Translating Early Medieval Poetry
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instance, there has been a sensitive ‘contextual translation’, whereby the poem has
been chosen for the significance – and indeed mood – that the wider context of the
original may bring to the new performance context through intertextual al usion.
In Vikings we also have an instance of principal characters themselves quoting Vǫluspá directly. In episode seven of the third season, Floki begins a war chant before the siege on Paris. His chant, which is repeated several times by both himself
and the assembled troop, is spoken in Old Norse and runs as follows (40:24–40:31):
19 The stanzas sung are numbers 54 and 45 in Dronke’s edition.
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Skeggǫld!
Skálmǫld!
Skildir ro klofnir!
This is rendered into English in a subtitle:
Axe time!
Sword time!
Shields are splintered!
To a viewer who is not aware of the original context of these lines, the war-chant
merely sounds appropriately rousing and menacing (and, of course, appropriately
Norse). And the content of the chant – the idea that now is the time for weapons –
might at first seem perfectly apposite given that the viking troop is about to attempt a siege on Paris. But considering the chant’s original context, we might wonder
whether it holds further significance here. The battle chant in this episode derives
from stanza 44 of Vǫluspá:
Brœðr muno beriaz
Brothers will fight
ok at bǫnom verða[z],
and kill each other,
muno systrungar
sisters’ children
sifiom spil a.
will defile kinship.
Hart er í heimi,
It is harsh in the world,
hórdómr mikill
whoredom rife
–skeggǫld, skálmǫld
–an axe age, a sword age
–skildir ro klofnir–
–shields are riven–
vindǫld, vargǫld–
a wind age, a wolf age–
áðr verǫld steypiz.
before the world goes headlong.
Mun engi maðr
No man will have
ǫðrom þyrma.
mercy on another.20
The chant thus comes from a stanza which details a vision of Ragnarǫk, a vision
in which fraternal animosity and fratricide are central.21 Given what we know is
to happen in coming episodes – that Rollo is to betray Ragnar – the use of part
of this stanza as a chant foreshadows events to take place later in the series. As
was the case with Selvik’s lyrics above, this instance of adaptation also suggests a
contextual y-sensitive translation of the original material, a translation which is
cognisant of the wider implications of the stanza in which the quoted material is
original y found. Phrases are not simply plucked from their original contexts for
their literal meaning; rather, their significance is clearly understood and, moreover, used for artistic purpose.
The eddic poem Grímnismál, which is only quoted once in Vikings, is also treated with similar sensitivity. As with the translation of Vǫluspá above, the translation of Grímnismál into a new context that resonates with its original context is a knowing 20 Text and translation from Dronke, ed. and trans., ‘ Vǫluspá’, p. 19.
21 For the centrality of fratricide in Ragnarǫk, see David Clark, ‘Kin-Slaying in the Poetic Edda: The End of the World?’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 3 (2007), 21–41.
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adaptation, suggesting a particular – and indeed literary – understanding of the
meaning and significance of the original. In the eighth episode of the third season,
it appears that the siege on Paris – an undertaking in which the viking troop has
followed Floki’s plan of attack – is going to fail. Realising this, Floki – in the midst of a crisis of faith and self-confidence – retreats inside a burning siege-tower.
Here, surrounded by flame, and blaming the former monk Athelstan for what has
happened, he suggests that ‘vargr hangir fyr vestan dyrr’ (23:18–23:21). The line is
taken from stanza 10 of Grímnismál, a stanza describing what will be seen by any person who might come to the home of Óðinn, and may be translated as ‘a wolf
hangs west of the door’ (or, as it is in a subtitle, ‘a wolf stands by the western door’).22
There are a number of ways in which this reference might be read. It may simply
function to cast Athelstan as a wolf, and thus as a vicious and treacherous foe. Or it may be seen more general y as a symbol of impending doom. Alternatively, given
that anyone who is approaching Óðinn’s hall – at least if they are human – is likely to be deceased, we could read in the reference a belief on Floki’s part that he is about to die. Taking into account the context of the stanza in Grímnismál suggests yet another reading. The verse, in the original, is spoken by Óðinn whilst trapped between two
great fires. Floki likewise, as he speaks this line from Grímnismál, is surrounded on all sides by flame. A parallel is thus drawn between Floki and Óðinn. A viewer aware
of the line’s provenance might consequently anticipate that Floki – who, just like
Óðinn in Grímnismál, appears inescapably trapped – will nevertheless ultimately survive this danger (as, indeed, he does). The precise resonance of the quoted text in this context is thus unclear, although it is clear that the quotation from Grímnismál allows for multiple possible interpretations that would not be possible had the scene
not drawn on an eddic source.
Hávamál: Words of Wisdom
The final eddic poem on which Vikings draws that will be discussed here is Hávamál.
Hávamál, often known as The Sayings of the High One in English, is a patchwork of wisdom poetry of various types, the purpose of which is ‘to display the range
of wisdom current in the poet’s culture’.23 And indeed, the breadth of the wisdom
discussed by the poem is wide, ranging from the social to the divine. The poem is
translated in a number of ways within Vikings.
In the ninth episode of the first season, Ragnar, Bjorn and Aslaug stand at the
base of an ash tree in Uppsala claimed by Jarl Borg to be the world-tree Yggdrasil .
Here, Bjorn suggests that ‘if this is Yggdrasil , then it must be the same tree that
Lord Odin once hanged himself from’. This prompts Ragnar to recite the following
(19:41–19:55):
I hung from a windy tree for nine long nights, wounded by a spear, dedicated to Odin,
from that tree of which no man knows from where its roots run.
