The Seafarer: A New Translation

Truth, I would myself     scop the song of my exile,
Sailor’s saga;     how I slaved, toiled
Travail     oft endured.
Bitter breast-cares     have I abided,
Known on my keel     many a care’s hold,
While tossed by wild waves.     Then often I spent
The narrow night watches     nigh the ship’s prow
When he beat beside cliffs.     Clutched by cold
Were my feet,     bound by frost
In chilled chains,     while sorrows seethed inward,
Sweeping hot ‘round my heart;     Hunger searing
My sea-weary spirit.     Never knows that man
Fated by fortune     on fair land to lounge,
How I, haggard, harrowed,     ice-cold sea,
Winter, weathered.     Enduring my exile
From family, friends.
Hoarfrost, ‘cicle-hung;     by hail scoured, flayed.
There I nothing heard     but surging seas,
Ice-cold waves.     Sometimes swan song
Did for my gaming,     gannet’s clamour,
Curlew’s cry,     were to me as laughter,
Mew’s singing,     my mead drink.
Storms there stone cliffs beat, the tern answers,
Icy-feathered;     full oft the eagle screams,
With spray on his wings.     No sheltering kinfolk,
To offer comfort,     be consoled.