Lögberg-Heimskringla - 25.01.1973, Qupperneq 2

2
LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA, EIMMTUDAGINN 25. JANÚAR 1973
Hög;berg - J^eimsímngla ÍLúis tt ttt tmjltsh
In The Land Of My Fathers
By MARGARET ANN BJORNSON
For days the sea had rocked
itself gloomily, oppressed by
the weight of a heavily leaded
sky. Sometimes fine steel rib-
bons of rain were threaded
between them, like a vast de-
sign in filigree. But usually
there was no intricacy of pat-
tem in the grey mist — no
pattem, only the monotone of
a shroud.
Such a prelude is well in
keeping with the aura of mys-
ticism and romance which has
for so many centuries sur-
rounded the north; the avid
interest in, and speculation
about a lost continent — the
fabled Atantis — of which
Ioeland is said to be one rem-
nant, the most remote, prob-
ably, from the Pillars of Her-
cules; the morbid fascination
of life and culture on a vol-
canic island, rudely indented
by a jealous sea. We remem-
ber Snorri: “The earth’s round
face, w h e r e o n mankind
dwells, is much cleft because
great gulfs run up into the
land from the ocean. . .”
* * *
“We have landed in Thule,”
wrote Lord Dufferin from
Reykjavik in 1856. And
against the darkness of a drip-
ping night, the great dim
mass rising out of the sea into
the mist is as fantastically un-
all grey-blanketed. A stinging
wind whips in and out of the
tangled masts, silently. And
then suddenly.— the sky with
its low matted clouds swoops
down as if to crush the moun-
tains between itself and the
sea. The jagged peaks across
the bay, undisturbed, rise in
majesty through the mist,
through the wind, through
the rain, oblivous to the petu-
lant sea beneath them.
Occasionally an anaemic
sun appears for a few mo-
ments, and the mountains are
briefly gold, or hazily corn-
colored, or brilliantly purple.
But the sea remains stubborn-
ly grey, and reluctantly the
sky confirms, the mountains
fade, — greyness into dusk,
until the white wings of a
gull, the small cheery light
from a boat are the only
transgressors a g a i n s t the
kindly darkness.
* * *
In a small village on the
coast there is no ughness, but
a beauty as overwhelming as
the drabness of Reykjavik;
music more romantic than
any Wagnerian overture —
the music of the sea crashing
against the broken, rugged
shore. Deeply wrinkled black
rocks with faces of old men
— unresisting, impassive, stoi-
The essay on Ihis page is iaken from ihe 1936 issue of
Tímarii, a yearly magazine published in Winnipeg by ihe
Icelandic National League for 50 years. The original iiile of
ihe piece was „Heima á Fróni." „Frón" is a poeiic name for
Iceland.
X
real, as terribly awe-inspiring
as the legendary U11 i m a
Thule. Salt spray and the
strong smell of fish — but
the travesty to the imagina-
tion of disma'l street lamps.
Oil and smoke, and the com-
motion of a harbor; the per-
sistence of the rain.
In the cold grey of an Octo-
ber morning, most of the ro-
mantic trappings have been
shed, but very little of the
grimness. Reykjavík stands in
narrow muddy streets, whose
ugly clay-colored puddles are
like holes in the heel of a
sock; and stares almost vac-
antly from the windows of
its unprepossessing f r a m e
h o u s e s , or incongruously
modernistic ones. Curiously
bald it is, with its dearth of
trees, its unadomed squares,
its colorless pond.
Flanking this somewhat in-
credible city in the harbor —
its r u s t y coal barges, and
small passenger boats, and
picturesque fishing trawlers,
cal, cut the spray that leaps
like playful children upon
them, only to fall back into
the sea — lifeless.
Sometimes there are great
flats of small stones, rusted
by the wash of many years,
and licked by a sea abruptly
and berserkly green. But al-
ways the frame of black rocks
— a ledge of them projecting
far out. With the tide, the sea
recedes, leaving a stretch of
darkish sand, and twisted
masses of sea-weed.
Incredible, almost caprici-
ous, is the infinite flexibility
of the landscape; the permu-
t a t i o n s and combinations,
given an ever-changing sea,
the mountains, a rockly shore,
the g a 1 a x y of colors. The
warm yellow of lamps gleams
from great windows in a
purple sky before the sun
falls into the sea. Or magnifi-
cently extravagant, the sea
becomes suddenly pink — be-
comes an immense salmon,
with faintly bluish fins pro-
truding.
Far out, the breakers move
slowly, even awkwardly, like
a cumbersome sea-monster,
fat-bellied as in Böcklin’s
“Spiel der Wellen.” And when
it is more somberly green, this
is Böcklin’s sea. His Triton
rises out of it; Nereide suns
herself on the rocks; the
Najaden dive laughing into
the spray.
Twelve miles inland — and
deathly stillness everywhere.
The sun was pale gold over
the mountains and cast rosy
shadows on the white-capped
peaks. The little streams were
clear and dark, and almost
sang their way along. For
long stretches, great expanses
of snow, then curious bumps
of earth under a white blank-
et, or crouching, gnome-like
rock formations.
