Tuesday, September 3, 2019

A BRIEF NOTE ON CAEDMON, THE FIRST ANGLO-SAXON POET



Caedmon, the first Anglo-Saxon poet, reading



                                 
The carved figure of the poet on Caedmon's Cross at Whitby
                                                   (Caedmon's Hymn in Northumbrian dialect)

                         


England was invaded by Germanic tribes like Jutes, Angles and 

Saxons in fifth century and their rule continued up to 1066 A.D.

 when the Normans invaded England and defeated them. This

 period is called Anglo-Saxon or Old English period. These 

Germanic tribes spoke different dialects such as Northumbrian,

 Mercian, West Saxon and Kentish. In the medieval sources the

 names of twelve Anglo-Saxon poets were mentioned. Most of

 their poetry survived through oral tradition and so no evidence

 is available except that of four poets namely Caedmon, Bede,

 Alfred and Cynewulf. Their poems and works are seen in four

 types of manuscripts seen in different places. The Junius

 manuscript was probably written at Malmesbury at Christ Church, 

Canterbury and is now kept in the Bodelian Library, Oxford. It is an 

illustrated poetic anthology containing many religious poems. The 

second collection is available at Exeter cathedral and this 

anthology was donated to this cathedral by Leofric, the first Bishop

 of Exeter in 1071. This is the largest collection of Old English

 literature containing nearly 131 leaves out of which the first eight

 original leaves were lost and had been replaced with other leaves.

 It is a mix of prose and poetry. 


The third collection called “The Vercelli Book” is housed in

 Vercelli in Northern Italy. It contains six verse texts and twenty

 three prose homilies. The fourth collection is called “Nowell

 Codex”. It had two books bound together in one volume. It

 contains the unique copy of the epic poem “Beowulf”. It

 (the second older manuscript) was first acquired by

 the antiquarian, Laurence Nowell in mid-sixteenth century.

 Later it was combined with the first manuscript. It was

 acquired by Sir Robert Cotton and kept on the first shelf that

 had a bust of the Emperor Vitellius giving the collection its

 name as Cotton Vitellius Collection. In this collection also there

 is a mix of prose and poems. This collection is now located in 

the British Library along with the rest of the Cotton collection.



 Caedmon is the first and earliest poet of the Anglo-Saxon

 literature. Though he wrote many poems, only one poem called 

“Caedmon’s Hymn” (nine lines with four stresses and medial

 caesura) in manuscript is left and is considered as the oldest

 recorded poem. This is the oldest example of the Germanic

alliterative verse. According to Bede’s “Ecclesiastical History

 of the English people” ( Historia Eccelesiastica gentis Anglorum)

 written in Latin (731 A.D.),  Caedmon was an illiterate layman

 employed in Monastery at Whitby in North Yorkshire to take care

 of cattle and other animals. During a feast he was asked to sing 

but he left the place with a sense of shame as he was an illiterate

 person and did not know how to sing. He went to the cattle shed 

and fell asleep. He saw the vision of a stranger asking him to sing

 about creation. In the dream he sang praising the creator of 

heaven and earth. The next morning he remembered everything

 he had sung and added additional lines to his poem. When the

 Abbess, Hilda, and her counselors heard his poem, they realized 

that it was a gift from God. He was invited to take monastic

 vows. The Abbess asked her scholars to teach Caedmon the

 sacred history and Christian doctrine. 


According to Bede Caedmon wrote poetic texts on a variety of 

Christian topics such as Creation of the world, Origin of Man,

 departure of the children of Israel from Egypt to the Land of

 Promise, Incarnation of the Son of God, Passion, Resurrection

 and Ascension of Lord, passion,  Coming of Holy Ghost, Preaching

 of Apostles, Future judgment, pains of Hell and delights of

 Heaven.

  The name of the poet suggests that he was of Celtic race though

 he used Northumbrian dialect in his poems which were generally

 sung to the accompaniment of harp. The manuscript of Caedmon’s

 Hymn” in Bede’s Monastery of Wearmouth-Jarrow was partly 

damaged in a terrible fire in 1731. Luckily before this accident

 someone made a copy of it which is now seen in British Library

 Add Ms. 43703.

 The earliest surviving copies of  “Caedmon’s Hymn” are found

 in “The Moore Bede” in Cambridge University (Kk.5.16 often 

referred to as M) and in National Library of Russia,lat.Q.v.l.18(p).

 in St.Petersburg.


According to Bede, many English writers of sacred verse imitated

 Caedmon but none equaled him in portraying the sincere feelings

 of devotion and the existing conditions of English life and society

 of those times. Caedmon became a monk at an advanced age and

 died peacefully after a long and pious life. The year of his death

 is either 679 or according to Bede after 681 A.D. He lived at least

 in part during Hilda’s abbacy (657-680). The monastery at Whitby

was founded by St.Hilda in 657 A.D. It was attacked during Vikings

 (tribes from Norway, Sweden and Denmark) in 867 and was 

abandoned. In 1078 it was re-built and flourished till 1540 when

 it was destroyed by Henry VIII.


