This is a modern translation by Simon Armitage of part of the Medieval poem, ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’. Was foremost and strongest in the days of this life. The howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf Who heard that cry as it echoed off the wall,Ī God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe, That as the pair struggled, mead-benches were smashedĪnd sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all.īefore then, no Shielding elder would believeĬapable of wrecking their horn-rigged hallĮngulf it in flame. It was handsomely structured, a sturdy frameīraced with the best of blacksmith’s work
Survived the onslaught and kept standing: The hall clattered and hammered, but somehow
The two contenders crashed through the building. In his fingers weakened it was the worst trip The dread of the land was desperate to escape, The monster back-tracking, the man overpowering. He had never been clamped or cornered like this.Īnd got a firm hold. With the devil’s litter, for in all his days He was desperate to flee to his den and hide Quailed and recoiled, but he could not escape. Where he lay on the bed, he was bearing inĬomeback and armlock forestalled him utterly. He grabbed and mauled a man on his bench,īit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his bloodĪnd gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body For the first move the monster would make.
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