Album:
Skald
Testi originali
Norreno
Traduzione
Inglese
Sonatorrek
Mjǫk erum tregt
tungu at hroera
með loptvétt
ljóðpundara;
esa nú vænligt
of Viðurs þýfi,
né hógdroegt
ór hugar fylgsni.
Esa auðþeystr,
þvít ekki veldr
hǫfugligr,
ór hyggju stað
fagna fundr
Friggjar niðja,
ár borinn
ór Jǫtunheimum,
Lastalauss
es lifnaði
á nǫkkvers
nǫkkva bragi;
jǫtuns hals
undir þjóta
náins niðr
fyr naustdurum.
Þvít ætt mín
á enda stendr,
hreggbarnir
sem hlynir marka;
esa karskr maðr,
sás kǫggla berr
frænda hrørs
af fletjum niðr.
Þó munk mitt
ok móður hrør
fǫður fall
fyrst of telja;
þat berk út
ór orðhofi
mærðar timbr,
máli laufgat.
Grimt vǫrum hlið,
þat ’s hrǫnn of braut
fǫður míns
á frændgarði;
veitk ófult
ok opit standa
sonar skarð,
es mér sær of vann.
Mjǫk hefr Rǫ́n
of rysktan mik,
emk ofsnauðr
at ástvinum;
sleit marr bǫnd
minnar ættar,
snaran þǫ́tt
af sjǫlfum mér.
Veizt ef sǫk
sverði rækak,
vas ǫlsmið
allra tíma,
hroða vábroeðr,
ef viða mættak,
fórk ægis
andvígr mani.
En ek ekki
eiga þóttumk
sakar afl
við sonar bana;
þvít alþjóð
fyr augum verðr
gamals þegns
gengileysi.
Mik hefr marr
miklu ræntan,
grimt es fall
frænda at telja,
síðan ‘s minn
á munvega
ættar skjǫldr
af lífi hvarf.
Veitk þat sjalfr,
í syni mínum
vasa ills þegns
efni vaxit,
ef randviðr
røskvask næði,
unz hergauts
hendr of toeki.
Æ lét flest,
þat ‘s faðir mælti,
þótt ǫll þjóð
annat segði;
mér upp helt
of herbergi
ok mitt afl
mest of studdi.
Opt kømr mér
mána brúðar
í byrvind
broeðraleysi;
hyggjumk umb,
es hildr þróask,
nýsumk hins
ok hygg at því,
hverr hugaðr
á hlið standi
annarr þegn
við óðræði;
þarfk þess opt
við þrágǫrum.
Verðk varfleygr,
es vinir þverra.
Mjǫk ‘s torfyndr,
sás trúa knegum
of alþjóð
elgjar galga,
þvít niflgóðr
niðja steypir
bróður hrør
við baugum selr.
[Excluded. Missing,
incomplete verse.]
Þat ‘s ok mælt,
at mangi getr
sonar iðgjǫld,
nema sjalfr ali,
né þann enn,
es ǫðrum sé
borinn maðr
í bróður stað.
Erumka þekt
þjóða sinni,
þótt sér hverr
sǫ́tt of haldi;
burr ‘s býskeyðs
í boe kominn,
kvánar sonr,
kynnis leita.
En mér fens
í fǫstum þokk
hrosta hǫfundr
á hendi stendr;
máka upp
í aroar grímu,
rýnnis reið,
réttri halda
Síz son minn
sóttar brími
heiptugligr
ór heimi nam,
þanns ek veit,
at varnaði
vamma vanr
við námæli.
Þat mank enn,
es upp of hóf
í Goðheim
Gauta spjalli
ættar ask,
þanns óx af mér,
ok kynvið
kvánar minnar.
Áttak gótt
við geirs dróttin,
gerðumk tryggr
at trúa hǫ́num,
áðr vinan
vagna rúni,
sigrhǫfundr,
of sleit við mik.
Bloetka því
bróður Vílis,
goðjaðar,
at gjarn séak,
þó hefr Míms vinr
mér of fengnar
bǫlva boetr,
es et betra telk.
Gǫfumk íþrótt
Ulfs of bági,
vígi vanr,
vammi firða,
ok þat geð,
es gerðak mér
vísa fjandr
af vélǫndum.
Nú erum torvelt.
Tveggja bága
njǫrva nipt
á nesi stendr;
skalk þó glaðr
góðum vilja
ok ó-hryggr
heljar bíða.
