Monkeys in Mythology, Folklore, and Religion

By Anniina Jokinen.
This essay is permalinked at Luminarium.


I have received a constant "Sign of the Monkey" in the past few weeks (See previous post), so I thought I'd do my research. Here are my gatherings so far. Any and all additions and helpful suggestions appreciated.

Monkey lore in India dates from before 500 BC.¹ One of the most popular Hindu gods is Hanuman the Monkey, in some tales said to be an incarnation of Shiva. He is revered for his bravery, strength, loyalty, devotion, and dedication to justice. His tale and heroic exploits are told in both the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. It is common to chant the name of Hanuman when one needs heavenly intervention. Every year, his birthday is celebrated "on the full-moon day of Chaitra (April) at sunrise."² Monkeys in general are revered in several parts of India, for bearing the likeness of Hanuman. He is connected to the sun, the wind, and thunder.

Monkey lore in China predates Buddhism, for the Monkey appears in the Chinese Zodiacal beliefs, believed by scholars to date to around 1100BC. In some parts of China, the Monkey (申) is worshipped as the "Great Sage Equal to Heaven."³ Of interest is also that the rough Western equivalent for the Chinese astrological sign of Monkey is the sign of Leo (which I am). In Chinese mythology, the monkey god was Sun-Wukong, the Monkey King, a trickster god. He is the hero of the 16th-century Chinese book Journey To The West (Xiyou Ji).⁴ The Monkey God Festival is still celebrated in China and Hong Kong.

Monkey lore in Japan took hold after the arrival of Buddhism (mid-6th century AD) and is tied to Japanese Shinto-Buddhism.⁵ The monkey was alternately a messenger to the gods or a physical manifestation of a god. The origin of the three monkeys, "Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil, See No Evil," is also thought to have originated at the Hiei Shrine at Mt. Hiei.⁶ In folklore and geomancy beliefs, the Monkey was thought to protect against demons as well as disease and is a patron of fertility, safe childbirth, and harmonious marriages.

Before moving away from the Far East, I'd like to quote Shumacher's summary of the monkey gods:

Monkey mythology is an important part of both Hindu / Buddhist lore (India) and Zodiac / Taoist / Buddhist lore (China). In the various tales... the monkey is portrayed initially as foolish, vain, and mischievous. Yet, in each tradition, the monkey learns valuable lessons along the way, makes changes, and eventually gains redemption. The monkey thus embodies the themes of repentance, responsibility, devotion, and the promise of salvation to all who sincerely seek it.7

In the Americas, the Mayans of Guatemala and Mexico worshiped a howler monkey god ( sometimes depicted as twin-gods), who was the patron of the arts; music, scribes and sculptors.⁸ In the Mayan Calendar, the Howler Monkey corresponds to knowledge of history and rituals, as well as prophecy.⁹ There is a fabled "Ciudad Blanca" in Honduras, dedicated to the Monkey God, but so far its location is unknown—it is mentioned in pre-Columbian Toltec and Maya texts as "The ancient place where the aurora originates."¹⁰ In Aztec mythology of Mexico, the monkey was connected to the sun, and was guarded by Cochipilli (Kokopelli), the god of flower, fun, and fertility.

I was unable to find out anything about monkey beliefs in Africa. It is quite hard to imagine that a whole continent filled with monkeys would yield no monkey beliefs? Perhaps this just goes to show how disinterested the western world is in Africa in this as well as other areas. Please contribute if you possess any monkey information relating to Africa.

To wit, I don't quite know what to do with all of this. What is the universe trying to tell me? To stop being restless, to stop being fooled by appearances, and to devote myself to meditation and the seeking of wisdom? Does anybody have any ideas here?


¹ Monkey Deities. Mark Shumacher.
² Hanuman, Simian symbol of strength. About.com
³ Monkey (Zodiac). Wikipedia entry.
⁴ Monkey. "Chinese Mythology." Godchecker.com.
⁵ Shumacher.
⁶ Ibid.
⁷ Ibid.
⁸ Howler Monkey Gods. Wikipedia entry.
⁹ Ibid.
¹⁰ Madrid, Ricardo. "White City legend has curious history."
    Honduras This Week. 4 Sep 2001. 8 Mar 2007.
 

