 stories, we'd have quite the book to read! I also wonder why he chose to write the stories of people in the order he did - that is, the book gives us 7 stories; why did he write these first, especially if he intended to write other tales to intermingle with these 7?

Spring is the time when all comes anew. Spring cleaning is a very old tradition - sweep away all the bad vibes that have collected while the house has been closed to the winter weather. Spring flowers and awakening of trees are likened to new or young love - we feel free-er and wish to enjoy time outside in the fields. Taking a pilgrimage at this time seems apropos.

As Chaucer becomes one of the people in the pilgrimage and recites the tales from memory, he becomes the unreliable narrator. Not that he lies or embellishes; but we know that by including himself with the travelers, he is influenced by the people on a 24/7 basis which leads him to prejudice of the people and the tales. However, he does give each person near equal time and place to tell their stories, even though they come from different social classes. Perhaps a kind of equality based on the fact that one person is no better than another.

The Wife of Bath

The humor of this story was lost on me the first time I read it (again, the back and forth). So, after reading SN, the second reading was quite fun, but also sad. I can see the feminist aspect - the Wife has not held back her wants, needs, desires, or truth. Yet, this is written from a man's point of view and, if we are to believe one of the interpretations, she uses cunning and deceit to get what she wants - which gives women a bad reputation.

But, let's consider for a minute that she felt she had to be cunning and deceitful to assert herself and get what she wanted. Considering there were so few choices for women in the 14th century - not only how they live their lives (with or without a husband) but how to survive in a male-dominated world. Her use of King Arthur's wife as the decider in the tale is the Wife's way of asserting the premise that women DO rule the world, if by cunning and deceit, so be it. After all, men will not listen (usually) directly to women - we (as women) must trick men's minds. That is, we convince our husbands that, it was not our (wife's) idea to put up shutters, but the man's idea; after all, what know we of shutters?


*I realize that ME usually stands for Middle English. Because I am not referring to Middle English in this writing, I am taking liberties and using ME as shorthand for Modern English.

Sir Gwaing, Finally

I had to force myself to stop reading "Sir Gwain & The Green Knight" after Part 1. Why? Well, as fun as it is to read, I knew I had much more reading to do. I'll go back to Sir Gwain to find out how he (or if?) defeats the Green Knight. I'm also hoping the story will tell me why the Knight is green. (note to B - I don't know if it has any reference to the Green Man...would be cool, thought).

Alliteration - one of my most favorite ways to write. Sir Gwain is full of alliteration! This style adds to the bounce and enjoyment of the piece. It also makes the writing memorable and recall particularly easy; "Bold boys bred there, in broils delighting" is easier to remember than "Courageous men grew up there", wouldn't you say? As well, the alliteration and tempo of the piece make it easy to become engrossed in the action. It becomes more than just a Fairy Tale - the piece comes to life, you are in the action, you become Sir Gwain (or the Knight). Fascinating work!

As I was reading the stanzas, and came to the "bob & wheel" I found myself almost stopping and reading those lines as slow and dramatic .... I suppose ending of one section, melting to the beginning of the next. I'm having difficulty explaining this. Perhaps it is the Shakespearean drama reviving itself in my head. The alliterative and expository stanzas which tell the story are "cut" with dramatic pauses to (1) transition to the next part of the narrative; or (2) reiterate the main idea in the previous stanza; or (3) offer more perspective on the story as a whole.

Enough studious stuff...Some words and phrases I found interesting:

Line 44: "For the feast was in force full fifteen days," Why fifteen? Fourteen is alliterative, too - is it because of the 'rule of 3'?

Line 53: "comeliest king" I am hoping that at the time, to be a comely king was a compliment, and not as the word is used now - to be plain.

Lines 115 thru 129: I had the impression of a Dinner and a Show (humour)

Line 297: "twelvemonth and a day" In many Pagan (quite a bit in Wiccan & Druid) religions, schooling of the religion is said to take (require) a year and a day. I don't know if there is any relation here; it would be interesting to find out.

These are my thoughts and insights on Sir Gwain. Next up, Wife of Bath from Canterbury Tales!

Cheers!

Sir Gwain...Almost

After 2 weeks of the flu, and now almost myself again, I figured I'd post to let you all know that I haven't forgotten my school work!

I read Part 1 of Sir Gwain & the Green Knight.
I've now moved onto the Prologue to Canterbury Tales.
I plan to move to The Bath Wife Tale tomorrow.

Yes, I will write about all of these marvelous things in due time.

Patience.

This has nothing to do with School - or does it?

Coming up...The Canterbury Tales - well one of them, anyway.

Until then, I found this fascinating. Not the facts - I always suspected the conclusion, I just wasn't smart enough to figure out how to prove it. I'm so very happy someone has figured out how to prove it!

By the way LabSpaces is a very interesting site.

Beowulf - new words

One reason I love to read British Literature is (are?) the new words I learn. If I ever have the time, I want to learn either Old or Middle English so I can learn even more. Until then, this is what I've learned from Beowulf.

