- Joined
- Mar 1, 2012
- Location
- Helsinki, Finland, Europe
Eino Leino was a bit of a Finnish Shakespeare, he modified and even recreated the Finnish language. His use of language is incredible, and most certainly I haven't been able to translate it all.
The poem Löysäläisen laulu ~ Song of a drifter, is from early 1920's, after the civil war / liberation war we had, right after our independence. It's a kind of fighting song, Leino was active on all levels of human being - it contains love and sorrow, hunger and trust, as well as politics. It's a bit sorrow, but that's how we Finns are. Do pay attention to the verrrrry strong rrrrrrrrrrrrr we have!
Sang by Vesa-Matti Loiri, also found in http://windowsforum.com/threads/comedy-club.178446/#post-581765
Lyrics, translated by me:
The road travels
a bookless, cattleless man
The ride of Crown would probably
be too much for him
strange as are for him
home country, homestead and stove,
party, family and else,
taxes, baize and debt and yoke.
Not part of community,
not part of society,
the worst of all
citicens he is,
unless he belongs
to the most certain state of life,
with castles and countries
near to heaven's sun.
But he sings!
Listen how he walking
hums smiling
like hymns of a foreign country.
Words are confused.
Mixed sounds from his songs,
but they hum
in wilderness murmur:
"The draught of life took my flower.
All left was work -
endless days,
heartpain of winter night.
Organize, poor brains,
or heaven will strike:
Human woman or man,
who'll eat bread next autumn.
But I laugh,
I cry now, always,
the weakness inexorable
of persecutors of word, freedom.
What can they do?
Pain a bit,
prolong what is
the fulfilment of the law.
Who? Challenges?
Way, work, truth and work.
Around us sickness and winter
and hunger and poverty and night.
I would still, ah, shame the one
who eats his bread
when father, mother and child
and dear is struck by death.
Oh dear, dearest!
You still hear me?
My sorrow calls
like a far cry
I remember You
as a beauty lost.
My feel, pain makes me
far, far away from You!
But even if they take me
to far off heavy waves
where my love and song
has its high country
what can they do?
The Higher,
they never saw,
never they will see.
The road travels
a bookless, cattleless man
The child of Earth or Heaven?
Or to Hell fire?
Strange as are for you
home country, homestead and stove,
party, family and else,
you have your own yoke.
The poem Löysäläisen laulu ~ Song of a drifter, is from early 1920's, after the civil war / liberation war we had, right after our independence. It's a kind of fighting song, Leino was active on all levels of human being - it contains love and sorrow, hunger and trust, as well as politics. It's a bit sorrow, but that's how we Finns are. Do pay attention to the verrrrry strong rrrrrrrrrrrrr we have!
Sang by Vesa-Matti Loiri, also found in http://windowsforum.com/threads/comedy-club.178446/#post-581765
Lyrics, translated by me:
The road travels
a bookless, cattleless man
The ride of Crown would probably
be too much for him
strange as are for him
home country, homestead and stove,
party, family and else,
taxes, baize and debt and yoke.
Not part of community,
not part of society,
the worst of all
citicens he is,
unless he belongs
to the most certain state of life,
with castles and countries
near to heaven's sun.
But he sings!
Listen how he walking
hums smiling
like hymns of a foreign country.
Words are confused.
Mixed sounds from his songs,
but they hum
in wilderness murmur:
"The draught of life took my flower.
All left was work -
endless days,
heartpain of winter night.
Organize, poor brains,
or heaven will strike:
Human woman or man,
who'll eat bread next autumn.
But I laugh,
I cry now, always,
the weakness inexorable
of persecutors of word, freedom.
What can they do?
Pain a bit,
prolong what is
the fulfilment of the law.
Who? Challenges?
Way, work, truth and work.
Around us sickness and winter
and hunger and poverty and night.
I would still, ah, shame the one
who eats his bread
when father, mother and child
and dear is struck by death.
Oh dear, dearest!
You still hear me?
My sorrow calls
like a far cry
I remember You
as a beauty lost.
My feel, pain makes me
far, far away from You!
But even if they take me
to far off heavy waves
where my love and song
has its high country
what can they do?
The Higher,
they never saw,
never they will see.
The road travels
a bookless, cattleless man
The child of Earth or Heaven?
Or to Hell fire?
Strange as are for you
home country, homestead and stove,
party, family and else,
you have your own yoke.
Last edited:
