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Yes, I've done it. After a request from Fauna I've gone and translated the gnome poem to English. It wasn't easy, and there are still things that may need to be changed, but this should do as an alpha version. If you have any comments about it please mail me at tmitm@hotmail.com. If you speak Swedish, please compare the two and see if there are any changes that you feel should be made.
This poem is based on a famous Swedish poem about the house gnome. That poem I've done a rough translation of, and it can be found further down, in case you would like to read it. The original Swedish versions of these two poems are placed after their English counterparts.
Now some more info before you get to enjoy yourself thuroughly. The following poem plays to a certain degree on cultural knowledge and so forth. I'd like to pass on some of this knowledge to you so that you will have something to relate to when you read it.
- The Gnome - The Gnome is what is called a "house-gnome". Not too unlike the garden gnome. He lives on a farm out in the country where he takes care of the family and the farm by performing small tasks during the night. He is roughly 3 inches tall, has a life span of several hundred years and has incredible strength. He is the friend of all life, except the trolls. The only reason why he is never seen is because he does not want to be seen. It is custom to thank him by giving him small gifts such as porridge.
- glogg - heated/mulled wine served with raisins and almonds. It must be added that the almonds are usually blanched, which means the brown "skin" has been removed (yes it's possible without too much trouble!). It's very typical for the Swedish X-mas,and is usually served steaming hot.
- herring - herring is a fish. In sweden it is often pickled in numerous ways (mustard, garlic, onion, plain etc.), a standard on the X-mas table, it is extremely tasty.
TEN LITTLE HOUSE GNOMES author unknown
alpha translation by Tmitm |
The midwinter-night cold is severe, ten little gnomes through deep snow persevere.
Fox trap hidden under blanket white, nips gnome in his plight.
His life quickly starts to give out, soon in blood he swims about.
Nine little gnomes in midnight-hour, plod forth in moonlight-shower.
The owl hoots in its nest, icicle falls from its rest.
Towards poor gnome it quickly falls, on the doorstep death calls.
Outside the door porridge is steaming, eight gnomes about it with interest teeming.
With rising hunger on toes they tip, on the bowl's edge one poor gnome happens to slip.
He fights, he struggles, his brow turns wet, in quicksand porridge his life is let.
Many nooks the cabin boasts, where seven gnomes in through coast.
Cat behind a door lurks, gulps down gnome with cap and fleshy perks.
A gnomish hand is all that's left, kitty doesn't even leave that bereft.
Six little gnomes toward Christmas table scurry, up the table-leg they hurry.
The last of the them over edge lunges, loses grip and downward plunges.
Falls like lead, on the carpet to death bled.
Five gnomes with great speed hasten, hunger in their bellys chasing.
Speeding gnome on beard trips, falling, stumbling, on knife's blade flips.
Little gnome, poor bastard, spills his life in the Christmas custard.
Four gnomes on herring have partied, and thirst they'd like to quench.
Towards the glogg in group they haste, in seperate cups they want to taste.
Down falls gnome in scalding sea, like a blanched almond his skin ceases to be.
Three little gnomes toward the Christmas tree swing, between the candle and angel-wing.
Gnome too close to flame dares, in his hair it soon flares.
Gnome shortly smells of burned rib, starts to regret his games and fib.
Two little gnomes spy around, a grand cracker is found,
Gnome down upon it jumps, but for this it doesn't grump.
In ceiling, on wall and curtain with fringe, poor gnome's brain cells cringe.
Farmer late in the night awakes, his bladder craving attention.
Treads unknowing with his shoe, gnome turns into creamy goo.
The snow lies white here and there, not a damn gnome is near! |
TIO SMÅ TOMTENISSAR okänd författare
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Midvinternattens köld är svår, tio nissar i djupsnö går.
Rävsax gömd under skynke vitt, knipsar nisse av på mitt.
Livsanden snabbt för honom tryter, snart i eget blod han flyter.
Nio små tomtar i midnattstimma, traskar fram i månljusstrimma.
Ugglan hoar i sitt näste, istapp faller tyst från fäste.