Aurora Borealis, Northern Lights, in Mythology and Folklore

By Anniina Jokinen.
This essay is permalinked at Luminarium.

And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire enfolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the sky.                                                                                          Ezekiel I. iv. (KJV)

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Tom Eklund's photographs of the Aurora Borealis. I also thought I'd explain a bit about what I meant when I said that I reserve the right to believe they are magical and mystical. There exists a lot of mythology and folk beliefs connected to the aurora.

In Finnish, the name for the aurora borealis is "Revontulet", which literally translated means "Fox Fires." The name comes from an ancient Finnish myth, a beast fable, in which the lights were caused by a magical fox sweeping his tail across the snow spraying it up into the sky.

The Lapps, or the Saami, a people who are a close relative 'race' of the Finns, living in Lapland — that is, north of the Arctic Circle, in what officially are Northern Finland, Sweden, and Norway — traditionally believed that the lights were the energies of the souls of the departed. When the fires blazed in the skies, people were to behave solemnly, and children were admonished to quiet down and be respectful of the fires. It was believed that whoever disrespected the fires incurred bad fortune, which could result in sickness and even death.

The Lapps believed these fires to have magical effects; Lappish shaman drums often had runes depicting the fires to harness their energy. The lights were believed to have a mellowing effect on arguments, and the time of the fires was beneficial to conflict resolution. The Lapps also had a belief that if you whistled under the Northern Lights, you could summon them closer, and they could whisk you away with them.

In Norwegian folklore, the lights were the spirits of old maids dancing in the sky and waving — in Scotland, which had an influx of Viking settlers, the lights are sometimes called "the merry dancers."¹  Several of the Eskimo tribes also connected the lights with dancing. Eskimos in Eastern Greenland attributed the northern lights to the spirits of children who died at birth; their dancing caused the dancing lights.² The Salteaus Indians of eastern Canada and the Kwakiutl and Tlingit of Southeastern Alaska also believed the lights to be human spirits, whereas an Eskimo tribe living on the lower Yukon River believed the dancers to be the spirits of animals.³ Young Labrador Eskimos, who believed that the northern lights were torches lit by the dead who were playing soccer in the heavens with a walrus skull, in turn, would dance to the aurora.⁴

The belief that the northern lights were caused by ancient heroes battling in the skies can be traced (in writing) as far as Pliny.⁵ Beliefs that the aurora were portents of war and sickness also can be read in the Greeks; one can only imagine how frightening these mysterious lights must have been in places where the lights were a rare phenomenon. Tacitus recorded in his description of Germany the belief that the fires were the Valkyries riding through the air.⁶ In the Americas, the Fox Indians of Wisconsin also believed the lights to be an ill omen—they believed the lights to be the ghosts of slain enemies waiting to take revenge.⁷

Perhaps the loveliest of the beliefs comes from the Algonquin Indians. They believed that Nanahbozho the Creator, after he finished creating the earth, travelled to the far north, where he still builds great fires which reflect southward, to remind those he created of his lasting love.⁸

For a scientific explanation of what actually causes the Northern Lights, visit the NORDLYS site in Norway. For more wonderful photographs of this phenomenon, visit Tom Eklund's site.



1. Nordlys. Auroral Mythology.
2. Dorothy, J. R., Legends of the Northern Lights, quoted by Kathee Terry.
3. Ibid.
4. Hawkes, Ernest W. "The Labrador Eskimo." Quoted by Kathee Terry.
5. Pliny's Hist. Nat. ii. 26, 27, 33, and 57, quoted in
     Angot, Alfred. The Aurora Borealis. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1897. 9-10.
6. Ibid. 8.
7. Dorothy, in Terry.
8. Ibid.


Photo ©2006 Tom Eklund. Used with permission.
Text ©2007 Anniina Jokinen.
 

Pan's Labyrinth Full-length Trailer

The director was on Charlie Rose tonight. Movie comes out Dec. 29th here. I can't wait.
Visit the Pan's Labyrinth website for the full story. OMG! OMG! OMG!

Poetry of Finland and Finnish Christmas Songs

I finally extricated myself from LibraryThing, and set to work on a site I started back in 2002, but never finished. Not that it's finished now, but version 1.1 is ready.

