This book includes the Old English along with the translation. It's wonderful for anyone wanting to get in touch with the poetic heritage of English. The book is divided into sections about "exile and longing," "historical battles," "living," "dying," "biblical stories," "prayers, admonitions, and allegories," and "remedies and charms." In turn, "riddle hoards" act as spacers between each of those sections, seven in total with ten riddles in each. The answers to the riddles are in the back of the book. Though I loved the pondering, it's a good thing solutions are provided because I would be a failure as an Anglo-Saxon.
The translations varied considerably. Some translators tried to mimic the form and alliteration, others decided on a more complete overhaul to render it in modern terms. The translators include both well known poets and people I have never heard of before. There's a 15-page section in the back of the book in which some translators reveal their process.
Overall, I found this book a quicker read than expected. The riddles sprinkled it with moments of delight and intrigue--and some sexual innuendo. It's a keeper for me primarily for its historical value and because I love the alliterative form of Anglo-Saxon verse. It's great to have something other than Beowulf for reference. Here are some examples of what's to be found in this book:
Song of the Cosmos, trans. Daniel Tobin [part]
To one who who with wisdom beholds the world whole
In the mind's clasp--the one who contemplates
What others gave voice to long ago
In thrumming rhythms and wide-reckoning songs:
Those kinsmen whose ken was strong, who with glee
And searching wit--with their bearing witness--
Drew forth common humankind's fullest measure,
Full mindful themselves of the weave of mysteries.
Riddle 60, trans. Jane Hirschfield [part]
I stood once by sand, near the sea-surge,
close by the shore, fast-rooted in my first life.
Few, almost none among men,
saw my solitude and dwelling place there,
though each dawn small waves would come to play,
covering me in the dark embraces of water.
Against a Wen, trans. Maurice Riordan [complete]
Pip, pip, nay small pippin
Here you have no home no welcome
Out you go to the cold hillside
There you'll find an older brother
Who'll place the herb upon your head
Then under the wolf's foot eagle's wing
In the claw's grip you'll wilt and wizen
Contract like charcoal in the fire
Wear off like dirt from the wall
Evaporate like water from the pail
Grow small as grain of linseed
Smaller than bone of earwig
Thus will you be gone for good.