'Now Grendel came, from his crags of mist *
Across the moor; he was curst of God.
The murderous prowler meant to surprise
in the high-built hall his human prey.'
Thinking of you.
There was no mist,
But layers of joylessness always hung
Like heavy drapes.
No moor to cross,
But a long, bulbless hallway instead
Lined with dark rooms with doors slightly ajar,
And a high ceiling,
Or so it seemed at the time.
You did prowl
And you did surprise
Often.
I was the human prey.
You were not human.
I can't say if you were, 'curst of God'.
It seems that I am.
You were not of God.
*From Beowulf*
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Don't you have something to say about Grendel's mother? Mother-in-law visits are the worst! -chuck