{"product_id":"kalevala-isbn-9780241403068","title":"Kalevala","description":"\"A masterpiece.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e― Spectator (London)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One of the great mythic poems of Europe.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e ― New York Times\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The Kalevala is a fabulous narrative spiced with exotic images and much hilarity.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e-- Jennifer Cooke, Melbourne Sunday Herald\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The Penguin Classic edition shines a light not just on the Finnish epic but also on Friberg’s extraordinary translational vision, which foregrounds the oral dimensions of the poem.\"\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e -- Medium.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The republication of this translation, which has been out of print for decades, will hopefully shine a light not just on the Finnish epic but also on Friberg’s extraordinary translational vision, which foregrounds the oral dimensions of the poem.\" \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e-- Rebecca Ruth Gold, Poetry Magazine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eElias Lot\u003c\/b\u003e (1802-1884) was a Finnish physician, philologist, and collector of traditional Finnish oral poetry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eEino Friberg\u003c\/b\u003e (1901-995) was a Finnish-born American author, noted for his 1989 translation the \u003ci\u003eKalevala\u003c\/i\u003e.Runo 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCreation and the Birthof Väinämöinen\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePrelude\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I am wanting, I am thinking\u003cbr\u003eTo arise and go forth singing,\u003cbr\u003eSing my songs and say my sayings,\u003cbr\u003eHymns ancestral harmonizing,\u003cbr\u003eLore of kindred lyricking.\u003cbr\u003eIn my mouth the words are melting;\u003cbr\u003eUtterances overflowing\u003cbr\u003eTo my tongue are hurrying,\u003cbr\u003eEven against my teeth they burst.\u003cbr\u003e Come good brother, little brother,\u003cbr\u003ePretty playmate of my childhood,\u003cbr\u003eStart now with me for the singing\u003cbr\u003eSit together for the speaking,\u003cbr\u003eNow that we have met together,\u003cbr\u003eAfter separate pathways travelled;\u003cbr\u003eSeldom do we come together,\u003cbr\u003eRarely do we have each other\u003cbr\u003eIn these ragged border regions,\u003cbr\u003eThese benighted northern marches.\u003cbr\u003e Strike we now hand into hand, \u003cbr\u003eFingers into curve of fingers,\u003cbr\u003eSo that we may sing good songs,\u003cbr\u003eVoice the best of all our legends\u003cbr\u003eFor the hearing of our loved ones,\u003cbr\u003eThose who want to learn them from us,\u003cbr\u003eThose among the rising young ones\u003cbr\u003eOf the growing generation.\u003cbr\u003eMagic verses we have gathered,\u003cbr\u003eKindled by the inspiration\u003cbr\u003eFrom the belt of Väinämöinen,\u003cbr\u003eUnder forge of Ilmarinen,\u003cbr\u003eSword blade of the man far- minded,\u003cbr\u003eAim of Joukahainen’s crossbow,\u003cbr\u003eFrom the way- back fields of Northland,\u003cbr\u003eFrom the heaths of Kalevala.