Over the last few years, due to Luminarium and my name being so obviously Finnish, I've received repeated requests from Finns, or people whose ancestry is Finnish, for translations of Finnish poetry into English. Not enough has been done, or published, in my opinion. The main reason may well be, that translating from the Finnish is a *insert any favorite expletive*.

In 2002 I had translated some poems from two Finnish poets, to which I added the Kalevala excerpt I posted here in May of this year. And, since it is Christmas time, I translated two of the most beautiful Finnish Christmas songs as well. Since I could not find sound files for them, I crooned them a cappella myself. My apologies if someone suffers serious emotional or physical injuries from listening to them. Listen at your own risk. Without further ado, here is

Poetry of Finland.

I'll add more poets and poetry as inspiration strikes.
 

The Mermaid

Deep in the halls of the Ocean King      The mermaid heard the call; The seaweed swayed, the coral did ring,      To herald the brewing squall. Her life was uneventful      At the bottom of the seas; Her will had grown resentful      Of her father's strict decrees. She was starved for new, exciting sights      And visions of the realm of men; Spiting the King, on many nights      She'd ranged far beyond her ken. Thus, slipping from her silent home,      She swam ever upward so high; Finally piercing the watery dome,      She beheld the furious sky. Rain pelted the majestic ship      That clove the raging waves; Many sailors aboard her lost their grip      And went plunging to their graves. In the galley's imposing prow      The prince alone did stand; No storm so fierce could make him bow,      Nor lose the hope of land. Hungry winds howled as night grew dark,      The sea like a ravenous beast; Now ragged and weary was the barque,      And still the storm increased. Gale winds blew, the sails were rent,      The waves crashed over the deck, And finally the prince was sent      Sprawling to the floor of the wreck. Lightning came down, the mast gave groan,      The ship was split in twain; Overboard the prince was thrown,      Was engulfed by the seas and the rain. Why he was different, she could not say,      From the others she'd let drown; But she lifted him above the spray      And swam him towards dry ground. She marvelled at his human face,      And her soul began to ache; His form to her held untold grace,      And she feared her heart would break. Arriving at a far off beach,      She laid him on the sand; But, as a mermaid, could not breach      The bounds of sea and land. She laid a kiss upon his cheek      And whispered her goodbye; Then, with her spirits grown quite bleak,      She left him with a sigh. She never knew what became of him,      Though she wondered about his fate; But her memory never did grow dim      Of the man she had saved that date. And centuries passed in human years      While the mermaid lived, longing, alone; Shedding her silent mermaid tears      For a love she had never known.

©Selina Fenech.

I commissioned this watercolor to accompany the poem two years ago from the amazing Australian fantasy artist, Selina Fenech. The original is very large, and shatteringly beautiful. Visit her site to see more of her luminous art. Visit my house to see the original :P

Poem ©Anniina Jokinen. Copyrighted with the Writers' Guild of America. (i.e. publish in any form without my permission, and I will sue). Hate to be like that, but at this day and age....

Tags: Anniina's Poetry

Midsummer Spells - Happy Midsummer All!

Pagan rites are still alive and well in Finland.  Tonight will be Midsummer's Eve, a night on which young women traditionally perform Midsummer spells.  The object of spells performed on this night is to find a sweetheart or a husband, or to make the heart's desired return one's feelings.  Other spells are reserved for other festivals, such as spells for financial prosperity or finding out about the future, which are performed on New Year's Eve night. These spells all have their variations, depending on the geographical area of Finland — for example, the number of flowers and herbs may be different, or how many times a particular step is performed, but the objective is the same — mating, mating, mating.

