BLOODSHED

From Abram and King Chedolaomer to Achilles and Hector to Beowulf and Grendel... I am sensing a theme here, but I am not quite sure what it says about me in this moment of time. I am transfixed by these epic battles. An Iliad was a nice diversion that just happened to coincide with my reading of the book of Genesis. However, reading both of those finally pushed me to actually read Beowulf, in a translation by Irish poet Seamus Heaney. I purchased the book about six years ago with the intention of reading it immediately, but one book led to another led to another and, then, Beowulf was forgotten and placed away on my bookshelves. Occasionally, I would see it sitting there, but it was never beguiling enough to cause me to choose it. Until now.

A minor cold, and awakening at three each morning for the past few days, gave me some time to read. I suppose the epic poetry of The Iliad inspired me to pursue more epic battles, more epic poetry, and, therefore, Beowulf beckoned and finally won.

It was a fairly brisk and rather enjoyable read. I especially liked the description of the mere that Beowulf enters in pursuit of Grendel and his mother. And, I really liked the language that Heaney chose in his translation. The poetry really sings.

But, what does all the bloodshed of these epics say about me, about us, at this time, when our nation is mired in a war that it needs to leave? Something is there. Something about valor and honor and sacrifice. Something that is missing from our current war. Something that is missing from our lives, that we instead try to fill with video wargames and music videos and vapid "reality" television shows. And McDonald's hamburgers. And sugary sweets and potato chips. And. And...