The Icelandic connection - 01.06.2014, Page 46

188
ICELANDIC CONNECTION
Vol. 66 #4
kind of person. He ordered men to certain
death with little regard for common
sense. The only way out of it was that the
officer should die. “I shot the bastard,” my
godfather told me. Not so brave, perhaps,
since bullets were flying everywhere.
Vopnahle relates a similar situation.
Some aristocrats visit the trench and ask
what the soldiers most want. The military
doctor responds.
You can, he said, get yourself a shovel,
As you want to help us a little bit,
And please dear away some of this
Rottingflesh. We cant keep up,
We are tired. How quickly they then
Bade us farewell and left. I never again
Heard of this bunch coming to thefront.
Consulate of
Iceland
Gordon J. Reykdal
Honorary Consul
Suite #205 10230 142 Street
Edmonton Alberta T5N 3Y6
CANADA
Cell: 780.497.1480
E-mail: gjreykdal@gmail.com
The poem ends; and it is not a happy
ending.
“It is now time to resume the game
[the fighting],
Our trumpets fiercely signal and
attack!”
“Our drums are beating for defence!”
“Beware my weapon, father!”
“Welcome to my grave, son!”
There is no hiding the anti-war
sentiments of Vopnahle. From the
contemporary vantage point it is difficult
to grasp how radical, unpopular and even
traitorous the poem was 100 years ago.
However, one only needs to recall the
condemnation, official and unofficial, of
the thousands of young Americans who
opposed the Vietnam war. We are only fifty
years beyond those days. Stephansson’s
words were dangerous words, indeed.
But the poem was in Icelandic, originally
published in Iceland, and not known to
Canadian authorities — and in this case,
Stephansson was “the one who got away.”
*Stephan G. Stephansson
b. October 3,1853
d. August 10,1927
**A11 quoted poems are literal
translations of Vidar Hreinsson