It is unfortunate that Tolkien's _Old English Exodus_ was written (and marketed/printed) as an academic text --- I found it quite readable and enjoyable (and the second time I asked for it on Interlibrary Loan was sent a compleat photocopy) --- unfortunately, it saw only a single printing, so is not available for folks to read outside of academic libraries.
It and his other works on Old English really should be gathered up in a boxed set and reprinted.
I asked for permission to reprint it, and even put together a PDF, but was rebuffed on the grounds that I am a layman, not an academic --- if an academic is reading this and finds it an interesting project, let me know. I keep asking after it, and even got one somewhat interested response, but haven't heard back.....
I have put out of print … I mean I've heard of a guy who put out-of-print texts on Lulu so people can have a copy printed up, bound and shipped to them.
Given the litigiousness of the Tolkien Estate, that is not an option here.
Until I have permission to reprint, the PDF which I have worked up (just needs proofreading and either re-pagination to match the original, or a re-working of the index to base it on the line #s of the poem) cannot be distributed since it still has a valid copyright.
Certainly not inline with OP’s wishes, I read Beowulf every day from the time my daughter was born until she was 2 at which point she preferred the adventures of Fone Bone, his cousins, and their friend Thorn.
I was given the advice of someone much smarter than I am that when reading works in pre-modern English, read them aloud. This advice has worked wonders toward my enjoyment of the poems even at the risk of my wife preferring I spend early evenings at a small room on the far side of the house.
For me, an article in the New York Times back in 2019 [1] really made me want to learn Old English. The article pitches two features: the grammar is easy, and it has kennings. Kennings are essentially portmanteaus, Old English words made of two nouns that have been mashed together to create a new one. Later in the article some examples are given: the anonymous poet describes war and death with kennings like “battle-sweat” for blood (heaþuswate), “mind-worth” for honor (weorðmyndum), “bonehouse” for body (banhus).
Kinda the reverse for me... A radio interview quoted a linguist who described early rap music as an accidental rebirth of Beowulf-esque poetry. Internal rhymes, frequent allusions, and the rhythm of at least some matched Beofwulf's itself.
After that, I moved from the "it's just talking over music!" camp to the "it's a novel form of musical interpretation!" camp.
I read Beowulf to my kids (in Tolkien's translation) when they were 3 and 5. They really got into it, and seemed to pick up the plot without my explaining it to them. When Æscher was killed, my 3yo called out "Beowulf should have been there!" Epic poetry is concrete and visual, and doesn't ask much of a listener, compared to other forms of poetry. It's great for kids.
I've read them various poems from the Exeter book, but it's never been a success, even when I explain the answer. On the other hand, they're more interested in riddles now, so it might work.
I got them to sit through The Dream of the Rood, and my explanation of it, but it was a real stretch.
Not mentioned in the article is Osweald Bera[0]. This is the "Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata" of Old English, that is a text that uses words similar enough words that you didn't need any explanation beyond the text in the target language. My copy is still in the mail so I can't speak to the quality just yet.
The article also mentions The Wanderer, but I prefer the Liuzza translation[1].
Where has the horse gone? where is the rider? where is the giver of gold?
Where are the seats of the feast? where are the joys of the hall?
O the bright cup! O the brave warrior!
O the glory of princes! How the time passed away,
slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!
...
All is toilsome in the earthly kingdom,
the working of wyrd changes the world under heaven.
Here wealth is fleeting, here friends are fleeting,
And ironically they invite you to study Beowulf with them for their first summer book club:
> You’ll also be able to join the very first Dead Language Society summer book club(!), where we’ll be reading Beowulf together. We’ll compare translations against the original Old English and explore the historical and cultural context of the poem. Along the way, I’ll explain all the deep lore that most readers miss.
That said, there's nothing wrong with including Beowulf in a course teaching Old English. When I studied it in college it was one of many texts that we read, which was helpful because a lot of people had read parts of Beowulf in modern English previously so there was a lot of context in reading it that was absent in some of the other texts.