The Loss of a Son
1. My tongue is sluggish
for me to move,
my poem’s scales
ponderous to raise.
The god’s prize
is beyond my grasp,
tough to drag out
from my mind’s haunts.
2. Since heavy sobbing
is the cause -
how hard to pour forth
from the mind’s root
the prize that Frigg’s
progeny found,
borne of old
from the world of giants,
3. unflawed, which Bragi
inspired with life
on the craft
of the watcher-dwarf.
Blood surges
from the giant’s wounded neck,
crashes on the death-dwarf’s
boathouse door.
4. My stock
stands on the brink,
pounded as plane-trees
on the forest’s rim,
no man is glad
who carries the bones
of his dead kinsman
out of the bed.
5. Yet I shall
first recount
my father’s death
and mother’s loss,
carry from my word-shrine
the timber that I build
my poem from,
leafed with language.
6. Harsh was the rift
that the wave hewed
in the wall
of my father’s kin;
I know it stands
unfilled and open,
my son’s breach
that the sea wrought.
7. The sea-goddess
has ruffled me,
stripped me bare
of my loved ones:
the ocean severed
my family’s bonds,
the tight knot
that ties me down.
8. If by sword I might
avenge that deed,
the brewer of waves
would meet his end;
smite the wind’s brother
that dashes the bay,
do battle against
the sea-god’s wife.
9. Yet I felt
I lacked the might
to seek justice against
the killer of ships,
for it is clear
to all eyes,
how an old man
lacks helpers.
10. The sea has robbed
me of much,
my kinsmen’s deaths
are harsh to tell,
after the shield
of my family
retreated down
the god’s joyful road.
11. Myself I know
that in my son
grew the makings
of a worthy man,
had that shield-tree
reached manhood,
then earned the claim
of war’s arms.
12. Always he prized
his father’s words
highest of all, though
the world said different.
He shored me up,
defended me,
lent my strength
the most support.
13. My lack of brothers
often enters my thoughts
where the winds
of moon-bears rage,
I think of the other
as the battle grows,
scout around
and wonder justification
14. which other valiant
warrior stands
by my side
in the peril;
I often need him
when facing foes.
When friends dwindle
I am wary to soar.
15. It is rare to find
one to trust
amongst men who dwell
beneath Odin’s gallows,
for the dark-minded
destroyer of kin
swaps his brother’s
death for treasure.
16. Excluded. Missing,
incomplete verse.
17. It is also said
that no one regains
his son’s worth
without bearing
another offspring
that other men
hold in esteem
as his brother’s match.
18. I do not relish
the company of men
though each of them might
live in peace with me;
my wife’s son
has come in search
of friendship
to One-Eye’s hall.
19. But the lord of the sea,
brewer of storms,
seems to oppose me,
his mind set.
I cannot hold
my head upright,
the ground of my face,
my thoughts’ steed
20. ever since the raging
surf of heat
snatched from the world
that son of mine
whom I knew
to shun disgrace,
avoid words
of ill repute.
21. I remember still
when the Gauts’ friend
raised high
to the gods’ world
the ash that grew
from my stock,
the tree bearing
my wife’s kin.
22. I was in league
with the lord of spears,
pledged myself loyal
to believe in him,
before he broke off
his friendship with me,
the guardian of chariots,
architect of victory.
23. I do not worship
Vilir’s brother,
guardian of the gods,
through my own longing,
though in good ways too
the friend of wisdom
has granted me
redress for affliction.
24. He who does battle
and tackles the hell-wolf
gave me the craft
that is beyond reproach,
and the nature
that I could reveal
those who plotted against me
as my true enemies.
25. Now my course is tough:
Death, close sister
of Odin’s enemy
stands on the ness:
with resolution
and without remorse
I shall gladly
await my own.
Song details
Translation details
Give a shoutout to ObiWan_Shruberry
Commenti dell’autore:
Transcripted from Wardruna's Skald booklet
By Icelandic skald Egill Skallagrímsson
around year 960. Translation by
Bernard Scudder.
Help to translate
Wardruna TOP 3
Chi è il traduttore
ObiWan_ShruberryMembro junior
Contributi
- 12 traduzioni
- ringraziato 207 volte
Lingua maternaFrancese
FluenteInglese
PrincipianteNorvegese, Tedesco
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