Lögberg-Heimskringla - 09.10.1992, Blaðsíða 5

Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 9. október 1992 • 5
People Cast ThGir Spells
arctic winters, the gorge is still too hot
to approach and steams a reminder of
our own insignificance. Concrete cities
become puny creations compared to
this vision of the world when magic
touched eveiything.
Volcanic craters and endless lava
fields surround Lake Mývatn.
Lavascapes are the homes of trolls:
ugly, stupid creatures of the night.
Gasping through the ash to the top of
the crater Hverfjall, I wondered if
Trolls ever see the intensity of the lake’s
blue, with coves for nesting birds and
swans, like glinting facets of a jewel in
grey stone. Probably not.
Stretching for kilometres are endless
rock formations, grotesqueries of
Baroque fretwork, fifty, a hundred
meters high, creation of the Trolls. I’m
sure they never notice that after cen-
turies the lava is now graced by tiny
arctic flowers — miniature yellow
orchids, blue and purple heathers of
fragile delicacy. When the astronauts
trained here, the Trolls must have
taken them for some kind of distant
relative.
Each lavascape is different — from
expanses of black sand to commanding
pillars, from almost weightless red
rocks to stone encrusted mountains.
Some are bare ash, so bleak, forbid-
ding, that a solitary blade of grass gives
immense pleasure and affirmation of
life. A deceptive moss of a color I’ve
never seen, a grey, withered green cov-
ers others. Trudging through it, I sank
at each unbalanced step into five or six
inches of spongy diyness. As I reached
out for support, hundreds of tiny
prongs probed my hands but I saw
only an undulating softness. This vis-
ceral growth encases everything, a
creeping disease over acre after acre.
The silence, vastness and gelatinous
footing create vertigo, everything loses
definition. Trolls can, without even
meaning to, drive you mad.
Towering over all are the mountains
where glaciers cling with frozen fingers.
These heights are the homes of the
Giants who, in constant conflict with
the gods, are the destroyers of human
life and everything of value to it. The
earth itself trembles with their move-
ments and volcanoes erupt with their
passions. Fortunately, they are notori-
ously lazy so such activity is relatively
infrequent. Giants are to be feared but
glaciers have a beauty of their own.
Vatnajökull, Europe’s largest glacier,
moves slowly toward a lagoon where it
breaks off and falls into the water. The
floating ice above the surface is crys-
talline white while below it glistens
azure. The color is so splendid, it must
be used for a special purpose. Perhaps
the icebergs are Giants’ lapis lazuli,
courtship gifts to woo their females.
Even Giants have sweethearts and
wives.
In the far west at the end of the
peninsula, called Snæfellsnes, stands a
huge statue sculpted from blocks of
lava. It does not face the sea with
wateris seductive message to go to soft-
er lands farther west but confronts the
power of the Giants and the mystery of
the island. The glacier gives strength to
all who live near it and the androgy-
nous figure is a symbol of the daily life
of people and the land. Around it thou-
sands of arctic terns nest in the cliffs
and thunderholes where the surf bel-
lows. The caws of territorial defiance
and of parental anxiety counterpoint
the percussive sea. White feathers, deli-
cate puffs with suspicions of grey, blow
and whirl along the ground. Their
color matches that of the glacier and
the migration from the arctic to the
antarctic of these tiny birds matches
the tenacity of Icelanders.
The seals cavorting in cod rich seas
below and birds wheeling high above
will move on as the glorious days of
white nights end. But here child-
hood’s magic lives and will always
remain.
Guttormur’s Poetry in Translation
Submitted by Mauríce Eyolfson
“Aurora” (“Áróra”) is the title of a
bilingual book of poetry soon to be
published in Vancouver. The
Icelandic poetry is by Guttormur J.
Guttormsson (1878-1966) with
English translations by Kristjana
Gunnars, Borga Jakobson, Jacobina
Johnson, Watson Kirkconnell,
George Pattem, Art Reykdal, Paul A.
Sigurdson and Sigurdur Wopnford.
The title is taken from the poem
“Áróra”, thought to be the only poem
translated by Guttormsson himself.
Heather Alda Ireland (nee
Sigurdson) has selected and edited
over forty translated poems. In her
Forward to the book she says; “As a
granddaughter of Guttormur J.
Guttormsson, I have always been
aware of his literary reputation and
have had a deep desire to see him
assume his rightful place among
Canadian poets. Translation is the
key to unlocking foreign literary trea-
sures. With this collection of poems,
a sample of Guttormur’s work will be
revealed to English speaking people.
I hope that it will encourage further
translations. The poems were chosen
for their literary and historical signifi-
cance and are representative of the
time and place in which they were
written. They will make it possible for
us appreciate Guttormsson’s contri-
bution to Canadian literature.”
In the Introduction to “Aurora”,
Dr. Haraldur Bessason writes: “A citi-
zen of his native Canada, with
Iceland figuring strongly in his cultur-
al background, Guttormsson was par-
ticularly interested in the literatures
of these two countries. From the
strictly technical point of view, it is
not easy to put an ethnic stamp on
his works. With a good deal of justifi-
cation, we may claim that in terms of
iniportant stylistic features and social
Perspectives, his works are a part of
nrodern Canadian literature. Their
Guttormur J. Guttormsson at work in his study.
extensive imagery, for example, often
rests upon the poet’s observations of
his own Canadian environment, and
the generous amount of social criti-
cism is, to a marked extent, based on
experiences with Canadian or North
American religion and politics.
Guttormsson’s literaiy credentials in
the realm wrote all his works in the
Icelandic language, reaching early the
standards of poetic skill Iceland sets
for those who have a permanent
place in her literary history. In the
context of Icelandic literature,
Guttormsson’s position is unique in
that he is the only poet born and
raised outside Iceland ever to achieve
in his works a quality approved by
the liíerary canon of Iceland itself.”
Publication of the book of trans-
lated poems, “Aurora” (“Áróra”) is
set for later this fall.
Áróra
Eldfjallið morgun í austri gýs,
eldsúlan gnæfir við háloft.
Rautt eins og bál verður bláloft,
birtist í skýjunum Áróra dís.
Þoka þú myrkur! því dagur
dóms
dýrðlegur upp er að renna.
Nóttin er byrjuð að brenna
kveður við ljóðstafur
lúðurhljóms.
Áróra kallar af himni há
hugsanir manns út úr gröfum.
Letrar hún leiftrandi stöfum
hugsanir guðs allan himininn á.
Aurora
Almost volcanic in azure high
moming in glory ascending,
crimson and blue she is blending,
Aurora fair in the flowery sky.
Darkness away! for the day of
doom
dawn is over the nation.
Night becomes great conflagration,
clarion rings over tower and tomb.
Aurora is calling with silver sound
souls from terrestrial fetters,
writing in luminous letters
visions of God in the heavens
around.