Midsummer Spells: Collect seven different wildflowers while naked and place them under your pillow. In dreams you will see the one you will marry. At midnight, walk counter-clockwise, naked, around a well three times.  When you peek into the well, you will see your future lover. Turn a sock inside out and put it on your left foot.  You will see your future husband in your dreams. For good marriage luck, roll around naked on a field where dew has fallen. Make a belt from straw, and wearing only that, sit on a stone in the middle of a stream. You will see your future husband in the water. Wearing only your nightshirt, sweep the floor of your bedroom and carry the dirt in the hem of your shirt to a pond. On your way home, you will meet the one who will become your beloved. Go outside and sweep the steps naked. Your future love will appear. At the crossroads of three roads, sweep the ground naked, and your love will appear. Collect dew from a field in Midsummer night, because it has healing properties. In the forest, lay in a bed of ferns. Seeing a fern bloom will bring good luck. If you collect the bloom, you can even become invisible. Follow the will-o-the-wisps. If you see a blue one, dig there, for there is treasure buried. The treasure-keeper will ask you riddles, which if you answer correctly, you may have the treasure.

As you see, most all of these spells involve the young maidens rolling, sweeping, or running around naked. Aren't ye sorry you're not in Finland tonight, boys?

Oh, and while this is common in Finland, I wonder how the authorities here will feel... so if you get a call from me in jail, wontcha bail me out?

~A

Katja's Fault or, What Mythological Creature R U?

See, you know leading me to do quizzes is like giving an addict crack. Latest chapter in the insanity that is my quiz-addiction:

You scored as Mermaid. These creatures were beautiful women who tricked sailors into becoming completely entranced by their haunting voices and found death soon after. Not all stories of Mermaids are about gentle loving sea people. They are mystical, magical, and extremely dangerous. They have a way about them that brings anyone they are around to seem enchanted. They are very mysterious creatures and to meet one... Would mean certain Death. Let the song of the Sea fill your soul, for you are a Mermaid.

What Mythological Creature are you? - QuizFarm.com

Tags: Quiz

Kalevala in English Translation, Canto XV (exc.)

Kalevala is the Finnish National Epic.  The earliest stories date back to prehistoric days, possibly more than 3000 years, and The Kalevala still survives (sparsely) in the oral tradition in parts of Karelia.  It was first collected and compiled from hundreds of runesingers in the early 1800s by a country doctor named Elias Lönnrot, who walked the country on foot from village to village to preserve our ancient mythological tales. His compilation was first published in 1835.  The Kalevala predates the Anglo-Saxon Beowulf by hundreds of years and is incredibly long (over 2 million verses have been collected so far) — and no-one knows how much was lost of the stories over the centuries.  For more detailed information on The Kalevala, please refer to Wikipedia's wonderful article.

Of more modern interest, The Kalevala was also one of the inspirations for Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.  In particular, the character of Väinämöinen, a mighty enchanter who has the power to chant a man to sink into the swamp, was one of the inspirations for Gandalf.  Of particular delight to me is that Tolkien based the Elven languages on the sounds of the Finnish tongue.

I have been seriously dismayed at the poor translations of the Kalevala that exist.  I don't even want to discuss the e-texts I found — there are flagrant errors and a lack for the feel of the rhythms of the language and the moods of the storytelling.  I haven't of course seen all the printed translations of The Kalevala, so if someone knows of a worthy one, please let me know — I will happily recant.  Accuse me of hubris, but it is on my life's to-do list to translate the entire Kalevala into English some day.  For now, here is an excerpt from the Fifteenth Poem, which probably dates from around 800 AD.

[Nota bene: The following translation does not preserve the Kalevala metre.  I tried that, but faithfully and artificially keeping it distorted the original content of the lines, words being more often polysyllabic in Finnish than they are in English. I thought it more prudent to reproduce the content and taste of the text, rather than violating it by being enslaved by the metre, adding words for syllables' sake, which may change emphases or intentions in the process.  I may post another version in which the metre is adhered to, for those who are interested in such things.] [AJ Intro:  In the Fifteenth Poem, the mother of Lemminkäinen (the hero whose name means "Beloved One" and also "Son of Love", and whose other name Kaukomieli means "FarMind") senses something ill has befallen her hero son.  When a hairbrush starts bleeding red drops of blood, the mother goes to find what has happened to her son.  The Mistress of Pohjola (Northtown), the gaptoothed Louhi, has sent Lemminkäinen on a quest to Tuonela, Land of Death, to kill the Swan of Death that swims on the River of Death.  Lemminkäinen has died and his body is lost in the Tuoni, the River of Death.  His mother asks the smith, Ilmarinen (Man of Air), the forger of the dome of the skies, to forge her a mighty rake of copper, with which she can seek her son in the River of Death.]

