This lovely indie-published Beowulf is the fourth translation I've read in the last few years (the others are translations by Chickering, Heaney, and bro-loving Maria Dahvana Headley) and wow, I loved it. The author is unabashedly, unapologetically erudite in his preface, quoting Aristotle in the original Greek and introducing me to a lovely new word, "sphalm," which I've since learned "is an archaic and largely obsolete word that refers to a 'bad idea', most often a misinterpretation of a religious text." Yeah. What a great word. So let me get to the poem itself and why I loved this translation. It's completely clear. It follows the story and yet it somehow keeps a great deal of the art of the original poem, with its kennings and its alliterative flourishes. It gripped me and reminded me that this is a great story. It's not as fussily self-important as Heaney or as flashy as Headley or as stodgily precise as Chickering and as far as I'm concerned that's all to the good. I enjoyed reading this version a great deal--it was like visiting with an old friend and seeing new qualities I hadn't seen before.
It's clear on every page that Carnabuci loves the language of the poem, and loves the story of the poem, in a way that I'll never have access to, unless I spend the next many years of my life learning old English. I'm grateful to feel the translator's enthusiasm for the poem through these pages. The preface alone is worth reading a few times.