Ilmarinen kiroaa uuden morsiamen lokiksi / Ilmarinen curses the new bride into a seagull / 伊尔马里宁将新娘诅咒成海鸥
Ilmarinen kiroaa uuden morsiamen lokiksi / Ilmarinen curses the new bride into a seagull / 伊尔马里宁将新娘诅咒成海鸥
Ilmarinen kiroaa uuden morsiamen lokiksi / Ilmarinen curses the new bride into a seagull
伊尔马里宁将新娘诅咒成海鸥
ink and foil on rice paper, 76x125cm
纸本水墨, 2024
Seppo naisetta elävi, puolisotta vanhenevi.
Itki kuuta kaksi, kolme. Niinpä kuulla neljännellä
poimi kultia mereltä, hope’ita lainehilta;
keräsi kekosen puita, kolmekymmentä rekoista;
puunsa poltti hiililöiksi, hiilet ahjohon ajeli.
Otti noita kultiansa, valitsi hope’itansa
sykysyisen uuhen verran, verran talvisen jäniksen.
Työnti kullat kuumentohon, ajoi ahjohon hopeat,
pani orjat lietsomahan, palkkalaiset painamahan.
Orjat lietsoi löyhytteli, palkkalaiset painatteli
kintahattomin kätösin, hatuttoman hartioisen.
Itse seppo Ilmarinen ahjoa kohentelevi,
pyyti kullaista kuvaista, hope’ista morsianta.
……
Tuop’ on seppo Ilmarinen, takoja iän-ikuinen,
heitti kultaisen kuvansa, hope’isen neitosensa.
Pisti varsan valjahisin, ruskean re’en etehen,
itse istuvi rekehen, kohennaikse korjahansa.
Lähteäksensä lupasi sekä mietti mennäksensä
pyytämähän Pohjolasta toista Pohjolan tytärtä.
……
Neiti itse noin saneli Ilmariselle sepolle:
“En lähe minä sinulle enkä huoli huitukoille!
Tapoit naisen ennen naiun, surmasit sisarueni:
vielä tappaisit minunki, surmoaisit itseniki.
Onpa tässä neitosessa paremmanki miehen verta,
kaunihimman varren kauppa, koreamman korjan täysi,
paikoille paremmillenki, isommille istuimille,
ei sepon sysisijoille, miehen tuhmaisen tulille.”
—————————-
Wifeless lived the mourning blacksmith,
Altered in his form and features;
Wept one month and then another,
Wept three months in full succession.
Then the magic metal-worker
Gathered gold from deeps of ocean,
Gathered silver from the mountains,
Gathered many heaps of birch-wood.
Filled with faggots thirty sledges,
Burned the birch-wood into ashes;
Put the ashes in the furnace,
Laid the gold upon the embers,
Lengthwise laid a piece of silver
Of the size of lambs in autumn,
Or the fleet-foot hare in winter;
Places servants at the bellows,
Thus to melt the magic metals.
Eagerly the servants labor,
Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
Fan the flames within the furnace.
Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith,
Works unceasing at his forging,
Thus to mould a golden image,
Mould a bride from gold and silver;
……
Ilmarinen, the magician,
The eternal metal-artist,
Lays aside the golden image,
Beauteous maid of magic metals;
Throws the harness on his courser,
Binds him to his sledge of birch-wood,
Seats himself upon the cross-bench,
Snaps the whip above the racer,
Thinking once again to journey
To the mansions of Pohyola,
There to woo a bride in honor,
Second daughter of the Northland.
……
Then the daughter spake as follows
To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
“Follow thee this maid will never,
Never heed unworthy suitors;
Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty,
Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
Thou wouldst also slay her sister.
I deserve a better suitor,
Wish a truer, nobler husband,
Wish to ride in richer sledges,
Have a better home-protection;
Never will I sweep the cottage
And the coal-place of a blacksmith.”
……
Shall not send her to the woodlands,
All the forest would be frighted;
Shall not send her to the waters,
All the fish would flee in terror;
This my sword shall drink her life-blood,
End her reign of scorn and hatred.”
Quick the sword feels his intention,
Quick divines his evil purpose,
Speaks these words to Ilmarinen:
“Was not born to drink the life-blood
Of a maiden pure and lovely,
Of a fair but helpless virgin.”
Thereupon the magic minstrel,
Filled with rage, began his singing;
Sang the very rocks asunder,
Till the distant hills re-echoed;
Sang the maiden to a sea-gull,
Croaking from the ocean-ledges,
Calling from the ocean-islands,
Screeching on the sandy sea-coast,
Flying to the winds opposing.
……
Shall not send her to the woodlands,
All the forest would be frighted;
Shall not send her to the waters,
All the fish would flee in terror;
This my sword shall drink her life-blood,
End her reign of scorn and hatred.”
Quick the sword feels his intention,
Quick divines his evil purpose,
Speaks these words to Ilmarinen:
“Was not born to drink the life-blood
Of a maiden pure and lovely,
Of a fair but helpless virgin.”
Thereupon the magic minstrel,
Filled with rage, began his singing;
Sang the very rocks asunder,
Till the distant hills re-echoed;
Sang the maiden to a sea-gull,
Croaking from the ocean-ledges,
Calling from the ocean-islands,
Screeching on the sandy sea-coast,
Flying to the winds opposing.
©2021 Hong Liu-Sertti