Akseli Gallen-Kallela. Lemminkäisen äiti, 1897.

Poem XV

(ca. ll. 210-608)

*****

The mother of Lemminkäinen herself gets the rake of iron,
Flies to the river of death.  Prays to the Day:
"Oh Day, created by God, our Creator's creation, our light!
Shine one moment hotly, another humidly heat,
The third in a full blaze: make sleep the sly bunch,
Tire the folks of the Cursedlands,
O'erpower the Kingdom of Death!"

The said Day, created by God, the Maker's creation sunny,
Flew to the top of the birchtree, onto the branch of the alder.
Shone a moment hotly, another humidly heated,
A third fully blazing: made sleep the sly bunch,
Tired the Cursedland people, the young men onto their swords,
Elders against their staves, the middle-aged onto their spears.
Thence it flew, whisked away, to the top of the smooth heavens,
To its earlier resting place, to its home of old.

Then the mother of Lemminkäinen took the iron rake;
Rakes for her son in the roaring rapids,
In the rushing stream.   Rakes and does not find.

Thence she moves in deeper: wading into the waters,
Up to her garters in the stream, up to her waistband in water.

Rakes for her son the length of Death's river,
Dragging cross-current.  Dragged once, then again:
Gets the shirt of her boychild, a shirt to her heart's sorrow;
Dragged yet once more: got socks, met the hat,
Socks to her great grief, the hat to her annoyance.

Stepped even deeper from there, to the deeps of the Cursèd Lands.
Dragged once along the water, once more across the water,
A third diagonally.  And then on this, the third try,
A bale of wheat came against the iron rake.

A bale of wheat it was not: but it was the flighty Lemminkäinen,
The beauteous Farmind himself, caught in the tine of the rake
By his ring finger, by his left toe.

Arose the flighty Lemminkäinen, rose the son of Kaleva,
On the rake of copper to the top of the waters smooth;
Yet was a little lacking: one hand, half a head,
Many other members, most of all his life.

His dam at this fell wondering, thus she crying saith:
"Would this yet make a man, a male worked anew?"
A raven overheard it.  To that it replied:
"There is no man in the passed-away, nor barely in the remains:
His eyes have been eaten by whitefish, his shoulders split by the pike.
Leave the man to the waters, push him into the River of Death!
Mayhap he'll become a cod fish, or grow strengthened into a whale."

But this is the mother of Lemminkäinen, she will not drop her son.
Drags once more with her rake of copper
Along the river of Deathland, as well as the river acrost,
Gains a hand, a piece of the head, gains half a shoulderblade,
The other half of the rib bones, many other members.
Out of these she 'gan to build her son, refashioning flighty Lemminkäinen.

Rejoined the flesh to flesh, bones into bones slipped,
Joints to joints, veins to collapsèd veins.

Herself the veins knitted, the ends of veins knotted,
Vein-threads smoothed out, conjuring these words:
"Sweet is the mistress of the veins, Suonetar, graceful woman,
Lovely spinner of veins on her beautiful spinning wheel,
With her copper spindle and iron wheel!
Arrive when you are needed, come here when you are beckoned,
A vein-bundle in your lap, a membrane scroll under your arm,
These veins to knit, ends of veins to knot,
In these broken wounds, in these ripped out holes!

"Since I doubt that will suffice, there is a maiden on the air,
In a boat of copper, a vessel with a red stern.
Come, maid, from above the air, maiden from the nave of the sky!

"Row this boat through the veins, shaking up these limbs,
Row through the slots in the bones, along the cracks in the joints!

"Put the veins in their places, set them in their stations:
Mouth to mouth the greater veins, against each other the arteries,
Side by side the sidling veins, head to head the small ones!

"Thence, take a misty needle, a closing clamp at needle's end!
Sew with misty needles, with tin needles stitch:
The ends of veins tie up, knit them with silken bands!

"Since I doubt that's enough, the God of Air himself,
Harness your colts, team up your steeds!
Ride your varicolored chariot through bone, through joint,
Through the moving-muscles, through the flowing veins!
Bind bone to flesh, vein to end of vein,
Pour silver into the slots in the bones, gold in collapsèd veins!

