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2962A long poem in ancient folkspraak

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  • bonesplitter@email.com
    Aug 2, 2003
    • 0 Attachment
      I just find this old file on my computer, it is one of the earliest thing i wrote in folkspraak, must be almost a year old, it is a translation of the damish national poem "Guldhornene" + a nice introduction i made, i post it here for your enjoyment, perhaps i should retranslate it. You will probably see that it doesn't rhime anymore (the original dansih poem did,) but i am not a poet so i am not good at tranlslating poems so that they keep their poetic value, however it still looks like a poem.
      There is a english translation too, that i made at the same time as the poem, i havent' checked how correct it is.


      Christian


      Dit ere en digt Von Adam Öehlenschlagger, det storste dansk Poet.
      De digt ere in 1802 skreibed, det war det first gross romanitsk digt in Danemark, dets grondlag ere tu ehre de Natur, det panteistisk siht aup kristendom. De digt kritisere det rationel, det ere nit de, hú aspire ond suke, hú finde de Hornens. Det ere de frauken, ond de dansk Son von Natur, hú kan de Hornens finden.
      De Twe Guldhornes worde finded bi Gallehus Bi de stadt Møgeltønder in Judland. In de jahrens 1639 Ond 1734 von Frauken ”Kirsten Svendsdatter” Ond ”Jerk Lassen”
      Nakdat de havde worded von Dansk Koningens bruked als Drinkenhornens, Worde de in en Musem setzed ( In de digt, sehe wi, dat Oehlenschlager kritisere dit; Oehlenschlager finde, dat de skalde haven wared bruked for Jesus ond God tu ehren. In Jahr 1802 wordte De Guldhornes stehled von en man, hú makde de Guldhornens tu Guldpengens. Fore Oehlenschlager havde skreibed de digt,
      Finde man nit de guldhornens wigtig, men efter ere de worded en symbol aup de danske Aldtid,
      Dansk fatterlandslieve ond det romantisk periode.
      Dit Digt, Ond ander Digtens von Oehlenschlager sprake von nit allejn en nordisk folkgemenskap, men auk en gemenskap mit Deutskland ( Oehlenschlager, have mange Digtens aup Deutsk skreibed), Ond hie finde det nik gud, wann Deutskland( Preussen) Ond Danemark makde guar in 1848.

      De Guldhornens ere auk en symbol von folksgemenskap, ond Germansk Spraakgemeinskap kande man sagen, wijl Der aup de Guldhornes ere en von de erste exemplarens von en germansk spraak( Ond det erste eksempel von en Nordgermansk spraak.
      Der stehe aup det klejn Guldhorn ” Ek Hlewagastir holijer horna tawido” dat ere in Danish
      „Jeg Lægæst fra Holt gjorde Hornet“ FS „Ik Lægæst (LeeGast ?) Von Holt makde De Horn”
      but it might also mean; ”jeg lægæst Holtes søn gjorde hornet” FS- ”Ik Lægæst Son von Holte makde de Horn” Men in realitet weite man nit wat ”tawido” bedeute.

      Her ere de Digt.

      De aspire ond suke
      In ald Bukens.
      In oppened hogens.
      Mit speidende oye
      Aup swertens ond Skildens
      In mulded wallens.

      Aup Runesteinens
      Bi vorfallende beinens.

      Diedens von aldtid
      Aned trylle;
      De sik in dunkel haile,
      De ald Skriftens.
      De blick stirre,
      Sik de Danke Vorwirre.
      In dunkel de fumle
      „ Ji ald ald
      vorgehde dagens,
      wann det skinnde in de Nord
      Wann De Himmel War aup erd
      Geb en liht turück”

      de Wolk suse
      de Nagt bruse
      de Grabhog sukke
      de Rose sik stenge
      De hogere Regionens
      Tone.
      De sik treffe, De sik treffe
      De hellik Hogens
      Kampffarved Rote
      Mit Sternliht in oye.