Like Shakespeare, I would not throw an entire text at a student.
But I think that a thoughtfully edited set of Beowulf extracts is a great place to start. It helps that you can start at the beginning, because the prologue is really good.
Another thing I would do is to read it in conjunction with a great translation. I adore Maria Dahvana Headley's new translation:
Bro! Tell me we still know how to
talk about kings! In the old days,
everyone knew what men were:
brave, bold, glory-bound. Only
stories now, but I'll sound the
Spear-Danes' song, hoarded for
hungry times.
As a lifelong Tolkien fan I have always been fascinated by Old English. Not enough for any serious study, but when things like this pop up I always take a look.
Then I like to sound a bunch of verses, it feels epic even if you don't understand anything, but then suddenly you get to:
For þone andweardan mycelan lust þæs geworhtan wites on þisse stowe, ic sceal cyðan þæt þa niwostan miclan spræc-endebyrdnessa sind swiðe gōde tō awendanne fram and tō ealdum Englisce.
This poem, in fact, tells the story of a couple who, amidst the absurdity and chaos, managed to survive the plague during the Middle Ages. It begins with the couple reflecting on the deaths around them, treating the horror almost as if it were a poem. One of them asks, "Is this a poem?" and receives the cryptic yet resigned reply, "Oh dear yes but also," and from that moment on, the poem shifts into surreal imagery and existential questioning.
Alongside this imagery, life itself is dissected and questioned. Then, following the devastating and horrifying events, a heavy, soul-crushing atmosphere sets in one that penetrates the human psyche so deeply that people begin to forget the very idea of what life was.
"Why thou can be so distinguished?
Fried pan must be punished."
These two lines are particularly important. At this point, the plague in Europe has just ended, and the poet here begins to criticize the Catholic Church. By saying “fried pan,” he indirectly refers to the Pope and implies that he must be punished. These lines are, in a way, part of the intellectual and spiritual climate that would later inspire Martin Luther’s movement.
"So dear run from these lands,
Where thou which counties could be wastes."
In these lines, the woman in the couple urges her partner to flee. She tells him to go anywhere because all lands have become barren and meaningless.
"Oh fear, King Arthur haven't been disappeared.
So dear, Saint George flout to the polar bear."
Here, the man responds, declaring that he will not flee. By stating that King Arthur hasn't disappeared, the poet suggests that his spirit still roams the land that courage and the will to stand one’s ground still survive. The image of Saint George soaring with or confronting a polar bear in the desert evokes the impossible, the surreal and yet also the essence of the human soul: to possess everything in the midst of nothingness. That, the poet says, is the spirit.
"heigh, atre, belg, canti, dumno, iceni, parisi!"
is another instance of what the poet refers to as “Sliding Words.” However, this time they take on an even deeper resonance. These are not merely random syllables — they are names (or echoes) of ancient Celtic tribes from pre-Roman Britain: Atrebates, Belgae, Cantii, Dumnonii, Iceni, Parisi. By invoking these names in a chant-like rhythm, the poet is calling forth the ancestral memory of the land.
This act gives profound weight to the man's refusal to flee. When he declares that "King Arthur haven't been disappeared," he isn't just referring to the medieval legend. He is tapping into the foundational spirit of the island, a spirit that precedes the Romans, the Church, and the very civilization that has just been shattered by plague. The chant is the source of his power; he is drawing strength from the deep, soul of the land.
It is unfortunate that Tolkien's _Old English Exodus_ was written (and marketed/printed) as an academic text --- I found it quite readable and enjoyable (and the second time I asked for it on Interlibrary Loan was sent a compleat photocopy) --- unfortunately, it saw only a single printing, so is not available for folks to read outside of academic libraries.
It and his other works on Old English really should be gathered up in a boxed set and reprinted.
I asked for permission to reprint it, and even put together a PDF, but was rebuffed on the grounds that I am a layman, not an academic --- if an academic is reading this and finds it an interesting project, let me know. I keep asking after it, and even got one somewhat interested response, but haven't heard back.....