"Where a membrane's missing, set a membrane a-growing,
Where a vein's collapsèd, set a vein a-knitting,
Whence the blood has run off, set more blood a-flowing,
Whence the bone has rotted, slip more bone in its stead,
Whence the flesh removèd, set new flesh befitting,
Each thing to its blessèd place, set in its rightful place:
Bone to bone, flesh to flesh, joints to their joints!"

Thus the mother of Lemminkäinen made the man, curried the male,
To his former being, to his ancient likeness.

Got the veins straightened, the ends of veins smoothened,
Yet the man remained speechless, wordless her child.

Thence she put it into words, herself spoke, thus named:
"Whence now can balm be gotten, a drop of mead be brought,
With which to anoint the weakened, to heal the one come to ill,
For to bring the man to words, to break him into his songs?

"Bumblebee, our bird, king of the forest flowers!
Leave now, honey to fetch, some mead to gain,
From the pleasant Forest House, from well-ordered Tapiola,
From the bulbs of many flowers, from the hem of many a grass,
As a salve for sick ones, to make the ill things well!"

Bumblebee, swift bird, by now flew, a-flitted
To the pleasant Forest House, to well-ordered Tapiola.
Pecked the flowers in the field, boiled honey on his tongue
From the noses of six flowers, the hem of a hundred hay.
Thence he arrives a-puffing, lumberingly comes,
All his wings mead-covered, feathers in molten honey.

The selfsame mother of Lemminkäinen took some of these salves,
With them anointed the weakened one, treated the one come to ill:
There were no help in these, no words for the man.

This she put into words: "Bumblebee, my birdling!
Fly over to another place, over nine seas
To a covered island, to a honey'd continent,
To Thor's new house, the roofless house of the worshipped-one!
There is pleasant honey there, there is goodly balm,
That will be fitting for the veins, agreeable to the joints.
Do bring to me those ointments, carry me those salves,
For me to place on the damage, on the wounds to pour!"

Bumblebee, fellow lightfooted, again flew a-gliding
Over seas nine, half a sea of a tenth.
Flew a day, flew another, flew soon a third,
Without sitting on a stalk, not a moment's rest on a leaf,
To a covered island, to a honey'd continent,
On the brink of a raging rapids, by the sacred river's swirl.

There was honey being boiled, salves were being made,
In the tiniest kettles, in the prettiest pots,
The size of a thumb to go in, fitting on a finger's end.

Bumblebee, fellow lightfooted, did receive those salves.
A little time passed, a tiny bit went by:
Already came back huffing, arrived a-staggering,
With six cups in his arms, seven on his back,
They chock full of ointments, full up of goodly salves.

Herself the mother of Lemminkäinen rubbed him with those oils,
With nine ointments, with eight salves:
Yet received no aid, he did not from these utter.

So she said these words, uttered this sentence:
"Bumblebee, bird of the air!  Fly away a third time
Up to the highest heavens, to above the ninth heaven!
There they do farm the mead, as much honey as the heart could wish,
With which before the Creator enchanted, chanted our pure God,
Anointed the Creator his children, by evil powers injured.
Wet your wings in that mead, your feathers in molten honey,
Bring the mead on your wings, carry the honey in your cape,
As salve for those who are sick, as cure for injuries!"

Bumblebee, bosombird, he to her words replied:
"How on earth would I get there, I, man of little strength!"

"Well will you get there, prettily you'll tread:
Over moon, under sun, and through the stars of hope.
One day's flight a-winging, to the brows of the moon,
Thence a second a-swimming, to the shoulders of the Great Bear,
The third even higher a-rising, to the back of the seven stars;
From there it's only a short trip, the tiniest tidbit,
To reach the holy God, to the dwellings of the blessed."

Bumblebee from the ground arose, the mead-wing from the meadow;
Already flew a-flapping, with little wings flitted.
Flew around the arc of the moon, brushed the hem of the sun,
Past the shoulders of Odin's Wain, by the Sennstar's back:
Flew to the Creator's cellars, to the chamber of the almighty.
There the salves are being made, ointments are being made,
In silvery cauldrons, in kettles of gold:
Honey was boiling in the middle, on the sides was melted butter,
Mead at the nose of it all, on top of the bottom greases.

