議論詩　精神分析に対する『ベオウルフ』--ファルス・子宮分析と宇宙不条理主義に対する「怪奇なる運命」の勝利。 (essay-poem) Beowulf against psychoanalysis---the triumph of weird fate against phallus-womb and the universe absurdism

(illustration:
Description Death of Beowulf
Date 1908. New York: E. P. Dutton & Company. London: TC & EC Jack Limited
Source Stories of Beowulf, by Henrietta Elizabeth Marshall. p. 98
Illustrated by J.R. Skelton

イラスト
作品詳細　ベオウルフの死
1908年 ニューヨーク E. P. Dutton & Company. London： TC & EC ジャック社
出典 ヘンリエッタ・エリザベス・マーシャル著『ベオウルフの物語 Stories of Beowulf』p. 98
イラスト作者：J.R.スケルトン)

Psychoanalysis,
the idolatrous cult worshipping the totem of wolf-dogs and she-wolves,
for them human life, even intellectual life cannot subsist outside of
dominating-alpha phallus and she-wolves licking and milking cubs that mill out of her womb
the cult of bored petit-bourgeois who ate and drank,
discussed bed-time novels, domestic care, something saucy and politics they saw on the news,
and boasted about newly-purchased cars, travelling adventures overseas or career advancements
like wolf-dogs or she-wolves talking about the animal carcasses they slew and dragged into their den
then, exhausting all the harrowingly boring topics,
and thought of no better things to do, they don themselves
the venerable small spectacles of the Vienna psychoanalysts and take out their smart devices, attempting to
dissect human nature on the internet based on the dog-wolf and she-wolf totems that
they found their life consisted of solely, 
and secretly pat themselves on the back and call themselves wise when they thought they had known and understood it all.
to a Man suffering fear of uncertainty and an anxious mind,
they call him unmanly and call him and his mother bad names.
for a true man acts like a wolf and thinks happily only of money, bar-dalliance and breeding.
to a truant who did not fight bullies and lost, or fought and lost
they call him unmanly and tell him to "grow up", and call him and his mother bad names.
for a true boy acts like a wolf and thinks happily only of university entrance, girlfriend and breeding
(regardless of the bullies being naughty boys, or uncaring teachers, exploitative economy,
political oppression or dehumanizing systems of morals)
they call bad names of those find themselves losing faith in life or beauty,
and especially those finding it hard to find faith in prevalent corporal colonialism or exploitation, senseless deaths and rampant worldly ugliness.
for true citizen is a wolf of the shepherding worldly Empire, and accepts obediently the mundane world's attempt
to emasculate them into unaspiring and thoughtless herd animals.
and they think to themselves:
how would anyone be sad when we are happy? they must be not normal.
for we are the most sane, good and normal animal in the world.
We wolves are; for we are the tribe that is civilized, and wolfish.
and they call out on those who read and understand the world differently
than the one-world-interpretation imbued thoroughly with their dog and dog-wolf totem-symbols
consolidating clan, society, economy, prosperity, factual truth----through a phylogenetic hunter-and-forager mind; in a word, lucre and genes
they half-read from internet tweets and posts those that
support this form of "positive-thinking",
and give kudos to those attempts at embellishments inflation of tribal ego, which they thought smart
or they would spew out some very lazy, unphilosophical and unacademic serfish interpretation of the venerable Freud or Jung again
when they see people
using quaint and poetic sentence structures or
antiquated words they never heard of by reading news, novels or watching tv shows
or describing some new, creative and flighty flow of consciousness that is not understandable from perspective of the linguistic mess-soup
of modernist or post-modernist convention
they call him gay- or crank- speaking, and they feel threatened when people sing happily and naturally in their native lyrical language
and call him mad, and him and his mother bad names.
for they do not know or care to, or get too weary to learn foreign words and ideas.
and after getting tired of thinking about how important phallus symbols and womb-efficiency are
in the little industrial, milling universe of theirs, they glare at their white,
strange ceiling in blank livestock stare,
while half-baring their white canine teeth from open lips.
I wonder what wolf-dog phallus symbol, and she-wolf womb-efficiency,
would they assign to, when an old and doddering Anglo-Saxon
half-reclining upon an old wooden crutch,
mouth-foaming lyre-player bard, tender hands stroke;
strung hard and strong and shot forth from those
twanging-strings the swooshingly flying music-arrow
and booming echo with a descending thunder roar as it struck mightily against the cranedly peeping with big and naive blue bead-eyes
herd of dumbfounded dog-wolves, she-wolves, and under the arms the sleeping wolf-cubs who were gently awakened.
and shouted the ancient and graceful story-singer's natural voice,
more eloquent than the hunger-yell of petty totemic canines.
the only sound the wolves know.
standing before them is a mysterious animal
whose sonorous sound stupefies that droning wolf-hum
of their mundane life.

『Hwæt! wē Gār-Dena 』
『⁠in gēar-dagum』
『þēod-cyninga⁠þrym gefrūnon』
『hū ðā æþelingas⁠ellen fremedon』

(Lo, praise of the; prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!）

they would surely think of the poem-maker before him a strange wild animal out of the flock,
and probably some desperate and destitute foreign guy trying to make himself sound famous on the internet
because he does not sound like to be speaking properly their business or dog English with their business drone or dog sentiments.
They would start to psycho-analyze desperately in miscomprehension,
with phallus-womb complexes
and psychological archetypes whether this man before them belongs to some strange new animal totem from other cultures
that is the some perversion or maimed permutation of wolf;
they do not understand it.
And whether he is mad or crooked for daring to
speak and act in a way that does not conform to their sheepish wolf-standards of proper commercial and communal life; it goes against the grain, their wolfish grain, in fact.
It would be unimaginable to tell them, the old and mad sorrow-bent lyric-crier before them,
were to be the ghostly spirit of a human, praising 
the illness, madness, famine-and-drought, misfortune-and-death,
and against all of these, struggled without much canine feature or disposition
but as a noble and complete form of human without totems,
a man who was a hero made perfect in the image of flawed human,
and made all too human.
a human that as a human joy-sorrowfully lived and died.