Saturday (7/2/22) - Caedmon and A Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf, To a Saxon Poet - J.L.B poems

I have been reading A Course on English Literature by Jorge Luis Borges.  I finished section 4, which describes the dream of Caedmon.  I recalled that there was a section on this in the recently acquired Libro de sueños which I have reproduced and translated here (Google Translate).

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CAEDMON

Caedmon debe su fama, que será perdurable, a razones ajenas al goce estético. La gesta de Beowulf es anónima; Caedmon, en cambio, es el primer poeta anglosajón, por consiguiente inglés, cuyo nombre se ha conservado. En el Exodo y en las Suertes de los apóstoles, la nomenclatura es cristiana, pero el sentimiento es gentil; Caedmon es el primer poeta sajón de espíritu cristiano. A estas razones hay que agregar la curiosa historia de Caedmon, tal como la refiere Beda el Venerable en el cuarto libro de su Historia eclesiástica: 

«En el monasterio de esta abadesa (la abadesa Hild de Streoneshalh) hubo un hermano honrado por la gracia divina, porque solía hacer canciones que inclinaban a la piedad y a la religión. Todo lo que aprendía de hombres versados en las sagradas escrituras lo vertía en lenguaje poético con la mayor dulzura y fervor. Muchos, en Inglaterra, lo imitaron en la composición de cantos religiosos. El ejercicio del canto no le había sido enseñado por los hombres o por medios humanos; había recibido ayuda divina y su facultad de cantar procedía directamente de Dios. Por eso no compuso jamás canciones engañosas y ociosas. Este hombre había vivido en el mundo hasta alcanzar una avanzada edad y nada había sabido de versos. Solía concurrir a fiestas donde se había dispuesto, para fomentar la alegría, que todos cantaran por turno acompañándose con el arpa, y cuantas veces el arpa se le acercaba, Caedmon se levantaba con vergüenza y se encaminaba a su casa. Una de esas veces dejó la casa del festín y fue a los establos, porque le habían encomendado esa noche el cuidado de los caballos. Durmió y en el sueño vio un hombre que le ordenó: “Caedmon, cántame alguna cosa.” Caedmon contestó y dijo: “No sé cantar y por eso he dejado el festín y he venido a acostarme.” El que le habló le dijo: “Cantarás.” Entonces dijo Caedmon: “¿Qué puedo yo cantar?” La respuesta fue: “Cántame el origen de todas lascosas.” Y Caedmon cantó versos y palabras que no había oído nunca, en este orden: “Alabemos ahora al guardián del reino celestial, el poder del Creador y el consejo de su mente, las obras del glorioso Padre; cómo El, Dios eterno, originó cada maravilla. Hizo primero el cielo como techo para los hijos de la tierra; después hizo, todopoderoso, la tierra para dar un suelo a los hombres.” Al despertar, guardaba en la memoria todo lo cantado en el sueño. A estas palabras agregó muchas otras, en el mismo estilo, dignas de Dios.» Beda refiere que la abadesa dispuso que los religiosos examinaran la nueva capacidad de Caedmon, y, una vez demostrado que el don poético le había sido conferido por Dios, lo instó a entrar en la comunidad. «Cantó la creación del mundo, el origen del hombre, toda la historia de Israel, el éxodo de Egipto y la entrada en la tierra prometida, la encarnación, pasión y resurrección de Cristo, su ascensión al cielo, la llegada del Espíritu Santo y la enseñanza de los apóstoles. También cantó el terror del juicio final, los horrores del infierno y las bienaventuranzas del cielo.» El historiador agrega que Caedmon, años después, profetizó la hora en que iba a morir y la esperó durmiendo. Dios, o un ángel de Dios, le había enseñado a cantar; esperemos que volvió a encontrarse con su ángel.

J.L.B. Libro de sueños.

CAEDMON

Caedmon owes his fame, which will be lasting, to reasons other than aesthetic enjoyment. Beowulf's deed is anonymous; Caedmon, on the other hand, is the first Anglo-Saxon poet, therefore English, whose name has been preserved. In Exodus and the Lots of the Apostles, the nomenclature is Christian, but the sentiment is Gentile; Caedmon is the first Saxon poet with a Christian spirit. To these reasons must be added the curious story of Caedmon, as recounted by Bede the Venerable in the fourth book of his Ecclesiastical History: 