• mead-benches - A seat or bench at a Germanic feast; from Old English medusetl. So, this is interesting. It reminds me (us) that the British Isles were just as much of a melting pot and the US was in the early 1900's. The use of a German(ic) word to describe where 14th Century English warriors sat.
• march-stepper - This is a description of Grendel; boundary-land walker, a walker in outlands or desolate places. I had the vision of Grendel walking as Germans did in the films from marches for Hitler. Perhaps, then, when Australians are on walk-abouts they, too, are march-steppers?
• the giver of rings - The lord of a won battle. As I read, I kept having visions of either a dream or something I had seen on television - men who won a joust were given large rings over their joust-posts by either the king, queen, or maiden princess. After doing some further research I find that this makes sense. I'm still wondering why it is the King - or whomever - would give rings of gold or other precious metal and not something more useful, such as better chain mail or better swords.
• suffer much of weal and woe - This one was a bit confusing; it is an antonym to itself. Woe is sorrowfulness so, it would follow that weal would be a raised mark on the skin produced by a blow; from Old English walu, meaning ridge. However, it also has the definition of prosperity or wellbeing. Knowing the definition of woe, I know it is the former which is correct here. But, it is one of those curious words from "way back" that makes me ponder why "we" selected only certain OE and ME words to use and only certain definitions.
• fen - bog
• gannet's bath - Considering the gannett is a large sea bird and a large body of water may be considered a bath, I'm suppose this is a large body of water over which a gannett flies. Nothing exciting there, either.
• geurdon - To reward. I would think that a better definition would be a reward for hand-to-hand combat fighting (such as guerilla). What I found most intriguing was this: Middle English, from Old French, from Medieval Latin widerdnum, alteration (influenced by Latin dnum, gift) of Old High German widarln : widar, back, against; see wi- in Indo-European roots + ln, reward; see lau- in Indo-European roots. Wow!
• battle-targes - eh, battle shield. Deserves a more impressive definition.

Final Words on Beowulf

There are many more ideas and concepts I have learned from reading Beowulf; there are also more questions about why this was told/written and what its influence was on people of the 13th, 14th, and perhaps even up to 19th centuries. To write of them all, I'd have my own book the breadth of Beowulf.

Beowulf - Confusing spots

Reading Beowulf I realized that this poem was written in flashback form; generally a style I find interesting as it gives me time to draw conclusions, based on the evidence, to what may have occurred, only to find out the 'reality' of what happened. However, the use of the author's flashbacks was confusing; there were no clear transitions stating "OK, now my I will tell you about something that happened previously, so please don't think this is any reflection on what is happening now." Instead, a character would break into rhetoric and, through use of deduction on the part of the reader, you have to figure out if he is talking about the present or past. Yes, sometimes it was blatant, "We accomplished that heroic deed" spoke Beowulf - you know that is in the past tense referring to his battle with Grendel. Other times, we aren't so lucky.

Throughout the piece, I waited for the explanation of when the author no longer spoke of Beowulf I and moved onto Beowulf II. I could not find that transition. I have re-read many parts of the piece looking for such a break, but, cannot find it. Would anyone be kind enough to share their knowledge with me?

In Chapter XIII, I became confused on who actually killed Grendel. Was it Beowulf's sword that did the deed, or did his men perpetrate the final blow? Perhaps this is part of the myth in the epic - a leader's men do go to battle with him and all join to overtake the foe. What matters most is that Beowulf was the one who started the charge at Grendel, continued to fight, and took congratulations for having such a wealth of good men.

In Chapter XXXII, the author speaks of "he" but I cannot find a reference to the person - is it Beowulf, is it one of his men, is it the person who found the Dragon's treasure and in doing so made him angry? I understand the need for this chapter/passage, as it directly addresses the Dragon's lair, treasure, and fury. And, perhaps it doesn't matter to the story who the "he" is. However, is it not possible that the "he" could have been a foe of Beowulf II, out to do him in by picking a fight with the Dragon? That would add to the story, even make the Dragon incident make better sense. It seems odd to me that the author would be thinking, "Well, Beowulf needs something to do. I'll find some random guy who decides to steal gold from a Dragon. The Dragon gets angry and attacks the place Beowulf just happens to be staying. Which gives Beowulf a chance to fight a great and evil thing." There just has to be more to it than that!

I have not researched this next idea, but, I will.

The last sentence in Chapter XXXIX leads me to believe that this epic is an explanation of some tragedy which befell people in (their) recent history. As with the Creation Myth, this sentence "explains" why there are so many 'tribes' throughout the world who do not speak one another's languages, "Every man of the people shall wander". Further, it explains an invasion (Roman? Norman?) which (shall) took place because of their "inglorious act." Or perhaps I'm reading too much into this.

Next post - new words and ideas.

Beowulf

I had first read a bit of Beowulf when I was in high school. A boy was trying to impress me by telling me he could read the "original English" that Beowulf was written (in). I was so naive at the time, I believed him. I didn't understand a word he read to me - except Beowulf - but was intrigued by "old" writings that I picked up an English Literature book in the library and began to read. I found it not to my liking. The passages were long, written in poem "form" but did not rhyme. And it seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r for the writer to get his point across. I put it down and decided to wait until I was more "experienced" before I read it again.

As a Sophomore in College, I picked up a slight paperback of Beowulf. This one was much different than the first reading; it was written in story form in modern English. After a few pages, I was bored. With the use of modern English and modern terms, it didn't seem right to read. I put it down, again.

Now, I've read Beowulf again - in story form, and paragraphs first, then the "poem" form. Reading this epic I am sad I did not grasp its importance 30 years ago.

I will admit to being a bit apprehensive to reading another "epic poem". The Illiad and the Odyssey were difficult reading (I believe it is because it was a rushed read and the fun in the stories was overshadowed by the professor's picking apart each line for discussion..but, I digress). So, epics were not something I was not sure I would enjoy again and I thought would be difficult to wade through. I was pleased to read Beowulf - and look forward to more epics.

More about why I liked it, what I learned, and what I questioned in further posts.

Re-Emerging

Long time no write, eh? Well, I've decided to make some use of this blog. Don't know that anyone will read it, but, that doesn't matter either.

I'm considering blogging for my Brit Lit 1 class. Why? Well, I have to write at least 15 pages of "stuff" for the class, based on what I read. I've got lots of ideas on how to write about what I read, but not really sure how to get it all out. Thought maybe here, I could work on that.

If any one reads, please comment!

Peace