In the early afternoon, the
sun began to drop. Great bars
of gold and purple splashed
a c r o s s the sky, reflected
themselves in the blue deep
of Borgarfjörd, and were lost
in the flames of the sun. Be-
hind us, the last pale fingers
of light were rapidly pulling
the dusk shrouding over the
mountains, until the peaks,
veiled in grey, stood like
ghostly noms guarding the
entrance to Ultima Thule at
the “lag end of the world.”
Over the barrier, I suspect,
there is no twilight of the
gods, and the magnificent fi-
gure of Wotan still dominates
the Valkyriq. Brunnhilde is
seen dimly on every moun-
tain top. Norse mythology
springs from, and has its life
in such a background.
* * *
But we have in Iceland
more than a vaporous myth-
ology. We have a solid liter-
ary tradition based on the
sagas; we have a folklore re-
plete with the mysticism and
superstition so characteristic
of our people. (And it is pos-
sible at this point not to re-
member the superb embodi-
ment by Einar Jónsson of
some of these legends, the
symbolism with which he has
invested them. I am thinking
especially of the troll, petri-
fied by the advent' of morn-
ing, and the maiden, to whom
the dawn brings freedom.).
T h e “Þjóðminjasafn“ be-
speaks many things of our
earlier life and culture. The
chalices and altar pieces bear
witness not only to the exqui-
site workmanship in many a
“sveinsstykki”, but to the in-
tensity of religous emotion.
Native talent and industry
produced the beautiful
needlework and tapestries
copied from the old manus-
cript illustrations. The head-
dress of the “peysuföt” did
not, itv is to be hoped, have
the tragic consequences of
Hrefna’s coif; yet many a
sword has, no doubt, a his-
tory as significant as that of
Bolli’s “Fótbítur.”
„Gengin er tíð, þá loft
og lög
valkyrjur riðu í leiftra
ljóma . . .“
í skeyii frá fréiiasiofu As-
sociated Press í Brussels 9.
nóvember var Morgunblaðinu
tjáð, að Josef Luns, fram-
kvæmdastjóri Atlantshafs-
bandalagsins (NATO) hefði
boðist til að miðla málum
milli Islendinga og Breta í
landhelgismálinu. Þá sem
komið var hafði hvorugur að-
ilanna þekkst boðið.
Til íslands komu í Október
mánuði 7835 manns, þaraf
4044 útlendingar á móti 3795
íslendingum. F1 e s t i r komu
með flugvélum, aðeins 385
með skipum. Af þessum ferða-
löngum voru 1970 Bandaríkja-
menn, 372 Þjóðverjar, 299
Bretar, 284 Svisslendingar.
Frá fjölmörgum löndum kom
aðeins einn maður og má þar
nefna Equador, Ghana, Túnis,
íran, S.-Kórea, N.-Vietnam,
Venezuéla, Marokko, Para-
quay og Bolivíu.
Þegar starfsári Banka-
mannaskólans á íslandi lauk
í byrjun desember s.l., kom í
ljós að 82% nemenda voru
stúlkur. 69 stúlkur sóttu nám-
skeiðið en aðeins 18 piltar.
Úiflulningur í s 1 a n d s til
Tékkóslóvakíu hefir stórauk-
ist á síðustu 12 mánuðum frá
but it is essential that we re-
cognize our heritage, our
noble literature, our wealth
%
in traditions and customs and
national traits, and that we
bend our efforts towards their
maintenance. Our people have
made a magnificent contribu-
tion in the face of overwhelm-
ing odds — isolation, and geo-
graphical insignificance. It is
not fitting that we in the new
land let it perish.
12. október, 1971. Aðal út-
flutningsvaran til Tékkóslóva-
kíu eru freðfiskiflök, en salá
á öðrum varningi, svosem
Þorskalýsi, fiskimjöli og osti
hefir einnig farið vaxandi.
Síldarverð í Danmörku var
hátt síðastliðið haust og hefir
bætt upp trega veiði hjá ein-
staka skipi. Veiðin á Norður-
sjávarmiðum var mjög treg í
vetrarbyrjun, og voru þá
mörg íslenzku síldveiðiskip-
anna komin heim, en þeir bát-
ar sem seldu síld í Danmörku
fengu betra verð en nokkru-
sinni fyrr á árinu.
Fréífagrein í Reykjavíkur
blaðinu Tíminn 7. desember,
greinir frá óveðri 27. og 28.
október. Var þá komið í Ijós
að 507 símastaurar höfðu
brotnað víðsvegar um landið,
og 360 lagst á hliðina. Tjón á
símalínum var talið nema hátt
í 20 milljón króna. Sumstaðar
var viðgerðum ekki lökið og
enn ekki ljóst hve tjónið var
mikið. Mun jarðsími lagður
á þessum bilunarsvæðum eft-
ir því sem kostur er á, segir
í fréttinni, en áætllaður kostn-
aður við bráðabirgða viðgerð-
ir og endurbyggingu nam 10
milljónum króna.
Úr blöðunum frá íslandi