Lögberg-Heimskringla - 25.03.2005, Blaðsíða 12

12 » Lögberg-Heimskringla« Friday 25 March 2005
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Astríður Olafsdóttir Svíakonungs — a new translation
Omar Simundson of Arborg, MB is a jack of ail trades.
He operates his own company, Omar Simundson Roof-
ing and Siding, and reads Icelandic literature in his free
time. He has translated rnany Icelandic poems inlo English
and recently translated “Ástríður Ólafsdóttir Svíakonungs” by
Stephan G. Stephansson.
Ástríður Ólafsdóttir
Svíakonungs
eftir Stephan G. Stephansson
I.
Undir gálga Ólafs digra
Óttar svarti í höll var leiddur.
Ekki fór hann feimulega
fangaklæddur vel og greiddur.
Undan dökkri skör á skáldi
skinu augun langa vegi,
sem þau fyrst í mynd hans
mættu
manni, svip þó greindi eigi.
Kóngur bar til Óttars illan
afbrýðinnar hatursþunga,
banasök var kvæðið kunna,
kveðið fyrr um drottning unga.
Fyrir söngur hug, til hennar
höfuð sitt hann átti að láta.
Hirðan skyldi hlýða á, að
hegning þessi stæði máta.
n.
Óttar gekk að hástól hilmis,
hneigði fyrir drottnum lýða:
„Eg er skáld og kann að kveða,
kóngur þú, og sæmd að hlýða
lofi þínu, ljóði mínu!
Leyfið, að ég flytji, herra!“
Hvessti að honum ýgum augum
Ólafur og hugði verra:
„Þú skalt ljúka öðru áður!
Ort þú hefur langtum fleira.
Mansöng, kveðinn um sig unga,
Ástríður er gjöm að heyra!
Lát oss sjá, hve syrpur þínar
sæma henni, Noregsdrottning!“
Óttar kvað: „Ég kann þær enn
þá -
konungsboði tek með lotning".
m.
Kvæðið hóf hann. Hirðin þagði,
hlustamæm að flímið skildi.
Eins og seytla um silfurskálir
seyddi Óttars raddarmildi.
Var þó sem við skreytiskrumið
skáldamálsins hann sig efi,
en sem lægju langir kossar
leyndir undir hveiju stefi.
Allir sátu hirðmenn hljóðir
hönd var knélögð undir borði.
Sýndist skína úr svipnum þeirra
samvizkan í hverju orði.
Það var aðeins, er hann nefndi
Ástríði í þulu sinni,
þá var eins og allir hefðu
önnur kvennanöfn í minni.
Konur Iitu allar undan
Óttars kveðskap fyrst í ranni.
Eftir fylltar fáar vísur
festu augu á kvæðamanni,
störðu á hann og léttum lófum
léku mjúkt við foma bauga.
Var sem blámi bjartra drauma
brosaði varma úr hverju auga.
ÍV.
Óttar greip að augabragði
Ólafsdrápu háttastríðu.
Hún skall o’n í endi ljóðsins,
eins og bylur fylgdi þíðu.
Hátt yfir allra kolla kvað hann
konungsminnið yfir borðum.
Ólafs frægð og frækni um
salinn
flaug í gný af hvellum orðum.
Stigu fram í styrku rími
stoltarleikir vígaæðis.
Samt var eins og allar sætu
enn í leiðslu fyrra kvæðis.
Þó hann léti hlymja á hjálmum
hvassa stuðla í efldu versi,
gleggra létu eftirómar
eldri vísu - hún var þessi:
„Man ég æ - við eitt sinn dvöl-
dum
inn hjá Væni sumarkveldis,
tvö og ein og áttum saman
aftanfegurð Svíaveldis.
Þá var okkur ekki í huga
óttahik við dóm í sögum,
hvort við hlutum rikisráðin
rétt og samkvæmt
Gautalögum“.
V.
Ólafi var sveimul sjálfum
sveitastúlka í löngu minni.
Eftir henni fyrstri forðum
frétti hann í útlegð sinni.
Hafði síðar ljóð og langskip
lagt fyrir sjóarhamra enni
út til drifs frá höfnum hennar,
hrösulgiftrar lítilmenni.
Mælti ljúft og leit til Óttars
loknum hans að bragaraunum:
„Skáld, nú máttu heilu halda
höfði þínu að kvæðalaunum“.
Drottning hafði unaðsörugg
undir flutning ljóða snjallra
setið, djörf og sveipinfölduð,
sigurrjóð og prúðust allra.
Rauðagullhring rakti af hendi,
renndi að Óttar baugi sínum:
„Þiggðu, skáld, sem glampa á
götu
gneista þann af fingri mínum“.
Dögling leit með dælskubrosi:
„Drottning Noregs sæmir,
herra,
minna yðar launum launa
ljóðið um sig, þínu verra“.
