Eino Leino
R.I.P
July 6th 1878 - January 10th 1926
My first blog entry is dedicated to the memory of Eino Leino, a Finnish poet, a master of song-like poetic forms, playwright, and novelist.
Last summer I went to a garden in Helsinki city by the sea, and see: Somebody had placed an empty beer bottle on the head of the pride of my fatherland, Eino Leino, well, his statue anyway.
I got very upset about such a disgraceful, outrageous deed, so that I couldn’t help myself but to climb up on the statue's stand and as I was about to remove the bottle, it fell down and broke into splinters of brown glass that hit the surrounding bed of flowers. I woke up from my patriotic thoughts by a sound; three Asian dolls were applausing for me…
So I decided to translate few of his poems into English…
First one…
I am here a stranger mere,
Have been from the beginning,
Strange to me are the earth and its’ valleys
Strange is the burden of life.
Second one…
Not all of them are dead
who are said to be dead.
Ocean’s black mud
many young sleep
rowing men of the grand ocean,
sailing boats mast makers.
when the weather becomes hot,
storm the ocean roars,
rising on the waves,
to sing.
What is a song of deaths children?
the song of days of life.
what is the life of children?
The song of deaths moon.
And what is God’s song?
The song once a midnight.
Third one…
WHEN I RECALL
When I remember the number of nights
I have sat alone, alone,
and watched the stars above,
flashin’ side by side,
so my girl,
o my girl,
I got to come close to you
and watch long, long.
When I remember on how many travels
I have been in the forest,
and sat under a tree
and sat without pleasures,
so my girl,
o my girl,
I must kiss you long
and cry, cry quietly.
When I recall, how many thoughts
I’ve thought evil there,
That we could have avoided together
and won with one mind,
so my girl,
o my girl,
Me, you have to love for long
and love long, long
So there you go, hope you enjoyed it, his works aren’t that easy to translate, perhaps impossible, here’s few parts of work in progress....
So What if it is a lie,
and does not stand up to the sharp blades of daylight?
We, therefore, rather dream than stay awake,
and the ailments they once again arise.
Many slept on young people’s dreams and woke with silver hair,
looked around perplexed - and fell asleep again.
They arrive, arrive again,
the white stallions of my fortune,
they come with their old weigh and power,
and my chest feels gigantic.
and the sky’s clear, and the soil’s blossoming
and the notes from my mouth smoke,
and my voice is like the thunders’
o have a dream!