I have put out of print … I mean I've heard of a guy who put out-of-print texts on Lulu so people can have a copy printed up, bound and shipped to them.
Given the litigiousness of the Tolkien Estate, that is not an option here.
Until I have permission to reprint, the PDF which I have worked up (just needs proofreading and either re-pagination to match the original, or a re-working of the index to base it on the line #s of the poem) cannot be distributed since it still has a valid copyright.
You're probably right.
You piqued my curiosity.
It is available from Amazon for the low, low price of just $1,499.99.
Plus $3.99 delivery.
Certainly not inline with OP’s wishes, I read Beowulf every day from the time my daughter was born until she was 2 at which point she preferred the adventures of Fone Bone, his cousins, and their friend Thorn.
I was given the advice of someone much smarter than I am that when reading works in pre-modern English, read them aloud. This advice has worked wonders toward my enjoyment of the poems even at the risk of my wife preferring I spend early evenings at a small room on the far side of the house.
For me, an article in the New York Times back in 2019 [1] really made me want to learn Old English. The article pitches two features: the grammar is easy, and it has kennings. Kennings are essentially portmanteaus, Old English words made of two nouns that have been mashed together to create a new one. Later in the article some examples are given: the anonymous poet describes war and death with kennings like “battle-sweat” for blood (heaþuswate), “mind-worth” for honor (weorðmyndum), “bonehouse” for body (banhus).
[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/04/magazine/letter-of-recomm... or https://archive.is/NIkJt
Kinda the reverse for me... A radio interview quoted a linguist who described early rap music as an accidental rebirth of Beowulf-esque poetry. Internal rhymes, frequent allusions, and the rhythm of at least some matched Beofwulf's itself.
After that, I moved from the "it's just talking over music!" camp to the "it's a novel form of musical interpretation!" camp.
Straight outta Geatland, yo.
I found the linked riddles page more interesting! https://www.deadlanguagesociety.com/p/the-1000-year-old-ridd...
The entire website is a joy.
I read Beowulf to my kids (in Tolkien's translation) when they were 3 and 5. They really got into it, and seemed to pick up the plot without my explaining it to them. When Æscher was killed, my 3yo called out "Beowulf should have been there!" Epic poetry is concrete and visual, and doesn't ask much of a listener, compared to other forms of poetry. It's great for kids.
I've read them various poems from the Exeter book, but it's never been a success, even when I explain the answer. On the other hand, they're more interested in riddles now, so it might work.
I got them to sit through The Dream of the Rood, and my explanation of it, but it was a real stretch.
So for kids, Beowulf is best.
Not mentioned in the article is Osweald Bera[0]. This is the "Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata" of Old English, that is a text that uses words similar enough words that you didn't need any explanation beyond the text in the target language. My copy is still in the mail so I can't speak to the quality just yet.
The article also mentions The Wanderer, but I prefer the Liuzza translation[1].
Where has the horse gone? where is the rider? where is the giver of gold?
Where are the seats of the feast? where are the joys of the hall?
O the bright cup! O the brave warrior!
O the glory of princes! How the time passed away, slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!
...
All is toilsome in the earthly kingdom,
the working of wyrd changes the world under heaven.
Here wealth is fleeting, here friends are fleeting,
here man is fleeting, here woman is fleeting,
all the framework of this earth will stand empty.
[0]: https://ancientlanguage.com/vergil-press/osweald-bera/ [1]: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/159113/the-wanderer-6...
The OP should have mentioned Osweald Bera. He's the author! Always be promoting!
In teaching, it is a mistake to introduce Old English literature via Beowulf. As the article implies.
And ironically they invite you to study Beowulf with them for their first summer book club:
> You’ll also be able to join the very first Dead Language Society summer book club(!), where we’ll be reading Beowulf together. We’ll compare translations against the original Old English and explore the historical and cultural context of the poem. Along the way, I’ll explain all the deep lore that most readers miss.
That said, there's nothing wrong with including Beowulf in a course teaching Old English. When I studied it in college it was one of many texts that we read, which was helpful because a lot of people had read parts of Beowulf in modern English previously so there was a lot of context in reading it that was absent in some of the other texts.