\u003cbr\u003e Long ago my father sang them\u003cbr\u003eAs he carved his ax’s handle\u003cbr\u003eAnd my mother also taught me\u003cbr\u003eThough she kept her spindle spinning,\u003cbr\u003eAs I, milk- bearded mischief maker,\u003cbr\u003eClabber- mouthed and tiny tumbler,\u003cbr\u003eRolled about the floor before her:\u003cbr\u003eMagic never failed the Sampo,\u003cbr\u003eLouhi never lacked for spells;\u003cbr\u003eOld in story grew the Sampo,\u003cbr\u003eIn her spells old Louhi vanished,\u003cbr\u003eIn his singing Vipunen,\u003cbr\u003eLemminkäinen in his capers\u003cbr\u003e There are other words of magic,\u003cbr\u003e Incantations I have learned,\u003cbr\u003e Plucked in passing from the wayside,\u003cbr\u003e Some I broke off from the heather,\u003cbr\u003e Some I gathered from the bushes,\u003cbr\u003e Others pulled from tender saplings,\u003cbr\u003e Rubbed from haytips, snatched from hedges\u003cbr\u003e Where I roamed about the cowpaths\u003cbr\u003e As a youngster herding cattle,\u003cbr\u003e Minding cows in cattle pastures\u003cbr\u003e On honeyed hills and hillocks golden\u003cbr\u003e By the side of spotted Frisky,\u003cbr\u003e Trailing Muurikki, the black one.\u003cbr\u003e Then the frost was singing verses,\u003cbr\u003e Many a rhyme the rain recited,\u003cbr\u003e Other poems the winds delivered,\u003cbr\u003eOn the seawaves songs came drifting,\u003cbr\u003e Magic charms the birds have added\u003cbr\u003e And the treetops incantations.\u003cbr\u003e These I rolled up in a ball, \u003cbr\u003e Made a fitting yarnball of them,\u003cbr\u003e On my sled I put the yarnball,\u003cbr\u003e On my sleigh I hauled it home\u003cbr\u003e Right up to the threshing barn,\u003cbr\u003e Hid it in a copper casket\u003cbr\u003e On a shelf- end in the storehouse.\u003cbr\u003e Long and lone in the darkness, \u003cbr\u003e In the cold my verses lie.\u003cbr\u003e Shall I take my verses out,\u003cbr\u003e Save my songs from freezing weather,\u003cbr\u003e Bring the casket to the cottage,\u003cbr\u003e Set it on the bench- end there\u003cbr\u003e Underneath this famous rooftree\u003cbr\u003e And beneath this splendid ceiling?\u003cbr\u003e Shall I open up the casket,\u003cbr\u003e Treasure box of magic sayings,\u003cbr\u003e Snip the end off from the yarnball\u003cbr\u003e And undo the knot entirely?\u003cbr\u003e I will sing a good song for you\u003cbr\u003eAnd I’ll make it beautiful:\u003cbr\u003e Do it on a rye bread diet,\u003cbr\u003e Wash it down with barley beer.\u003cbr\u003e If it chance no beer is brought me,\u003cbr\u003e No drink offered to the singer,\u003cbr\u003e From a leaner mouth I’ll warble,\u003cbr\u003e Sing along on water only\u003cbr\u003e To make this evening’s joy more joyful\u003cbr\u003e Honoring this famous day,\u003cbr\u003e Or tomorrow’s joy it may be–\u003cbr\u003e With the dawn the new day opens.\u003cbr\u003e . . . . . . . . . .\u003cbr\u003e Thus I heard the poems recited, \u003cbr\u003eLearned how verses were composed.\u003cbr\u003e Lonely come the nights upon us,\u003cbr\u003eKalevala\u003cbr\u003e Lonely dawn the brightening days;\u003cbr\u003e Lonely born was Väinämöinen,\u003cbr\u003e All alone, the poet immortal,\u003cbr\u003e From the beautiful who bore him,\u003cbr\u003e From his mother, Ilmatar–\u003cbr\u003e She, the virgin of the air,\u003cbr\u003e Beautiful maiden, Nature’s child,\u003cbr\u003e Long maintained in holiness\u003cbr\u003e Her eternal maidenhood\u003cbr\u003e In the far- horizoned heavens,\u003cbr\u003e Level meadows of the air.