Nissen spetsas utav tappen, tomte död på farstutrappen.
Utanför dörren står gröten och ångar, åtta nissars intresse den fångar.
Under stigande hunger de fatet nalkar, en stackars tomte på kanten halkar.
Han sliter, han kämpar, han svettar sig blöt, men sjunker likväl i kvicksandslik gröt.
Många springor stugan har, där sju tomtar in sig tar.
Katten som bak dörren ruva, slukar nisse med hull och luva.
Rester av tomtehand, suger misse bort från tand.
Sex små nissar mot julbord ila, snabbt de uppför bordsben kila.
Den sista tomten över kanten hasar, han tappar greppet och nedåt rasar.
Faller nedåt likt ett lod, mattan röd av tomteblod.
Tomtar fem i väldig fart springer runt ty hungern river.
Nisse snubblar på sitt skägg, faller rätt mot knivens egg.
Lilla nisse, stackars saten, rinner ut i sillsalaten.
Fyra nissar festat har på sill, och nu de törsten släcka vill.
Mot glöggen de springer i samlad tropp, och tar för sig i varsin kopp.
Ned faller nisse i glögghett hav, likt skållad mandel hans skinn faller av.
Tre små tomtar i granen svingar, mellan ljus och änglavingar.
Nisse sig för nära våga, strax han står i ljusan låga.
Doftar snart likt vidbränd stek, ångrar då sin ystra lek.
Två små tomtar kring sig tittar, då en smällkaramell de hittar.
Nisse ner på den då hoppar, men för detta den ej stoppar.
I tak, på golv och på gardin med frans, finns nu nisses hjärnsubstans.
Husbond stiger upp i natten, för att kasta lite vatten.
Under husbonds tunga toffla, nisse blir till krämig våffla.
Snön ligger vit lite här och var, inte en jäkla tomte finns kvar!
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Below is the original poem that inspired the above. I've done a rough translation of it, just so you can get an idea what it's about. It should not be considered an accurate translation and does not do the original poem justice. I'm sorry but that's the way it is. I'm not sure I could ever do the poem justice no matter how much I worked on translating it.
THE GNOME by Victor Rydberg
rough translation by Tmitm |
I
The midwinter-night cold is severe,
the stars glitter and glimmer.
Everyone sleeps in lonely farm
deep under midnighthour.
The moon wanders it's quiet bane,
the snow glistens white on fir and pine,
the snow glistens white on the rooftops.
Only the gnome is awake.
III
Draws his hand through beard and hair,
shakes head and cap --
"no, that riddle is too hard,
no, this I cannot guess" --
thrusts, as he pleases, shortly
those kind of wondering thoughts away,
goes to prepare and potter,
goes to take care of his duty.
V
Goes to the fence for lamb and sheep,
sees, how they in there sleep;
goes to the poultry, where the rooster stands
proudly on the highest step;
Karo in the doghouse hay feels well,
awakens and wags his tail a bit,
Karo his gnome knows,
they are good friends.
VII
Like that he has seen them, father and son,
pure through many generations
slumber like children; but from where
do they come down here?
Generation followed generation soon,
blossomed, aged, went -- but where?
The riddle, that wouldn't
be answered, did return!
IX
Then she has always lots to sing about
many a travel memory,
yet nothing about the riddle, that
stirs in the gnome's senses.
Through an opening in the barn wall
the moon shines on the old mans beard,
the moonlight on his beard glistens,
the gnome ponders and thinking.
XI
The midwinter-night cold is severe,
the stars glitter and glimmer.
Everyone sleeps in lonely farm
well into morning-dawn.
The moon lowers its quiet bane,
the snow glistens on fir and pine,
the snow glistens white on the rooftops.
Only the gnome is awake.
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II
Stands there so gray by the barn door,
grey against the white drift,
watches, like so many winters, before,
up at the pale moon,
spies towards the forest, where pine and fir
enclose the farm in it's shady wall,
ponders, though to no avail
over a strange riddle.