Bumblebee, bird of the air, got thence plenty of meads,
Honies to heart's content.  There passed a little time:
Soon he came a-puffing, lumbered back a-huffing
A hundred horns on his lap, a thousand other lumps,
Some with mead, some with water, some with the supreme salve.

From these the mother of Lemminkäinen put in her own mouth,
Those tested with her tongue, very gladly tasted:
"These are those salves, the almighty's ointments,
With which God anointed, the Creator poured on wounds."

With these she anointed the weakened, treating the one come to ill.
Anointed through the slots in bones, through the gaps in limbs,
Anointed below, anointed above, once brushed through the middle.
Thence she put it into words, herself stated and uttered:
"Arise from a-laying, rise up from sleeping
From these bad places, from this hard luck's bed!"

Arose the man from laying, awoke from dreaming.
Finally able to speak, with his own tongue to tell:
"A week, mother, I slept, a long time, mother, I lay there!
I slept very soundly, deeply did I snort."

Said the mother of Lemminkäinen, herself stated and uttered:
"You would have lain longer, longer than a week stretched out,
Without your poor mother, without your shrewd bearer."

"Say now, my unfortunate son, tell for my ears to hear:
What brought you to the Cursèd Lands,
pushed you into the River of Death?"

Said the fiery Lemminkäinen, responded to his mother:
"Rot Hat the cowherd, swollen-eyes of Untamola,
He led me to the Cursèd Lands, pushed into the River of Death.
A waterviper from the waters he raised, an adder from the waves
Against a powerless me; I did not even know this,
Knew not the waterserpent's hatred, the sting of the tubular wyrm."

Said the mother of Lemminkäinen, "Oh, you mindless man!
You bragged the witches to bewitch, the Lappish to outsing:
And you know not the waterserpent's hatred,
the sting of the tubular wyrm!
From the waters is the viper born,
the tubular wyrm from the waves,
From the good brains of the long-tailed duck,
from inside the sea-swallow's head.
The Devouress spat it onto the waters, set it on the waves;
Water stretched it out long, the sun beat it soft.
Thence the wind rocked it, the water spirit shook it,
The waves brought it towards shore, the spray threw it onto land."

Then the mother of Lemminkäinen cradled her beloved one,
Back to bygone strengths, to his ancient form,
Even a little better, even more whole than before.

*****


Transl. ©2006 Anniina Jokinen.  All rights reserved.

(Read: Copy or post anywhere, and I will be over you like a cheap suit). Permission granted to print for personal enjoyment or classroom purposes.  For all other use permission must be requested in writing.)

 

Happy Odin's Day

Our English word for Wednesday comes from the Anglo-Saxon "Wodensdaeg", Woden's day, that being the Anglo-Saxon name for the Norse god Odin.

Odin is the All-Father in the Norse pantheon, "one god to rule them all" so to speak, or in more familiar terms, the Nordic equivalent to Zeus or Jupiter.  He was the one-eyed god of the sky and the god of wisdom, poetry and war.

For more on Odin (some wisdom for the day of the god of wisdom) see this Wikipedia article.

If you're wondering why I'm on this Norse mythology kick today, it's because of Neil Gaiman's "American Gods" which I recently finished, and which has stayed with me.  In an earlier entry I cited it as one contender for the title "The Great American Novel" — worth a read, folks.

For some reason, while we're inundated with Greek and Roman mythology in school in Finland, we're taught next to nothing about the mythology of our Scandinavian neighbors — granted, we were never Norse, but wouldn't it be good to know our closest neighbors' ancient sacred texts?  So, I'm trying to educate myself on the basics.  If anyone has a good book suggestion on the subject of Norse Mythology, lemme know please. Thanks :)

Going to make din-din and play FFXI.

BTYL (Blog to you later, tee hee!)
~A


[Image credit: From the 18th century Icelandic manuscript SÁM 66 in the care of the Árni Magnússon Institute in Iceland. Courtesy of Wikipedia.]

