Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.02.2005, Page 12

The very first phrase I learned in Icelandic was “the
gramophone is on the table.” It’s not something I have
had much cause to say in Iceland, or indeed, anywhere.
The reason I know this sentence is not because my
lessons began thirty years ago or because I work in
a retro hi-fi shop with an unusually large Icelandic
clientele; it’s down to the fact that I first dipped my toe
into this vast linguistic ocean of declension, gender and
endings courtesy of Linguaphone.
The company famed for teaching millions a new tongue
by asking them to “listen, repeat and understand”
first published its Icelandic course in 1965. That’s a
remarkable fact given that very few people chose to visit
the country back then, and even fewer sought to learn
its language. Nonetheless, the books and tapes have
been published ever since and have presumably sold in
increasing numbers; unfortunately (and despite my course
having been reprinted in 1994), not much has really been
updated since those early days when new speakers were
asked to proudly locate their record players.
Can Casual Conjugation Lead to Anything More?
The Linguaphone course, consisting of two course
books, fifty lessons and four cassettes (cassettes!) is as
dense as it is thorough. For a native English speaker like
myself, technically untutored in the ways of grammatical
terminology, being asked to determine the difference
between the nominative, genitive and accusative on more
or less the first page is disheartening. Horrifyingly, it
took nearly as long to determine what those terms meant
in English as it did to start
casual conjugation. So, my
efforts to find the ultimate
tutor continued.
The Terrifying Undergrowth
Icelandic for Beginners is
by Stanislaw Jan Bartoszek
and Anh-Dao Tran (if
two individuals with such
apparently non-Nordic names
can master the language well
enough to teach it, then I
should be able to manage
more than a fractured “talar
þú ensku?”). This book
acknowledges from the
outset that Icelandic has “a
lot of grammar”, and does
its best to lead you through
the terrifying undergrowth of
irregular verbs and possessive
pronouns. There’s an accompanying recording too,
offering practice on the finer points of pronunciation.
Modern and Proudly Ancient
Better still is Daisy L. Neijmann’s Colloquial Icelandic, a
much-respected book and CD package which does a fine
job of untangling the rules and exceptions of this unique
language, as modern as it is proudly ancient. Why ég tala
but við tölum? This book explains the “U-shift” almost
poetically: “a’s in Icelandic are allergic to u’s, and break
out into ö’s or u’s as soon as any u gets too close!” Armed
with this charming metaphor, Icelandic peculiarities
soon appear less strange than some of the oddities that
we don’t allow to trouble us in English; why “goose” and
“geese” but not “moose” and “meese”?
Going Native
Useful as Colloquial Icelandic is, it was somewhat
eclipsed when I found a real life genuine Icelander of
my very own. At the hairdresser’s here in Edinburgh
one day, I found my locks being cut by someone with
an accent that I placed vaguely as Scandinavian. Upon
further investigation, I discovered that Áslaug was here
from Reykjavík for a couple of years, and yes, she would
be delighted to help me learn her language. She may be
Scotland’s only hairdressing linguist, and I am delighted
to report that she performs each role extremely well.
Takk fyrir, Áslaug!
COLUMN
THE TYRANNY OF DISTANCE
As an islander at the edge of the inhabitable world, I have a natural need to explore other countries.
I have wanderlust in my marrow. In order to know myself I need to be a nobody. That is impossible in
Iceland, where it feels everyone knows everyone.
It used to be terribly expensive to get away from here. There
were only flights available through one airline and a ferry that
only sailed during the short summer to Denmark and Norway.
This has all changed in the last few years and we as a nation
don’t see ourselves as isolated as before, but the rest of the
world does. I have lived in New Zealand, and that is at the end
of the world as I know it, but Iceland is right between Europe
and America. It is closer to New York than L.A. is. But we are
still under the spell of the tyranny of distance.
What I discovered on my journeys in cyberspace was that as
much as we make fun of the ignorance of the North Americans,
we are no better. We are simply ignorant in different areas. I
see us as high tech aborigines, and we don’t know how to deal
with how quickly we moved off the dirt floors to the techno
houses.
When I jumped on the wave into the interspace of the Internet,
my life changed forever. I became part of a much greater
world than I had imagined possible. I discovered a medium to
travel without going anywhere. I learned to use the Internet to
work with people from all over the world, to create something
new, but most importantly, I have learned that I don’t know
anything even if I am made to believe I do. I realized that I
didn’t know much about world poetry except the few poems
people had been inspired to translate to Icelandic. It totally
blew my mind to see poets from Indonesia, Japan, Colombia
or the States perform. Words fly through the air like samurai
swords, shouts and laughter around the slam.
The Internet is my muse. I am a part of a world of action poets
and artists. These people have come into my life through the
gateways of the Internet and inspired me to be me, all the way;
a high-tech aboriginal Viking on rollerblades.
by Birgitta Jónsdóttir
Learning Icelandic the Easy Way.
Can It Be Done?
by Darren Adam
Lækjar-
torg Hverfisgata
In
gó
lfs
st
ræ
ti
Læ
kj
ar
ga
ta
Bankastræti
Arnar-
hóll
Ka
lko
fns
veg
ur
G
úndi