\u003cbr\u003e But in time she wearied of it,\u003cbr\u003e Was estranged from this odd living,\u003cbr\u003e Always being by herself,\u003cbr\u003e Ever living as a virgin\u003cbr\u003e In those far- horizoned heavens,\u003cbr\u003e In those vast and empty spaces.\u003cbr\u003e So at length she then descended\u003cbr\u003e To the seawaves down below,\u003cbr\u003e To the open clear sea surface\u003cbr\u003e Out upon the open ocean.\u003cbr\u003e Suddenly a storm wind blew,\u003cbr\u003e Out of the east an angry blast\u003cbr\u003e Blew the water to a foam\u003cbr\u003e Heaving up the rollers high.\u003cbr\u003e By the wind the maid was rocked,\u003cbr\u003e On a wave the maid was driven\u003cbr\u003e Round about the blue sea surface\u003cbr\u003e By the whirling whitecaps lifted\u003cbr\u003e Where her womb the wind awakened\u003cbr\u003e And the sea- foam impregnated.\u003cbr\u003e Thus a full womb now she carried,\u003cbr\u003e Long she bore her burdened belly,\u003cbr\u003e Seven hundred years she bore it\u003cbr\u003e For nine lifetimes of a man,\u003cbr\u003e Yet the borning was unborn,\u003cbr\u003e Still the fetus undelivered.\u003cbr\u003e As the mother of the water\u003cbr\u003eAimlessly the virgin drifted:\u003cbr\u003e She swam eastward, she swam westward,\u003cbr\u003e She swam south and northwestward,\u003cbr\u003e Swimming round the whole horizon\u003cbr\u003e In the anguish of her birth pangs,\u003cbr\u003e In her belly’s bursting pains.\u003cbr\u003e Yet the borning was unborn,\u003cbr\u003e Still the fetus undelivered.\u003cbr\u003e Then she fell to weeping softly,\u003cbr\u003e Said a word and spoke out thus:\u003cbr\u003e “Woe is me, the water wanderer,\u003cbr\u003e Luckless girl, misfortune’s child!\u003cbr\u003e Now already I’m in trouble,\u003cbr\u003e Shelterless beneath the sky,\u003cbr\u003e Ever rocking on the seawaves\u003cbr\u003e To be cradled by the wind,\u003cbr\u003e To be driven by the billows\u003cbr\u003e On these far- extending waters,\u003cbr\u003e Endlessly repeated billows.\u003cbr\u003e “Better had it been for me\u003cbr\u003e To have stayed the airy virgin\u003cbr\u003e Than to be as I am now\u003cbr\u003e Drifting as the water- mother.\u003cbr\u003e It’s too cold for me to stay here,\u003cbr\u003e Painful to be drifting here,\u003cbr\u003e Wallowing in this watery waste.\u003cbr\u003e “O thou Ukko, lord of all,\u003cbr\u003e Hear me, thou the all- sustainer:\u003cbr\u003e Come, O come where thou art needed;\u003cbr\u003e Come, O come where thou art called!\u003cbr\u003e Loose the maiden from her misery\u003cbr\u003e And the woman from her womb- ache;\u003cbr\u003e Come thou quickly, soon arriving\u003cbr\u003e Where thy help is sooner needed.”\u003cbr\u003e Then a bit of time passed over\u003cbr\u003e Like a tiny rash of rain,\u003cbr\u003e When a scaup, the honest bird,\u003cbr\u003e Came on hovering here and there\u003cbr\u003e Searching for a nesting place,\u003cbr\u003e For a spot to build her home on.\u003cbr\u003e She flew eastward, she flew westward,\u003cbr\u003e Flew to northwest and to southward\u003cbr\u003eBut she cannot find a spot\u003cbr\u003e Even in the worst of places\u003cbr\u003e Where to build her needful nest,\u003cbr\u003e Where to take up her abode.\u003cbr\u003e Hovering, fluttering back and forth\u003cbr\u003e Thus she thought and pondered it:\u003cbr\u003e “Must I make my home on wind,\u003cbr\u003e Build my hut upon the billows\u003cbr\u003e Where the wind can blow it over\u003cbr\u003e Or a wave can wash away?”