The Myth of the Great American Novel

As you know, I read Mark A.'s HyperLiterature blog faithfully.  One of Mark's recent entries discusses the elusive and perhaps mythical "Great American Novel."

Mark quotes J. W. DeForest who defined the would-be-GAN as "the picture of the ordinary emotions and manners of American existence" (The Nation, 1868). Mark astutely points out that such an ideal cannot be sustained, since literature is static — one can capture an impression of a nation's psyche in the moment the novel is written, but as society keeps changing, any description soon becomes outdated.  Citing Huck Finn and Moby Dick as examples, Mark illustrates how these books have turned almost into museum pieces — they are works that capture the zeitgeist, to use Mark's word, of a specific time period, but which to a modern reader seem far removed.

Another reason that I feel there cannot be a definitive GAN is that the population of America is so heterogenous — very hard for one novel to cover it all. I think Mark is on the money when he suggests we compile for ourselves a list of what we consider to be some American novels which we consider truly great. Mark has a refreshing list which is sure to make one think about the subject with new eyes.

Here are a few novels I consider worthwhile — some of them are a part of the popular academic canon, and justly so. This list is not intended to be definitive or complete — please consider this only as books on this blogger's "Great American Novels" List:

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. (1939) The story of the Joad family's exodus from the Oklahoma Dust Bowl in the 1920's to the 'promised land' of California. Steinbeck is a master of describing both the inner and outer workings affecting people's lives. Rife with social commentary that still resonates today, engaging characters, deft symbolism, and passages of divine eloquence, not the least of which is Tom's last speech to Ma. This is one of the staples of American lit, and one that deserves its place in university curriculi. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. (1955) On the face of it, the tale of a man's obsession with nubile girls, the story transcends its subject matter. Nabokov's prose is rich, his narrator magnetic, the psychological portrayals so multifaceted and deep that the characters breathe themselves to life off the page. Rich in language and so enwrapt in symbolism that unlocking it all on a first read is not possible — yet this is not a "Ulysses" by Joyce; not a book that is at all a difficult read, and enjoyable even on a surface level. It is telling of Nabokov's mastery of storytelling, that by the end of the book the reader can understand the narrator's psyche and emotional world to the point of feeling grief and tragedy, and a brush with the sublime on the final pages, for a fictional character that on a very basic level is a human monster. Beloved by Toni Morrison. (1987) The story of an ex-slave mother, her family past and present, and the ghosts that haunt. It is the story of one particular "Beloved", and all the beloveds who were the casualties of slavery, of man's cruelty to man. This novel, in my opinion, is nearly flawless. Morrison writes with such an inspired voice, everything is superbly crafted without seeming so, the language in both prose and dialogue is almost tactile, sensory. The story is eerie and grounded at once, the characters unforgettable, this is a novel the reader will carry in active memory for a long time and will never be able to forget. Please do not ever watch the horrid movie made of this book. American Gods by Neil Gaiman. (2001) Academia still for the most part eschews and belittles the genre of Science Fiction. This is a grave injustice to a genre that I would call the Great American Genre of the 20th Century. I think I shall do a whole post on that topic very soon. Back to the novel at hand. American Gods is an absolutely ingenious story of the gods of various cultures who arrived to this continent with their respective immigrant cultures, but who over time grew forgotten, and now can barely eke out an existence. New gods, the gods of Internet and Credit Card and so on, have arisen, and a war is coming between the ancient and the modern gods. Told from the point of view of Shadow, a mortal caught in the midst of it all, the book is inspired. Gaiman writes prose that is electric and sinuous, weaving in mythology and folklore, while keeping the story very visceral. This is a book that I think comes very close to the parameters of a GAN — it covers so many time periods and so many cultures' deities, that it is fictionally representative of much of what it means to be an American. It is also written with delectable references to literature past. My favorite part of the book has to be when the main character asks one of the Norse god Odin's ravens: "Say 'Nevermore,'" said Shadow. "Fuck you," said the raven. It said nothing else as they went through the woodland together." (158-9).

So that's my two cents on the subject of "The Great American Novel." By no means an exhaustive or all-encompassing treatment of the subject, but a start nonetheless. And I guarantee you will be enriched by reading any or all of the above.


Tags: Books | Literature