Ancient Blues for Troubled Times

Canard

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Ancient blues for troubled times. That passed over - so can this. Putting things in perspective. Life is tough.

An Anglo Saxon elegy, Deor.




This dude, however, would not get a gig in any major Anglo Saxon hall. And any performance of ancient music is speculative. Notation did not exist. It is not know how a lyre was tune or played, either. It is not known whether Deor was sung or chanted. Translation is also speculative.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deor

I gave up on trying to get the columns perfectly aligned. Sorry.

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 Mæþhilde monge gefrugnon wurdon grundlease Getes 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!

Weland the smith made a trial of exile. The strong-minded man suffered hardship all winter long—his only companions were cold and sorrow. He longed to escape the bonds of Nithhad who slit his hamstrings, tied him down with severed sinews, making a slave of this better man.

That passed over—so can this.


To Beadohild her brother’s death was not so sad as her own suffering when the princess saw she was pregnant. She tried not to think how it all happened.



That passed over—so can this.



Many have heard of the cares of Mæthhild— she and Geat shared a bottomless love. Her sad passion deprived her of sleep.



That passed over—so can this.



Theodric ruled for thirty winters the city of the Mærings—that’s known to many.



That passed over—so can this.



We all know the wolfish ways of Eormanric — That grim king ruled the land of the Goths. Many a man sat bound in sorrow, twisted in the turns of expected woe, hoping a foe might free his kingdom.



That passed over—so can this.



A man sits alone in the clutch of sorrow, separated from joy, thinking to himself that his share of suffering is endless.



The man knows that all through middle-earth, wise God goes, handing out fortunes, giving grace to many—power, prosperity, wisdom, wealth—but to some a share of woe.



Let me tell this story about myself: I was singer and shaper (poet) for the Heodenings, dear to my lord.



My name was Deor. For many years I was harper in the hall, honored by the king,
until Heorrenda now, a song-skilled shaper, has taken my place, reaping the rewards, the titled lands, that the guardian of men once gave me.

That passed over—so can this.
 

Canard

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I bet that guy gets all the girls.

Yeah ... his version of this "tune" is on heavy rotation in all the dance/pickup clubs. ;)
 
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