Many scholars translated the Bede’s Latin version of Caedmon into

 Old English. These are called glosses. These translators (glossators)

 tried to recover some of the beauty and originality of Caedmon’s

 poems. Nearly nineteen scripts of these glosses exist today.


In 1651 the Archbishop of Ussher presented a unique manuscript

 of Anglo-Saxon poems dating from 1000 A.D. to the Dutch scholar

 Francis Junius, who was serving as librarian to the Earl of Arundel.

 Junius studied them with attention and found that the poems

 in the manuscript tallied with Bede’s description of Caedmon’s 

work very well. Junius after returning to Holland published an

 edition of this manuscript which came to be known as “Caedmon 

Manuscript”. It is now in Bodelian library, Oxford, designated as 

Codex Junius 11. In this collection at least some of the poems

 might be the original work of Caedmon. To commemorate this

 earliest English (Northumbrian) poet, Caedmon's Cross carved

 from Northumbrian sandstone in a semi-Celtic style showing 

Christ, David, Abbess Hilda and the poet Caedmon on four panels

 was erected in his honor at the top of 199 steps in the grave yard

 of St.Mary's Churchyard, Whitby in 1898.


                       *********************************************


           3rd September, 2019                             Somaseshu Gutala




    

Monday, August 26, 2019

THE TALE OF BABU, THE SHOE-MAKER’S SON




     



               



                     


             

 
1)            Babu, the cobbler’s boy in a village small
               Staying in a ruined cottage far away
               With broken roof and moldering walls
               His father worked in a shop on meagre pay
               With stubble beard and overgrown dark hair
               He looked too poor with heavy debts and despair.

2)            Babu never revealed his family woes
               With fewer clothes, he dressed himself look neat    
               Though poor, he never appeared sad and morose
               Sincere in studies, humble and discreet.
               His friendly nature won him many classmates
               His teachers too helped him knowing his humble state.

3)            His mother worked as a domestic maid
               His sisters as laborers in the neighboring farm
               No loan he got though he earnestly tried;
               His friends took him to the church in a valley calm
               With sympathy the pastor heard his plea
               He bought his books and paid school fee.

4)           The pastor’s words infused much hope and cheer
               He thought deeply about his wretched fate
               Babu became Benjamin without any fear
               No help from others to set right his state.
               His mother found her shelter in church service
               Free from debts his father too felt a sense of peace.

5)           As untouchables now they need not dwell
              They need not groan under the growing debt
              Freed from farm work his sisters studied well
              They need not face insults and lender’s threats
              Completing his studies Babu did pursue
              A course in shoe-making with attention due.

6)          Away from home he learnt the language new
             Mingling with peers and teaching them the art
             Of tanning leather and shoe-making he knew
             To start his own industry he ever thought
             Along with friends he set up his stall
             A humble beginning with capital small. 


7)         Though slow, in course of time his business grew
            A larger show room did he take on rent
            All kinds of shoes he sold with models new
            He applied for bank loan and got consent
            Cautiously spending without much fanfare
            Whatever he got, with friends did he share.

8)        By dint of perseverance and hard work he made
           A popular brand of shoes and supplied
           Updating the skills of his family trade
           In spite of problems he never sighed
           His family felt relief as they prospered well
           By his support and help they did happily dwell.

9)       His teachers felt a sense of joy and pride
          To see a poor shoe-maker’s son’s uprise
          Hard work and humility in him all espied
          Though poor he is friendly, bold and wise
          Jobs he gave to many in his shoe store
           In spite of wealth he remained humble as before.
                
                     **********************  


    27th August, 2019                                Somaseshu Gutala



           
           
           
           
          
          
                   
               
               

Monday, August 19, 2019

Early Birds (Part—II)




 



                       




       
                        Gone are the times when the milk-boy came

                        Driving his cow or buffalo up to our home

                        To draw milk into the pail with hissing froth

                        And pour fresh pure milk with no water mixt; 
                        
                         But now in the grey dim light of the dawn

                         With a load of milk-sachets he has to go

                         Moving up and down the stairs with athletic speed

                         Dropping milk packets of various brands

                         Marking each flat’s ordered items;

                         Hundreds of homes he touches with winged feet

                         He comes and vanishes, no time to speak

                         Even if he drops wrong items sometimes;

                         His going thence felt by his tapping shoes;

                         After this breathtaking breaking schedule

                         He has to run to school or to work in a shop

                         To prop his family with his meagre returns;

                         The chilly weather pinches his warm limbs

                         As he tightens his lips and moves with hurried steps;

                         No time for him to sleep in warm, soft cosy bed

                         No time to drink hot coffee in leisurely way

                         With early sunrise he has to start his day;

                         If he by chance doth skip his work one day

                         Our morning hours become too cold and grey

                         His ringing bicycle bell, a welcome happy call

                         As merry as a rooster’s cry in early morn;     
                  
                         For all who crave for hot coffee in morning time;

                         Like chirping birds skipping from bough to bough

                         Looking for bits of crumbs with nimble looks.                       