"In the monastery of this abbess (Abbess Hild of Streoneshalh) there was a brother honored by divine grace, because he used to make songs that inclined to piety and religion. All that he learned from men versed in the sacred scriptures he poured into poetic language with the greatest sweetness and fervor. Many in England imitated him in the composition of religious songs. The exercise of singing had not been taught to him by men or by human means; he had received divine help and his ability to sing came directly from God. That is why he never composed deceitful and idle songs. This man had lived in the world to an advanced age and he had known nothing of verse. He used to go to parties where he had arranged, to encourage merriment, that everyone sing in turn accompanying himself on the harp, and whenever the harp came near him, Caedmon got up in shame and went to his house. One of these times he left the feasting house and went to the stables, because he had been entrusted that night with the care of the horses. He slept and in the dream he saw a man who ordered him: "Caedmon, sing me something." Caedmon answered and said, "I cannot sing, and so I have left the feast and come to bed." The one who spoke to him said: “You will sing.” Then said Caedmon: "What can I sing?" The answer was: "Sing to me the origin of all things." And Caedmon sang verses and words that he had never heard before, in this order: “Now let us praise the guardian of the heavenly realm, the power of the Creator and the counsel of his mind, the works of the glorious Father; how He, eternal God, originated every wonder. He first made heaven as a roof for the children of the earth; then he made, almighty, the earth to give a ground to men.” Upon waking up, he kept in his memory everything sung in the dream. To these words he added many others, in the same style, worthy of God. Bede relates that the abbess arranged for the priests to examine Caedmon's new capacity, and, having shown that the poetic gift had been conferred on him by God, she urged him to enter the community. "He sang of the creation of the world, the origin of man, the entire history of Israel, the exodus from Egypt and the entry into the promised land, the incarnation, passion and resurrection of Christ, his ascension to heaven, the arrival of the Holy Spirit and the teaching of the apostles. He also sang the terror of the final judgment, the horrors of hell and the beatitudes of heaven." The historian adds that Caedmon, years later, prophesied the time he was going to die and waited for her sleeping. God, or an angel of God, had taught him to sing; Let's hope he met his angel again.

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The following selections are from the collection The Self and The Other.

POEM WRITTEN
IN A COPY
OF BEOWULF

At various times I have asked myself what reasons
Moved me to study while my night came down,
Without particular hope of satisfaction,
The language of the blunt-tongued Anglo-Saxons.
Used up by the years my memory
Loses its grip on words that I have vainly
Repeated and repeated. My life in the same way
Weaves and unweaves its weary history.
Then I tell myself: it must be that the soul
Has some secret sufficient way of knowing
That it is immortal, that its vast encompassing
Circle can take in all, can accomplish all.
Beyond my anxiety and beyond this writing
The universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting.
J.L.B. [Alastair Reid, tr.]

EMBARKING ON THE STUDY OF ANGLO-SAXON GRAMMAR

After some fifty generations
(Such gulfs are opened to us all by time)
I come back on the far shore of a vast river
Never reached by the Norsemen’s long ships
To the harsh and work-wrought words
Which, with a tongue now dust,
I used in the days of Northumbria and Mercia
Before becoming Haslam or Borges.
Last Saturday we read how Julius Caesar
Was the first who came from Romeburh to seek out Britain;
Before the grapes grow back I shall have listened to
The nightingale of the riddle
And the elegy intoned by the twelve warriors
Round the burial mound of their king.
To me these words seem
Symbols of other symbols, variants
On the English or the German (their descendants),
Yet at some point in time they were fresh images
And a man used them to invoke the sea or a sword.
Tomorrow they will come alive again;
Tomorrow fyr will not become fire but rather
Some vestige of a changeable tamed god
Whom no one can confront without feeling an ancient fear.

All praise to the inexhaustible
Labyrinth of cause and effect
Which, before unveiling to me the mirror
Where I shall see no one or shall see some other self,
Has granted me this perfect contemplation
Of a language at its dawn.
J.L.B [Alastair Reid, tr.]

NOTE: The nightingale of the riddle may refer to this:

“Exeter Book Nightingale-Riddle:” A Modern English Translation by Richard Fahey:

“Through my mouth, I speak with many voices, I sing in variations. Frequently, I mix head-sounds. I cry out aloud, I keep my counsel. I do not conceal my voice. The old evening-poet brings bliss to men in cities, when I storm the citizens with my voice. They sit still, listening in their homes. Say what I am called, who so clearly proclaims loudly a feasting song, announces to heroes, many welcome things with my voice.”

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TO A SAXON POET

The snowfalls of Northumbria have known
And have forgotten the imprint of your feet,
And numberless are the suns that now have set
Between your time and mine, my ghostly kinsman.
Slow in the growing shadows you would fashion
Metaphors of swords on the great seas
And of the horror lurking in the pine trees
And of the loneliness the days brought in.
Where can your features and your name be found?
These are things buried in oblivion.
Now I shall never know how it must have been
For you as a living man who walked his ground.
Exiled, you wandered through your lonely ways.
Now you live only in your iron lays.

J.L.B. [Alastair Reid, tr.]