{"id":2641,"date":"2013-09-26T15:05:48","date_gmt":"2013-09-26T15:05:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/?p=2641"},"modified":"2013-09-26T15:05:48","modified_gmt":"2013-09-26T15:05:48","slug":"nature-in-poetry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/2013\/09\/26\/nature-in-poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"Nature in poetry."},"content":{"rendered":"

\"jokal092\"<\/a>I’ve come to believe that Icelandic people’s relationship with Icelandic nature is of the strongest kind there is. Logically thinking this is not surprising: just look around to see what I mean. On particularly beautiful mornings I still find it hard to believe that Esjan, the mountain looking over Reykjav\u00edk in the north, is real and not just a giant decorative backdrop, regardless of the fact that I’ve climbed it a couple of times and therefore should know for fact that it’s definitely there and over 600 m tall. Many wonderful sights of nature are but a short drive away from the capital city, some of them being literally in the neighbourhood such as the Elli\u00f0ar\u00e1rdalur<\/em>, Elli\u00f0a river valley that’s located near Brei\u00f0holt where I live.<\/p>\n

Another reason that keeps the nature in everyone’s mind here is that you literally cannot ignore it from time to time. The unpredictable weather can turn dangerous in a matter of minutes at worst, and even when it’s less extreme it still surprises you with f.ex. horizontal rain. I’m not kidding about that last part as anyone who’s experienced it can tell.<\/p>\n

\"103\"<\/a>Elli\u00f0ar\u00e1rdalur.<\/em><\/p>\n

It’s therefore no surprise that nature has found its way especially into art of all forms and especially poetry. J\u00f3nas Hallgr\u00edmsson, one of the most loved poets in Iceland, was in particular interested in it. This can be criticized by mentioning his part of the romantic movement, but even outside of the patriotic brouhaha J\u00f3nas’ fascination with his surroundings comes across clearly, especially by his more playful works. I’ve translated three short poems here word by word, but for better translations you can go to a web page dedicated to his poetry (link<\/a>).<\/p>\n

Dalab\u00f3ndinn \u00ed \u00f3\u00feurrknum<\/strong><\/p>\n

Hv\u00ed svo \u00fer\u00fa\u00f0gu \u00fe\u00fa
\n\u00feokuhlassi
\ns\u00faldanorn
\num sveitir ekur?
\n\u00de\u00e9r man eg offra
\ntil \u00e1rb\u00f3ta
\nk\u00fa og konu
\nog kristind\u00f3mi.<\/p>\n

\"ct215\"<\/a>Stone columns at M\u00fdvatn.<\/em><\/p>\n

A Valley Farmer in Wet Weather<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Why so strongly you,<\/em>
\n a cartload of mist,<\/em>
\n drizzle-goddess,<\/em>
\n drive over the lands?<\/em>
\n I will offer you<\/em>
\n for a bit of sunlight<\/em>
\n a cow, my wife<\/em>
\n and my Christianity.<\/em><\/p>\n

This poem that’s written in the traditional Icelandic metre (of the older type) bears a very J\u00f3nas-like serious beginning that only turns humorous at the last two lines and bears a clever comparison to a real agricultural practice, the spreading of pulverized dung as a fertilizer on the fields.<\/p>\n

The ending of this poem is laden with much more than meet’s the eye. Iceland is quite rainy a country a wet end of the summer was a disaster to an Icelandic farmer. Hay needs to dry before it’s stored for the winter and if it doesn’t, well, then there’s nothing for the animals to eat which states probable loss of cattle. This in turn means either having to spend money buying new animals or, at worst, a complete financial collapse and hunger. There is therefore a hint of tragedy behind the words of this b\u00f3ndi<\/em> (= farmer) who would sell his very faith for one ray of sunshine, not to mention that there could also be a wife and one cow thrown in the deal.<\/p>\n

\"jokal062\"<\/a>Seljalandsfoss in the winter.<\/em><\/p>\n

Skuggabaldur \u00fati einn<\/strong><\/p>\n

Skuggabaldur \u00fati einn
\n\u00f6li daufu rennir,
\nskrugguvaldur hvurgi seinn
\nhiminraufar glennir.<\/p>\n

