Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.06.2009, Blaðsíða 40

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Poetry | Eiríkur Örn Norðdahl
As I may have mentioned before, poetry
was (in Iceland) once considered a gift
from God, the misuse of which could
result in the loss of said gift. Thus 17th
century poet Æri-Tobbi had his gift tak-
en away for giving false directions (in
verse) to a group of tourists (all of whom
died as a result). But there’s a heathen
tone to the culture of poetry as well: it
was seen as partly (if not wholly) magi-
cal & witchcrafty. A decent poet could
‘poetry’ the evil out of things – poetry as
exorcism, if you will – or s/he could ‘po-
etry’ a pretty girl/guy into bed (evidently,
this part of the gift was later bequeathed
to rock’n’roll). Poetry was utterly sorcer-
ous.
Poets would also duel with their po-
etry – one throwing forth a ‘first-part’
(first two lines) of a quatrain while the
other would do the ‘bottom’ (last two
lines) with correct rhyme, rhythm and
alliteration. You won when your oppo-
nent could not do a bottom you yourself
could do. But if your opponent gave up,
and you could not do it either – you lost.
Thus it was mostly a game of finding
hard rhymes that you could deal with –
but your opponent could not.
The most famous duel of all times
was that between Kolbeinn Jöklaskáld
(another 17th century poet) and the Dev-
il himself. Kolbeinn poetried the devil
back to hell by rhyming the word ‘tungl’
(moon) – our ‘orange’ (unrhymable
word) – with ‘ungl’ or ‘úln’: a variation
on the word for ‘wrist’ – this is all highly
dubious, not really words and not even
really rhymes, but the devil always being
one to promote the avant-garde, readily
agreed and cleared off to hell.
Hallgrímur Pétursson, yet another
17th century poet and priest, was adept
at getting into trouble with his poetry.
Having been thrown out of school for
poetrying all sorts of nasty things about
his headmaster, he headed off to Den-
mark to continue his studies. In Copen-
hagen he met an older Icelandic woman,
Guðríður Símonardóttir, who’d just
escaped slavery in Algeria. Hallgrímur
(undoubtedly) used his gift to poetry the
woman – and subsequently had to leave
the school and return to Iceland on ac-
count of their fornication (which lead to
pregnancy and marriage).
Back in Iceland, Hallgrímur eventu-
ally got ordained as a priest, but his mis-
chievous nature did not subside. He was
soon having trouble with a nasty fox who
kept killing his sheep. One day, while in
the pulpit, his eye caught a glimpse of
his furry nemesis and he immediately
proceeded to poetry it away with all his
might. Hallgrímur was a modest man
and did not realise his own poetry’s
strength – and the fox literally sank into
the ground and was never seen again
(I’m not making this up!).
God, being fed up with Hallgrímur’s
antics, and quite frankly enraged at him
for poetrying for secular matters from
the pulpit, dried up all the poet’s poet-
ry. Hallgrímur did not get the gift back
until he started his 25 thousand word
anti-Semitic rant, The Psalms of Pas-
sion (1656-1659), which counts among
Icelandic Christianity’s literary classics,
having been published over 80 times (in
a country currently of 320 thousand peo-
ple) – more often than any other book.
For having written the Psalms of
Passion, Hallgrímur Pétursson counts
as one of the most respected poets in the
history of Icelandic literature – he’s up
there with Snorri Sturluson and Jónas
Hallgrímsson.
He eventually caught leprosy and died.
To The Death!
“Xenophobe’s
guide to the
Icelanders”
Books | Travel Book Review
Here’s a book about the Icelander and his
or her true self – told from the foreigner’s
point of view. The author, Richard Sale
from the UK, mocks Icelanders in every
respect. Nothing that foreigners consider
odd, special or different about Iceland-
ers remains untouched. Sale makes fun
of their belief in hidden people, trolls and
elves, their infatuation with money and
hi-tech, their obsession with family trees,
their nutty interest in weather. Their pride
of old literature and the Sagas, which even
teenagers can quote, and their craziness
about cars – big cars, the bigger, the bet-
ter. There is of course a small chapter on
Þorrablót, that time of the year when Ice-
landers eat traditional and literally old food
like sheep heads and rotten shark, and
also one about Bun Day, on which kids
spank their parents.
Once the reader stumbles across the
fact that it’s not possible to study architec-
ture in Iceland (or wasn’t at the books time
of writing), a lot of the architectural faux
pas all over the country seem more under-
standable. Apart from some of the obvious
Icelandic tics, the foreign reader will also
discover new things about the nation that
he or she is so fond of. Even if they might
sound quite unbelievable, there is always
truth in them. For example, the supposed
Icelandic fear of toilet paper, since its own-
ership might imply that the owner is less
than perfect (the reason makes sense
though!) and therefore, in the old days,
toilet paper was always carried around in
anonymous brown paper bags when it was
bought in the store. Interesting is also the
fact that in the old days fishermen threw
away the lobster in the catch, because it
was too ugly to eat. The reader will also get
to know why the Icelandic word for “inter-
continental ballistic missile” literally means
“long distance fiery flying thing.”
This little book is hilarious, highly en-
tertaining and filled with wonderful details.
Every reader – having lived in Iceland for a
while or just over for a short visit – will dis-
cover that he already found himself won-
dering about exactly this or that peculiarity
on rather more than fewer occasions. Yes,
Icelanders are notoriously unpunctual.
Yes, they have annoying breaks in movie
theatres in the middle of the show. And
yes, they don’t know moderate drinking –
at all. Whilst indulging in xenophobic, shal-
low and superficially appearing, yet “so
true” facts about Icelanders, it becomes
clear that Icelanders are charming folk,
who the author loves just as much as the
reader will. - IRINA DOMuRATH
28
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 8 — 2009
Legends and Landscape
By Richard Sale
Oval Books
Buy it at Mál og Menning -
while you still can.