\u003cbr\u003e So the mother of the water,\u003cbr\u003e Water mother, airy maiden,\u003cbr\u003e Raised her knee above the surface\u003cbr\u003e And her shoulder from the wave\u003cbr\u003e As a refuge for the scaup\u003cbr\u003e And a welcome nesting place.\u003cbr\u003e Then that scaup, the lovely bird,\u003cbr\u003e Fluttering round and hovering over\u003cbr\u003e Spied the water- mother’s knee\u003cbr\u003e Lifted from the sea’s blue surface;\u003cbr\u003e Took it for a grassy tussock\u003cbr\u003e Or a tuft of new- grown turf.\u003cbr\u003e Flies about, flitting here and there,\u003cbr\u003e Settles on the lifted kneecap.\u003cbr\u003e It is there she builds her nest,\u003cbr\u003e There she laid her golden eggs–\u003cbr\u003e Six were the golden eggs she laid,\u003cbr\u003e But the seventh was of iron.\u003cbr\u003e She began to hatch the eggs there,\u003cbr\u003e Heating up the lifted kneecap;\u003cbr\u003e Brooded one day, brooded two days,\u003cbr\u003e Even on the third day brooding.\u003cbr\u003e Then the mother of the water,\u003cbr\u003e Little mother, airy maiden,\u003cbr\u003eFelt the rising heat upon her,\u003cbr\u003e Felt as if her skin were scorching,\u003cbr\u003e Thought her kneecap was on fire,\u003cbr\u003e That her very veins were melting.\u003cbr\u003e All at once she jerked her knee,\u003cbr\u003e Agitating every member,\u003cbr\u003e And the eggs rolled in the water\u003cbr\u003e To the tumbling of the tides;\u003cbr\u003e Into bits the eggs were broken,\u003cbr\u003e Shattered into crumbs and pieces.\u003cbr\u003e But the eggs and pieces were not\u003cbr\u003e Mixed up with the mud and water\u003cbr\u003e For at once the crumbs grew comely\u003cbr\u003e And the pieces beautiful.\u003cbr\u003e One egg’s lower half transformed\u003cbr\u003e And became the earth below,\u003cbr\u003e And its upper half transmuted\u003cbr\u003e And became the sky above;\u003cbr\u003e From the yolk the sun was made,\u003cbr\u003e Light of day to shine upon us;\u003cbr\u003e From the white the moon was formed,\u003cbr\u003e Light of night to gleam above us;\u003cbr\u003e All the colored brighter bits\u003cbr\u003e Rose to be the stars of heaven\u003cbr\u003e And the darker crumbs changed into\u003cbr\u003e Clouds and cloudlets in the sky.\u003cbr\u003e Quickly now the time goes forward\u003cbr\u003e As the hurrying years pass by\u003cbr\u003e While the newborn sun is shining\u003cbr\u003e And the newborn moon is gleaming.\u003cbr\u003e Still the mother goes on swimming,\u003cbr\u003e Water mother, airy maiden,\u003cbr\u003e Swimming on those peaceful waters\u003cbr\u003e Over misty seawaves wandering.\u003cbr\u003e Before her flowed the liquid deep,\u003cbr\u003e Behind her shone the empty heaven.\u003cbr\u003e In the ninth year, tenth of summers,\u003cbr\u003e Raised her head out of the sea,\u003cbr\u003eLifts her crown above the water;\u003cbr\u003e Set to work on her creations,\u003cbr\u003e Hastens on her handiwork,\u003cbr\u003e Out upon the clear sea surface,\u003cbr\u003e Out upon the open ocean.\u003cbr\u003e Where she gave her hand a turn\u003cbr\u003e There she put the capes in order;\u003cbr\u003e Where her foot struck bottom,\u003cbr\u003e there Grottoes for the fish were formed;\u003cbr\u003e Where the bubbles reached the surface\u003cbr\u003e There the deeps were made still deeper.\u003cbr\u003e Where her side had scraped the land\u003cbr\u003e There the level shores appeared;\u003cbr\u003e Where she turned her foot to landward\u003cbr\u003e There the salmon grounds were formed,\u003cbr\u003e And wherever her head touched land\u003cbr\u003e There the broad bays opened out.