      Ji, hú fammle in dunkel
      Skal finden
      En aldende relik
      Dat skal kommen und svinden
      Dets guld seidens
      Skal de Präg beare
      Von de aldste Tidens.
      Von dat kan ji lernen
      Mit andagtsful Ehren
      Ji ons Bot belohnen.
      Det skohneste skon
      En Mäje
      Skal De hellikdom finden
      Dan singe de und gehe
      De Lufttonens svinde.

      Hryfaxe De svarte
      Prusten ond ducken
      Ond in De Zea sik begrave.
      Portens von morgen
      Delling opene
      Ond skinfaxe gehe
      In skinnende Liht
      Aup De Himmelwöhlving
      .

      Ond Fogelens singe.
      DeuPerlens bade
      Blumstblatens
      Dat de Wind rocke.
      Ond aup leht Fietens
      En Mäje tanze
      hith tu de Feld

      Violens bi har seid
      Har RoseBacke brende
      Shie habe Liliëhandens
      Leht als en hind
      Mit frolik Mind
      Shie sveben ond smile
      Ond wijl shie renne
      Ond an Lieve denke-
      Shie falle.
      Ond stirre ond skoue
      Gulden liht,
      Ond rote und tremble
      Ond zittrende neme
      Mit vunderende gejst,
      Av svarte Erd,
      Mit sneuweit Hand
      Det rot Guld

      En leht Thonner
      Donnere!
      De Gansk Nord
      Vundere!

      Ond dartu de gehe
      In stor flockens,
      Ond grabe und suke
      De skat grosser tu maken

      Men kejn Guld!
      Deres Hop habe Bedryged.
      De sehe allejn det Erd
      wervon de nemed ere.

      En Sekel gehe. !!

      Over klippetinnens
      Det igen bruse.
      De Stormenses portens
      Worde mit makt breked
      Over de bergens in Norweg
      Tu de Dalens in Danemark.
      In De hallens von Himmel
      De weis Aldens
      Sik igen treffen.

      Tu de selden feu
      Hú ons Geben vorstehe
      Hú Erd nit binde
      Men hús sjel sik hoge
      Tu det evik tinne
      Hú fiele det Hoge
      In naturs oye,
      hú anbittende zittre
      For guddomsliht,
      In zonnes, in violens
      In det klejnste, in det storste,
      Hú brennende durste
      Nak De Leiv von leif
      Hú- Oh groot gejst
      Von de svinned tidens!
      Seh din Guddomsiht
      Aup de seidens von de helikdom,
      For dem ere ons stand igen hoered.
      Son von Natur
      Ukenned, in lohn
      Men wie sin fatter
      Kraftful ond gros
      werkende in sin feld
      Hem wille wi hailen
      Hie skal igen finden!”
      Dan singe de ond svinde.

      Hrymfaxe De swarte
      Prusten ond ducken
      Ond sik in De Zie begrave.
      Morgens portens
      Delling opne
      Ond Skinfaxe gehe
      In skinnende Liht
      Aup De Himmelwöhlwing

      Bi huslik skoug
      De Oxenens drage
      De sver plouw
      Over swart Erd

      Dan stande De Plouw
      Ond Ehrangst fahre
      Durk de Skoug
      De vogelsang
      Plotslik stoppe.
      Hellik stillhet.
      All fille.

      Det klinge in Erd
      Det ald Guld

      Twe Glimt von alddagens
      Funkle in neu tidens
      Selsomlik komde de turück
      Mit mysteriens aup rot seidens

      Mystisk hellikdom ere
      In deres ald zign ond markens
      GuddomsGlorien fille
      De vunderens von evikhet.

      Ehr dem, wijl de tid gehe!
      Snart miskeen de ere forsvined
      Jesu blot aup De alter von God
      Fillde dem, als Blot in Gruv.

