Wulf and Eadwacer
a new translation of the Old English lyric poem (for Kyle C.L.)
For my people, it is like someone slipped them a drug; they want to consume him, coming in throes of death. We are different. Wulf is on one shore, I am on another; that island is ahead of ours, thrown into doubt. The war wounded are there on the shore; they want to consume him, coming in throes of death. We are different. I chased my Wulf’s far-worn footsteps with desire; when it poured down rain and I lay awake in tears, when some quick trick held me in his arms, it was good for me, but it was also heartbreaking. Wulf, my Wulf, my desire for you— for your wonder-dance—made me sick, my mind mourning not at all for hunger. Are you listening, Lord of Love? What we kindled together Wulf carries away to the woods. One easily tears open what was never bound, our song of each other.
Maxwell Gray is an American poet and medievalist graduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.