VI.
Löngu þeirra hrundu hauga
huldu margar grænar aldir.
Til eru enn hjá örfum þeirra
eldar sömu í brjóstum faldir.
Ég hef séð úr sænskum augum
sömu stafa hjartaslögin
sem að fyrir Ólafs exi
Óttari svarta guldu bauginn.
POETRYAND SHORT
STORY CONTEST
THEICELANDIC FESTIVAL OF MANITOBA invites you to submit previously
unpublished poetry (three entries per person limit) and/or a short story
(one entry per person). Prize money will be awarded and successful entries will be
published in the festival booklet. Categories are as follows:
POETRY Junior (12 and under) 1st prize $35
Intermediate (13-18) 1st prize $50
Open 1 st prize $100
2nd prize $50
SHORT STORY Open 1 st prize $100
Submissions which contain material reflecting lcelandic interest
or lcelandic culture will be given preference. Entries will not be returned.
Send your material before May 15,2005 to:
FESTIVAL WRITING CONTEST
c/o Helga Malis, Box 2153, Gimli, MB ROC1B0
Ástríður Ólafsdóttir
Svíakonungs
by Stephan G. Stephansson
Translated by Ómar Simundson
I.
Under the gallows of Olaf the Stout
Ottar the Black was led
Unwillingly and full of doubt
Tho’ he seemed well groomed and fed
Under the poet’s stark complexion
Eyes that shone and wits were honed
The first thought brought to this convention
His bright and deep expression shown
The king to Ottar ill will carried
Held him with a loathing sore
Condemned to depth for having written
A young Queen’s rhymes in times before
The song he wrote for being smitten
someway to the King was led
The law at Ottar’s words was harried
Revenge would be to lose his head
II.
He stepped up to the seat of royal
Knelt to show his pious feelings
“Let me show you I’m still loyal
With my gift of rhymer’s dealings
Let me tell my verses here.”
He eyed the king with sharp expression
Olaf quoth with little care,
“We shall hear your last confession
Still you’ll lose your head I fear
Let your words grace life’s regression
The song you’ve sung so mean and low
We shall hear this lustful lesson
Sweden’s Queen deserves to know!”
Ottar said he still remembered
The rhymes of love he’d tried to sow
III.
The rhymes he’d written laid to silence
All who heard and understood
Like a warming silver tureen
Laid from Ottar’s loving hood
Tho’ in Ottar’s oral scrimshaw
Wound in meters spoken mildly
Hidden in poetic phrases
Longsome kisses echoed wildly
As Ottar sang the young Queen’s praises
Some sat in silence quiet shamed
Under tables hands were laid
Those who had abused or maimed
Other women brought to name
Ladies sought with sidelong glances
After first filled spoken word
Ottar’s grip held some in trances
They eyed his way his wonders heard
And with light touches stroked their faces
Dreams of past allowed to grow
Smiles of warm and loving graces
Brightest acts of long ago
IV.
Ottar took the moment’s tether
Olaf’s killing hatred’s maw
The end of one ode’s words to sever
Like a blizzard followed thaw
Over all the heads related
Praised the King o’er all men there
Olaf’s wisdom, fame created
Torn from lofty thoughts so fair
Forward brought the highest written
Pridefilled praises Olaf’s lore
Tho’ it seemed that all were smitten
Of the ode he spoke before
Tho’ he spoke of ringing battle
Olaf’s prowess fights of yore
They better heeded other mettle
The older ode they valued more
“I remember once we lingered
In the warmth of summer’s eves
We two were one each other sharing
The very best of Sweden’s leads
Never thought of any reason
We could ere be brought to stand
For flowing with a loving season
The rights of human charm’s demand.”
V.
Olaf was himself now pensive
A country girl from long ago
Where he had tasted first of loving
Allowed the memory to grow
Later he had men and warships
Sailed the seas of briny foam
But never he a safer harbour
Than in her arms had ever known
He looked to Ottar speaking softly,
His eyes held to him for a time,
“Poet, this is yours so lofty
You’ll keep your head for having rhymed
The Queen will know you’ll go on living
For your loving graceful call
Well spoken brave and nervy Ottar
Yours is best forgiven all.”
A red gold ring he tore from his fingers
Pushed at Ottar what he’d riven:
“Poet, take what gleams béfore us
From my fingers take what’s given.”
The King he showed a knowing smile,
“The Queen of Sweden cedes your deed
Remember that your gift of giving
Your odes my thought you’ve given seed.”
VI.
Long ago these moments flowing
Since have followed different times
Still there are some embers showing
Ottar’s gift of forming rymes
For I have felt through Ottar’s vision
Much the same his heartfelt cries
The ones that stopped the axe of Olaf
Black Ottar’s eminent demise.
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