IV
Goes to the storehouse and tool shed,
checks all the locks --
the cows dream by the moon's light
summer dreams in their boxes;
forgetful of harness, whip and rein
Horse in the stable has but one dream:
the crib he stands over
filled with fragrant clover
VI
The gnome sneaks last to see
the masters (farmerfamily) loved,
long and well he has noticed, that they
keep his labor in honor;
the childrens chamber he then on toe
approaches to see the little cute ones,
no one may them suppress:
that is his utmost joy.
VIII
The gnome wanders to the barn loft:
there he has home and fortress
at the top of the hay-loft in the fragrant hay.
near the swallows nest;
now is the swallow's haven empty,
but come spring with leaves and blossoms
she will probably return,
followed by her sweet husband.
X
Quiet is the forest and district all,
life out there is frozen,
only from the far away falls
is a low mumble heard.
The gnome listens and, half in a dream,
seems to hear the time stream,
wonders, where it shall go,
wonders, where the source should be.
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TOMTEN av Victor Rydberg
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I
Midvinternattens köld är hård,
stjärnorna gnistra och glimma.
Alla sova i enslig gård
djupt under midnattstimma.
Månen vandrar sin tysta ban,
snön lyser vit på fur och gran,
snön lyser vit på taken.
Endast tomten är vaken.
III
För sin hand genom skägg och hår,
skakar huvud och hätta --
"nej, den gåtan är alltför svår,
nej, jag gissar ej detta" --
slår, som han plägar, inom kort
slika spörjande tankar bort,
går att ordna och pyssla,
går att sköta sin syssla.
V
Går till stängslet för lamm och får,
ser, hur de sova där inne;
går till hönsen, där tuppen står
stolt på sin högsta pinne;
Karo i hundbots halm mår gott,
vaknar och viftar svansen smått,
Karo sin tomte känner,
de äro gode vänner.
VII
Så har han sett dem, far och son,
ren genom många leder
slumra som barn; men vartifrån
komma de väl hit neder?
Släkte följde på släkte snart,
blomstrade, åldrades, gick -- men vart?
Gåtan, som icke låter
gissa sig, kom så åter!
IX
Då har hon alltid att kvittra om
månget ett färdeminne,
intet likväl om gåtan, som
rör sig i tomtens sinne.
Genom en springa i ladans vägg
lyser månen på gubbens skägg,
strimman på skägget blänker,
tomten grubblar och tänker.
XI
Midvinternattens köld är hård,
stjärnorna gnistra och glimma.
Alla sova i enslig gård
gott intill morgontimma.
Månen sänker sin tysta ban,
snön lyser vit på fur och gran,
snön lyser vit på taken.
Endast tomten är vaken.
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II
Står där så grå vid ladgårdsdörr,
grå mot den vita driva,
tittar, som många vintrar, förr,
upp emot månens skiva,
tittar mot skogen, där gran och fur
drar kring gården sin dunkla mur,
grubblar, fast ej det lär båta
över en underlig gåta.
IV
Går till visthus och redskapshus,
känner på alla låsen --
korna drömma vid månens ljus
sommardrömmar i båsen;
glömsk av sels och pisk och töm
Pålle i stallet har och en dröm:
krubban han lutar över
fylls av doftande klöver; --
VI
Tomten smyger sig sist att se
husbondfolket det kära,
länge och väl han märkt, att de
hålla hans flit i ära;
barnens kammar han sen på tå
nalkas att se de söta små,
ingen må det förtycka:
det är hans största lycka.
VIII
Tomten vandrar till ladans loft:
där har han bo och fäste
högt på skullen i höets doft,
nära vid svalans näste;
nu är väl svalans boning tom,
men till våren med blad och blom
kommer hon nog tillbaka,
följd av sin näpna maka.
X
Tyst är skogen och nejden all,
livet där ute är fruset,
blott från fjärran av forsens fall
höres helt sakta bruset.
Tomten lyssnar och, halvt i dröm,
tycker sig höra tidens ström,
undrar, varthän den skall fara,
undrar, var källan må vara.
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