Sunday 5 July 2015

The Finnish poet and journalist Eino Leino Day, Poem Day, Praise for Summer 6/7/2015

Eino Leino, pseudonym of Armas Eino Leopold Lönnbohm    (born July 6, 1878, Paltamo, Russian Finland—died Jan. 10, 1926, Tuusula, Fin.), prolific and versatile poet, a master of Finnish poetic forms, the scope of whose talent ranges from the visionary and mystical to topical novels, pamphlets, and critical journalism.
Leino studied at the University of Helsinki and worked as a journalist, principally as literary and dramatic critic on the liberal newspapers Päivälehti and Helsingin Sanomat. The last part of his life he spent in bohemian excess. He translated into Finnish a number of world classics, including Dante’s Divina Commedia.
 
In his first collection of poems, Maaliskuun lauluja (1896, “Songs of March”), Leino’s mood was gay and his style free and melodic; he was influenced by his compatriot J.L. Runeberg, the German poet Heinrich Heine, and Finnish folk songs. But gradually his mood darkened, and he turned to poems of confession and solitude, patriotic poems about the period of Russian oppression, desolate ballad themes, and mythical motifs. The last dominate Helkavirsiä (1903–16; Whitsongs, 1978), Leino’s main work, in which he revives the metre and spirit of folklore.
 
Other poetry includes Talviyö (1905, “Winter Night”), Halla (1908, “Frost”), and a historical poem Simo Hurtta (1904–19; “Simo the Bloodhound”). He also wrote plays, collected in Naamioita (1905–11, “Masks”), contemporary novels, animal fables, and essays. His work is uneven, but his best poems are among the finest Finnish lyrics.
 
 
 
 
 
Eino Leino.jpg
      Nocturne
      Ruislinnun laulu korvissani
      tähkäpäiden päällä täysi kuu;
      kesä-yön on onni omanani,
      kaskisavuun laaksot verhouu.
      En ma iloitse, en sure, huokaa;
      mutta metsän tummuus mulle tuokaa,
      puunto pilven, johon päivä hukkuu,
      siinto vaaran tuulisen, mi nukkuu,
      tuoksut vanamon ja varjot veen;
      niistä sydämeni laulun teen.
      Sulle laulan neiti, kesäheinä,
      sydämeni suuri hiljaisuus,
      uskontoni, soipa säveleinä,
      tammenlehvä-seppel vehryt, uus.
      En ma enää aja virvatulta,
      onpa kädessäni onnen kulta;
      pienentyy mun ympär' elon piiri;
      aika seisoo, nukkuu tuuliviiri;
      edessäni hämäräinen tie
      tuntemattomahan tupaan vie.
       
      Nocturne - translated by Keith Bosley
      The corncrake's song rings in my ears,
      above the rye a full moon sails;
      this summer night all sorrow clears
      and woodsmoke drifts along the dales,
      I do not laugh or grieve, or sigh;
      the forest's darkness breathes nearby,
      the red of clouds where day sinks deep,
      the blue of windy hills asleep,
      the twinflower's scent, the water's shade--
      of these my heart's own song is made.
      You, girl as sweet as summer hay,
      my heart's great peace, I sing to you,
      O my devotion, tune and play
      a wreath of oak twigs, green and new.
      I have stopped chasing Jack-o'-Lantern,
      I hold gold from the Demon's mountain;
      around me life tightens its ring,
      time stops, the vane has ceased to swing;
      the road before me through the gloom
      is leading to the unknown room.
       
      Nocturne - translated by Aina Swan Cutler
      I hear the evening cornbird calling.
      Moonlight floods the fields of tasseled grain.
      Wood smoke, drifting veils the distant valleys.
      Summer evening's joy is here for me.
      I'm not happy yet no sorrow shakes me,
      but the dark woods stillness I would welcome.
      Rosy clouds through which the day is falling,
      sleepy breezes from the blue gray mountains,
      shadows on the water, meadow flowers...
      out of these my heart's own song I'll make!
      I will sing it, summer hay-sweet maiden,
      sing to you my deep serenity,
      my own faith that sounds a swelling music,
      oak-leaf garland ever fresh and green.
      I'll no longer chase the will-o-wisp.
      Happiness is here in my own keeping.
      Day by day, life's circle narrows, closes.
      Time stands still now ... weather cocks all sleeping.
      Here before me lies a shadowy way
      leading to a strange, an unknown place.
       
     
     

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