Shadow-Baldur outside alone<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Shadow-Baldur outside alone<\/em>
\n lets out watery beer,<\/em>
\n thunder-wielder, never late for his mark,<\/em>
\n opens the heaven’s sluices.<\/em><\/p>\n

This poem is a lot more complicated than it at first look like and needs some background information to be fully understood. Skuggabaldur is a name of an Icelandic monstrous cat-fox, a beast that can kill you by looking at you (and unlike with other creatures such as the basilisk that bear similar talents, a skuggabaldur does not have to meet your eyes – if it sees you you die)(link<\/a> to more info on this beast). However, this skugga-Baldur was not quite as horrible as that, if you know that J\u00f3nas’ horse’s name was Baldur.<\/p>\n

\"mon013\"<\/a>A raven in front of Esjan.<\/em><\/p>\n

When he wrote this poem J\u00f3nas was sitting in his tent in a pouring rain. He had been staying at a farm but the wife of the farmer was having difficulty giving birth to a child, and J\u00f3nas was confined outside of the house until the childbirth would be over. Skugga-Baldur translates also as shadow-Baldur, and in this instance probably meant the faint shadow of his horse that he could see through the fabric of the tent. As for the watery beer, this stands for the horse pissing next to his tent and makes a sound comparison to thunder-wielder (\u00de\u00f3r<\/em>, or Thor) opening “the heaven’s sluices”, causing a sudden outpour of rain.<\/p>\n

Vi\u00f0 Sogi\u00f0 sat \u00e9g \u00ed vindi<\/strong><\/p>\n

Vi\u00f0 Sogi\u00f0 sat eg \u00ed vindi,
\ns\u00e6kaldri nor\u00f0an\u00e1tt,
\nog \u00fe\u00f3tti \u00feurrleg seta,
\n\u00fear var af lifandi f\u00e1tt.<\/p>\n

En s\u00f3lin reis in s\u00e6la,
\nsveipa\u00f0i sk\u00fdjum fr\u00e1;
\nupp komu allar skepnur
\na\u00f0 una l\u00edfinu \u00fe\u00e1.<\/p>\n

Og svo var margt af m\u00fdi \u2014
\nm\u00f6kk fyrir s\u00f3lu ber \u2014
\na\u00f0 \u00de\u00f3r\u00f0ur sortna\u00f0i sj\u00e1lfur
\nog s\u00f3par framan \u00far s\u00e9r.<\/p>\n

\"ct196\"<\/a>M\u00fdvatnssv\u00e6\u00f0i.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

I sat by the Sog in wind<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

I sat by the Sog in wind,<\/em>
\n sea-cold, northern,<\/em>
\n and thought from my dry seat<\/em>
\n that very few living things were around.<\/em><\/p>\n

But the sun rose, lovely,<\/em>
\n sweeping the clouds away;<\/em>
\n all kinds of creatures arose<\/em>
\n sated with life, then.<\/em><\/p>\n

And so there were lots of midges<\/em>
\n a cloud of them in front of the sun<\/em>
\n that \u00de\u00f3r\u00f0ur himself seemed to darken<\/em>
\n and keeps wiping his face.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sog is a lake famous for the gnats that live and breed there. If you’ve ever been to a really bad swarm of blackflies you know it’s not a laughing matter: besides stinging they fly into your eyes, nostrils, ears and mouth, into your clothes, anywhere they can. Me and the SO once accidentally wandered into one such cloud in the M\u00fdvatnssv\u00e6\u00f0i<\/em>, Mosquito Lake area and found out in a very practical way that it has its name for a good reason! We ended up running for our lives until we got out of their reach. The midges only fly during the daytime as the poem mentions and all the more the warmer and sunnier the day is. \u00de\u00f3r\u00f0ur (who is a real person, \u00de\u00f3r\u00f0ur G\u00edslason who owned a farm near the lake) is actually quite a stoic person for only swatting at them instead of doing what we did – run away.<\/p>\n

Midges, by the way, have traditionally been linked to the devil in Icelandic folklore, especially through the name Lord of the Flies, which he has in Icelandic as well (= Flugnah\u00f6f\u00f0ingi).<\/p>\n