Beowulf

I am reading Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf, and it is so beautiful I just can't say. I wonder if it's nerdy to enjoy reading the introduction of a story just as much as you enjoy the story itself? Well, nerdy or not, that's me.

One thing I found out in reading the intro to Beowulf is that Heaney feels like his own personal style has been heavily influenced by Gerard Manley Hopkins, who really is one of the greatest poets to date. I don't claim to be an authority on poetry, particularly the more modern varieties, and my own attempts at writing it are rather sad (with the exception of the Ode to My Pilot G2, which is apparently a hit with my friends, I don't even let other people read it), but Hopkins' words—to borrow some rather cliché similes—sparkle like sunlight and glitter like gold. If you haven't read Hopkins, rush out to the nearest source of poetry you can find, and devour it. I promise you, it's worth it—particularly "The Windhover."

The most wonderful part of Beowulf is the power that comes through alliteration. I vaguely remember having read Beowulf before, both in 8th grade Literature class, and possibly in college Humanities. And it's entirely possible that I was just so ignorant about poetry that I didn't notice any of the devices. It is also equally possible that the translators I read did not preserve them.

The truth that has dawned on me—and it's almost embarrassing that it has taken so long to hit home, English major and book lover that I am and always have been—is that language is powerful. Not stories, but words. If a person knows how to use words right, he/she has immense power. Well, I guess I always knew that, but to recognize that this is the reason that kids still need to study and understand poetry as part of their school curriculum, that was the new part. I almost wish to go back to my classroom with this perspective, to flood all my lessons with the all-powerful point that the reason I taught English was to give them the tools to be powerful and successful in their careers and in their relationships. Vocabulary, spelling practice, lessons in grammar and syntax, could all be tied directly back to the central goal:acquiring and using words to create a powerful persona.

Another kind of weird thing I am discovering is that for the several years I taught English, it was always a burden to teach comprehension strategies. I considered them rather useless, and even though we worked on them in class, I always felt a sense of futility. I favored the holistic approach to reading, the one that assumes that with an increased background knowledge and practice, practice, practice, anyone can become a good reader. I don't remember having ever been taught comprehension strategies myself; well, actually, I do, but I always disregarded them because I never needed them. Anyone else remember being contemptuous of the SQ3R method? I never used it. I read my assigned reading passages, answered the questions, and went eagerly back to real reading, which was always a fiction novel. I didn't need to consciously survey the passage, form questions, read, recite, and review. I was a natural at reading the way I was never a natural at anything involving physical coordination.

Oddly enough, I find myself using that method now. I can't decide if it's because I was required to teach it as part of the curriculum I used as a teacher in preparation for the TAKS test, or if really I was using it the whole time and just didn't know it. Most notably, I've been taking notes in a little book, and most of my notes are questions—questions which are at least partially answered through further reading.

Thus, there are several reasons why I am loving Beowulf. The story itself is violent and not particularly endearing, and it's no wonder a lot of people hate it. As a cultural study, it's interesting, but only at a cursory level. But rendered through the beautiful efforts of someone who must love Hopkins much more than I do, it's lovely to read.

Next up: Grendel. So far, it's weird.