      Men ji allejn sehe deres liht
      Nit det ehrful Hoge
      Setze dem als Pragt tu sehen
      For en grau ond gradik oye

      De Himmel svarte, Stormens donnerde
      Sikker Stund du ere kommed
      Det de gebde, de nemde turück
      Eviklik De hellikdom svindte


      They aspire and search
      In old books,
      In opened burial mounds
      With scouting eye.
      Upon swords and shields
      In earthy ramparts
      Upon Rune stones
      Amongst crumbling bones.

      Achievements of ancient times,
      Unseen enchant.
      But in darkness they (let them self be praised),
      The old writings.
      The eye stares,
      The mind confuses itself.
      In darkness they fumble.
      “Ye old old
      long gone days
      when it shone in Scandinavia
      When heaven was on earth
      Send us as sign (send back a sign)

      The sky whistle
      The night roar
      The burial mound sighs
      The upper regions
      Appear!
      They gather, they gather
      The wise high-ones,
      Coloured red by battles
      With starlight in their eyes.

      “You who search blindly
      Shall find
      An ancient relic
      Which will come and go
      Its golden sides
      Will wear the signs
      Of ancient times.
      By that you can learn
      With humble honour
      Our gift to appreciate.
      The fairest fair
      A maid
      Shall find the relic.
      Then they sing and go
      The images fade.

      Hrymfaxe the black
      Snorts and ducks
      And in the ocean buries itself.
      The gates of morning
      Delling opens
      And Skinfaxe walks
      On the bow of heaven.

      And the birds sing
      Dew pearls wash
      Flower leaves,
      that the winds rock.
      And gaily
      A maid dances
      To the field.

      Violets around her
      Her rosecheek burns
      She has hands of fleur-de lis.
      Light as a hind
      With joyful thoughts
      She floats and smiles,
      And while she runs
      And thinks of love
      She falls!
      And stares and looks
      Golden flames,
      And blossoms and trembles
      And shaking raises
      With wondering spirit
      Of the black humus
      The red gold.

      A quiet thunder
      Thunders!
      The entire north
      Wonders.

      And dither they come
      In large groups
      And dig and seek
      The treasure to enlarge
      But no gold.
      They have been deceived by their hopes.
      They only see the earth
      From where they have been taken.

      A century passes!!

      Over mountain peeks
      Again it roars
      The gates of storm
      Broken by power.
      Over the mountains of Norway
      To the valleys of Danmark
      In the heavenly halls
      The wise old-ones
      Once again gather.

      For the rare few
      Who understand our gidt
      Who are not bound by the shackles of earth.
      But whose souls fly
      To the peek of eternity
      Who understand the fine
      In nature’s eye
      Who tremble in worship
      For the beams of the god,
      In suns, in violets,
      In the smallest, and the greatest
      Who passionately thirst
      After the life of life
      Who- oh great spirit
      Of ancient times!
      Behold your godly look
      On the sides of the relic.
      For their sake shall our stay again be heard!
      The son of nature
      Unknown unknown
      But as his forefathers
      Big and strong
      Working in his field
      Him shall we honour
      He shall again find!
      Then they sing and disappear

      Hrymfaxe the black
      Snorts and ducks
      And in the ocean buries itself.
      The gates of morning
      Delling opens
      And Skinfaxe walks
      On the bow of heaven.

      At the fine forest
      The oxen pull
      The heavy plough
      Over the black earth

      Then the plough stops
      And fear flies
      Through the forest
      Flock of birds
      Suddenly silence
      Sacred silence
      Consecrates everything

      Then sounds in earth
      The old Gold

      Two sights from ancient times
      Shines I the new times
      Strangely they returned,
      With riddles on red sides

      Mystic sacristy around
      Their old signs and marks
      The halo of the god around
      The wonders of eternity
      Honour them, cause destiny does what it want
      Soon maybe they are gone
      Blood of Jesus on the alter of god
      Fill them as blood in the grove

      But you only see their light
      Not the honourable fine!
      Put them as splendour to be looked upon
      By a pale curious eye.

      Heaven darkens, storms thunder
      Certain hour, you have arrived
      What the gave they took again
      For eternity the relic has gone.

      --
      __________________________________________________________
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