                           ********************************
   
                 19th August, 2019                   Somaseshu Gutala

                                  

                 
                       
                  


Tuesday, August 13, 2019

EARLY BIRDS (PART--I)







       
                           He rises at the hour of rising sun

                            Facing heat, chill and rain

                            To rise so early though hard it seems

                            He has to, his means of livelihood.

                            He has to race with flying time

                            Like a speeding dart he has to be swift and smart

                            He has to stop at every threshold and flat

                            And fling newspapers with precision bold

                            In a trice he has to rush to another lane

                            No time to halt and listen to others

                            A mechanical routine with no time to breathe;

                            Still so many papers to distribute, ha has to run

                            Still so many commitments left undone;

                            In this mad rushing world he has to sustain

                            Himself doing odd jobs and doing part-time course

                            A strange profession with no time to read at ease

                            Relaxing in a sofa, sipping morning tea;

                            In chilly weather and in sultry heat

                            In drenching rain and in foggy morning gloom

                            He has to move, he has to rush like morning gale

                            To greet with latest news and surprising facts;

                            Ushering in changes and kindling hopes;

                            A paperboy, a simple creature, he may seem

                            A true messenger who foregoes his morning sleep

                            And runs like a clock and keeps himself on toes

                            To keep us in touch with latest news and views

                            To make us see the future trends and hopes

                            In this fast changing news-obsessed world;  
                         

                        ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
                            




Monday, August 5, 2019

MEDITATING IN THE PARK












     



 
1)         Compressed like sardines in these narrow streets

             Surrounded every side by concrete walls

             Nowhere I found a peaceful retreat

             To sit and meditate away from all.


2)          Loud voices and shouts echo from every side

             Not an inch of space left between buildings at all

             The city seems a restless swelling tide

             Filled with so many buildings and shopping malls.


3)         Away from those groups of people old

            Doing nothing but talk about their state

            Of health and their family’s feelings cold

            Of ebbing morals and endless political debates.


4)        Away from those women advanced in age

           Cribbing about their family feuds and strain

           About their loss of freedom and rebellious rage

           Of their sons and their partners’ fashions vain.


5)       Away from those idling youngsters proud

           Loafing and giggling with girls in bushes behind

           Away from drunken rogues and shouting crowd

           A peaceful place I tried to find to soothe my mind.


6)         No plan or vision seen in this concrete expanse

            The city grew like a monster beyond limits

             Devouring lakes, storm drains, farm lands and lawns

             None can revive lost things—beyond one’s wits.


7)         Looking for a solitary spot here means

            Searching for water in dry desert heat

            Amidst this tangled network of roads is seen

            A pretty park in a nook with sheltered seats.


8)         My search for Holy Grail succeeded well

             I entered the park to settle down at ease

             I sat in lotus pose and tried to feel the spell

             Of calm surroundings and gentle breeze.


9)         My pondering mood broken at once by cries

             Of children playing in wanton ways

             All my hopes dashed, my quick temper did rise

             Shaking my fists, those devils did I chase.


10)       With mocking howls they fled away from there

             I cursed those goblins for disturbing my mind

              I closed my eyes and tried to be aware

             Of my inner feelings away from dreary kind.


11)      From distance heard the sounds of kids at play

            Free from restless worries of the day

            Why so merry, why so carefree, why so much gay?

            Happy like sweet blossoms in happy May.


12)      Their guileless mirth brought back legends of the past

            The childish pranks of the Lord as a blue cowherd

            Sharing butter with mates stolen from pots

            Playing and jumping in the woods like merry birds.


13 )      My mind flew back to happy times remote

            When we did rollick and roll with delight

             On velvet-green where dragon flies did float

             In jolly chase we leaped to catch their nimble flight.


14)       Such earnest hearty laughter long forgot

             Such carefree days of pristine innocence

             Above the earthly pull of worldly thoughts

             Can we regain by meditation and penance?


15)        Those happy kids playing there in the park

              Happy like floating clouds or singing larks

              Caught my casual gaze as I sat in the dark

              A sense of guilt I felt for my angry remarks.


16)        Is it not true essence of carefree bliss

             In spite of living long, why we still miss?

             Our minds buried under passions and prejudice

             Thinking too much, we make our lives a puzzling abyss.


17)        In their loud shouts throbbing delight I trace

             No lurking gloom and intentions base

             They seem a part of Nature, a harmonious race

              My heart unburdened, I left that place. 

                ***************************************

     6th August, 2019                                   Somaseshu Gutala

     
      Search for Holy Grail = search for something which is very hard to

      find. The Holy Grail refers to the cup used by Jesus Christ at the

      Last Supper. Many Medieval knights tried in vain to find that cup.