\u003cbr\u003e Swimming farther out from shore\u003cbr\u003e She halted on the smooth sea surface\u003cbr\u003e Where she made the little islands.\u003cbr\u003e Then she raised the hidden reefs\u003cbr\u003e Where the grounded ships would founder,\u003cbr\u003e Many a seaman lose his life.\u003cbr\u003e Now the islands were in order\u003cbr\u003e And the small isles of the sea;\u003cbr\u003e Pillars for the sky were planted,\u003cbr\u003e Lands and continents created;\u003cbr\u003e On the rocks the writs were written\u003cbr\u003e And the signs drawn on the cliffs.\u003cbr\u003e Yet Väinämöinen is unborn,\u003cbr\u003e Poet eternal not emerged.\u003cbr\u003e Old reliable Väinämöinen\u003cbr\u003e Traveled in his mother’s womb,\u003cbr\u003e Traveled there for thirty summers\u003cbr\u003e And as many winters too\u003cbr\u003e On the ocean now so peaceful\u003cbr\u003e In that misty world of water.\u003cbr\u003e He is pondering, he is thinking,\u003cbr\u003eHow to live or how survive\u003cbr\u003e In this dismal hiding place,\u003cbr\u003e In this narrowest of dwellings\u003cbr\u003e Where he never saw the moon,\u003cbr\u003e Never got a glimpse of sunlight.\u003cbr\u003e So he speaks out in these words,\u003cbr\u003e Says it in these sentences:\u003cbr\u003e “Free me, Moon, and Sun, release me!\u003cbr\u003e Thou, Great Bear, do ever guide me,\u003cbr\u003e Lead a man here through strange doors,\u003cbr\u003e Through these unfamiliar gates.\u003cbr\u003e Release me from this narrow nest,\u003cbr\u003e From this shut- in dwelling place!\u003cbr\u003e Guide the traveler to the land,\u003cbr\u003e Child of mankind to the open\u003cbr\u003e To behold the moon in heaven\u003cbr\u003e And to wonder at the daylight,\u003cbr\u003e Get to know the Great Bear’s grandeur\u003cbr\u003e Or just to stare up at the stars!”\u003cbr\u003e Since the moon did not arrive\u003cbr\u003eNor the sun come to release him,\u003cbr\u003e Alienated from his birth time,\u003cbr\u003e Impatient of this dull existence,\u003cbr\u003e He pushed against his prison lock\u003cbr\u003e Pressing with his nameless finger,\u003cbr\u003e Slid the bony bolt aside,\u003cbr\u003e With his left toe opened it;\u003cbr\u003e Scrabbling with his nails he came\u003cbr\u003e Crawling through the exit door.\u003cbr\u003e Headlong in the sea he tumbled\u003cbr\u003eWith a hand- turn in the waves.\u003cbr\u003e There the man was left alone\u003cbr\u003e In the rough care of the billows.\u003cbr\u003e There he floated for five years,\u003cbr\u003e Six, seven, even eight years,\u003cbr\u003e Stopped at last upon the surface\u003cbr\u003e There beside a nameless headland,\u003cbr\u003e On a treeless continent.\u003cbr\u003e Struggling up with knee and elbow\u003cbr\u003e He stood up to see the world:\u003cbr\u003e To behold the moon in heaven\u003cbr\u003e And to wonder at the daylight,\u003cbr\u003e Get to know the Great Bear’s grandeur\u003cbr\u003e Or just to stare up at the stars.\u003cbr\u003e That was the birth of Väinämöinen.\u003cbr\u003e Such the daring poet’s descent\u003cbr\u003e From the beautiful who bore him,\u003cbr\u003e From his mother, Ilmatar.","brand":"Penguin Classics","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301226664165,"sku":"NP9780241403068","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780241403068.jpg?v=1767730619","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/kalevala-isbn-9780241403068","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}