Like Shakespeare, I would not throw an entire text at a student.
But I think that a thoughtfully edited set of Beowulf extracts is a great place to start. It helps that you can start at the beginning, because the prologue is really good.
Another thing I would do is to read it in conjunction with a great translation. I adore Maria Dahvana Headley's new translation:
[dead]
As a lifelong Tolkien fan I have always been fascinated by Old English. Not enough for any serious study, but when things like this pop up I always take a look.
Then I like to sound a bunch of verses, it feels epic even if you don't understand anything, but then suddenly you get to:
"þæt wæs god cyning"
or
"Hē hæfde gōd ġeþanc þā hwīle þe hē mid handum healdan mihte bord and brād swurd"
and it feels like you solved a fun riddle.
Also, I'm sorry but I must:
For þone andweardan mycelan lust þæs geworhtan wites on þisse stowe, ic sceal cyðan þæt þa niwostan miclan spræc-endebyrdnessa sind swiðe gōde tō awendanne fram and tō ealdum Englisce.
[dead]
old(all) english poem in a nutshell:
"is this a poem?
oh dear yes but also,
so what indeed darling?!
unfortunately i forgot!
what is thou can be shall,
fall on thouse ravens?
why thou can be so distinguished?
fried pan must be punished.
so dear run from these lands,
where thou which counties could be wastes.,
oh fear, king arthur haven't been dissapeared.
so dear, saint george flout to the polar bear.
heigh, atre, belg, canti, dumno, iceni, parisi! "
This poem, in fact, tells the story of a couple who, amidst the absurdity and chaos, managed to survive the plague during the Middle Ages. It begins with the couple reflecting on the deaths around them, treating the horror almost as if it were a poem. One of them asks, "Is this a poem?" and receives the cryptic yet resigned reply, "Oh dear yes but also," and from that moment on, the poem shifts into surreal imagery and existential questioning.
Alongside this imagery, life itself is dissected and questioned. Then, following the devastating and horrifying events, a heavy, soul-crushing atmosphere sets in one that penetrates the human psyche so deeply that people begin to forget the very idea of what life was.
"Why thou can be so distinguished? Fried pan must be punished."
These two lines are particularly important. At this point, the plague in Europe has just ended, and the poet here begins to criticize the Catholic Church. By saying “fried pan,” he indirectly refers to the Pope and implies that he must be punished. These lines are, in a way, part of the intellectual and spiritual climate that would later inspire Martin Luther’s movement.
"So dear run from these lands, Where thou which counties could be wastes."
In these lines, the woman in the couple urges her partner to flee. She tells him to go anywhere because all lands have become barren and meaningless.
"Oh fear, King Arthur haven't been disappeared. So dear, Saint George flout to the polar bear."
Here, the man responds, declaring that he will not flee. By stating that King Arthur hasn't disappeared, the poet suggests that his spirit still roams the land that courage and the will to stand one’s ground still survive. The image of Saint George soaring with or confronting a polar bear in the desert evokes the impossible, the surreal and yet also the essence of the human soul: to possess everything in the midst of nothingness. That, the poet says, is the spirit.
"heigh, atre, belg, canti, dumno, iceni, parisi!"
is another instance of what the poet refers to as “Sliding Words.” However, this time they take on an even deeper resonance. These are not merely random syllables — they are names (or echoes) of ancient Celtic tribes from pre-Roman Britain: Atrebates, Belgae, Cantii, Dumnonii, Iceni, Parisi. By invoking these names in a chant-like rhythm, the poet is calling forth the ancestral memory of the land.
This act gives profound weight to the man's refusal to flee. When he declares that "King Arthur haven't been disappeared," he isn't just referring to the medieval legend. He is tapping into the foundational spirit of the island, a spirit that precedes the Romans, the Church, and the very civilization that has just been shattered by plague. The chant is the source of his power; he is drawing strength from the deep, soul of the land.
[dead]