22 Ursula Dronke, ed. and trans., ‘ Grímnismál’, in The Poetic Edda, Volume III: Mythological Poems II (Oxford, 2011), pp. 113–24, at p. 115.
23 Carolyne Larrington, A Store of Common Sense: Gnomic Themes and Style in Old
Icelandic and Old English Wisdom Poetry (Oxford, 1993), p. 66.
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This is an adaptation of stanza 138 from the Rúnatal section of Hávamál: Veit ek, at ek hekk
I know that I was hanging
vindga meiði á
on a windswept tree
nætr al ar nío,
nine whole nights,
geiri undaðr
gashed with a spear
ok gefinn Óðni,
and given to Óðinn
siálfr síalfom mér,
–myself to myself–
á þeim meiði
on that tree
er manngi veit
of which no on
e knows
hvers hann af rótom renn. from roots of what it originates.24
Quoting from Hávamál here has clear artistic purpose. Not only does the use of this verse allow Hirst to convey information about ostensible pagan religious beliefs to
his audience, but also to recall the human and animal sacrifices that have taken place at the end of the previous episode. The focus on death in this stanza as it is recited at Uppsala also resonates with the many deaths caused by disease taking place at
the same time back in Kattegat. It is furthermore of clear significance that this verse is spoken by Ragnar who, elsewhere in the series, is identified with Óðinn though
his claim of divine – and specifical y Óðinnic – descent. Speaking this verse from
Hávamál, Ragnar becomes associated not only with Óðinn but also with Óðinn’s
self-sacrifice, and as a result we are prompted to reflect upon whether the actions of Ragnar at this point in the narrative may be viewed in a similar light. Just as Óðinn
sacrifices himself to himself to gain what he ultimately desires (runic knowledge), we may perhaps likewise see Ragnar’s affair with Aslaug as a renunciation of his former
life with Lagertha in order to get what he ultimately desires (more sons). Moreover, Ragnar’s reference here to Óðinn’s self-sacrifice is echoed six episodes later (in
episode 6 of the second season), when Athelstan tel s King Ecbert of Wessex that
‘Odin hung himself from a tree and a pagan servant stabbed him in the side with a
spear, just like the Romans did to Christ’ (22:34–22:42). By having Ragnar speak this
verse from Hávamál here in the first season, the audience is thus primed with the necessary mythological knowledge to understand Athelstan’s later comment on the
similarities between Christian and Norse deities, and to appreciate this contribution
to the series’s larger concern with religious conflict and syncretism.
The ‘social wisdom’ of Hávamál is also drawn upon in Vikings. In the first episode of the third season, Ragnar and his followers have returned to Wessex to claim the
land that he has been promised by King Ecbert. Here, the amorous Torstein lusts
after the Mercian princess Kwenthrith. In response to his declarations of desire,
Floki and Rollo speak the following (35:20–35:52):
Floki:
A creaking bow, a burning flame.
24 Ursula Dronke, ed. and trans., ‘ Hávamál’, in The Poetic Edda, Volume III: Mythological Poems II (Oxford, 2011), pp. 3–35, at p. 30. Given the similarities between the paraphrase of this stanza given in Vikings and the translation of this verse produced by Carolyne Larrington in her translation of the Poetic Edda, it seems likely that the director is here drawing upon Larrington’s translation (assuming, of course, that he is not working with the Old Norse himself).
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Rollo:
Tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake.
Floki:
The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery.
Rollo:
No man should be such a fool as to trust these things.
Floki:
No man should trust the word of a woman. The hearts of women were
turned on a whirling wheel.
Rollo:
To love a fickle woman is like setting out over ice with a two-year-old
colt. Or sailing a ship without a rudder.
These lines are adapted from stanzas 84–90 of Hávamál. Here, in quoting from this section of the poem, I have omitted those lines not directly borrowed by Vikings: Meyiar orðom
A maiden’s words
skyli manngi trúa,
must no man trust,
né því er kveðr kona,
nor what a woman says,
þvíat á hverfanda hvéli
for on a whirling wheel
vóru þeim hiǫrto skǫpuð, were hearts fashioned for them
brigð í brióst um lagið. and fickleness fixed in their breast.
Brestanda boga
A breaking bow,
brennanda loga,
a burning flame,
[…]
fal andi báro,
a falling wave,
ísi einnættom,
ice of a single night,
ormi hringlegnom,
a coiling serpent,
[…]
eð[a] barni konungs,
or the child of a king,
siúkom kálfi,
a sick calf,
[…]
vǫlo vilmæli,
fair words from a prophetess,
[…]
Verðit maðr svá tryggr
Let no man be so trusting
at þesso trúi ǫllo!
as to trust in all these!
Svá er friðr kvenna,
So the loving of women–
þeira er flátt hyggia,
those who think in lies–
sem aki ió óbryddom
is just like driving a horse smooth-shod
á ísi hálom,
over skidding ice
teitom, tvévetrom,
–a lively two-year-old,
ok sé tamr il a,
and badly trained–
eða í byr óðom
or in a mad wind
beiti stiórnlauso
manoeuvring a rudderless boat[.]25
As can be seen, the lines are paraphrased with little change in terms of literal content.
But the changes in context are of significance, and suggest the adaptations that Old
Norse poetry must undergo to make it suitable for on-screen performance. The most
basic observation to make, of course, is that the lines are spoken out loud rather
than being simply textual. This change, which is inevitable in the adaptation of a
25 Dronke, ed. and trans., ‘ Hávamál’, pp. 18–20.
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written text to a spoken word medium, transforms – or, depending on one’s position
on eddic performance history, reinstates – written eddic verse into the mode of oral
poetry. From the performance of this poem here we must understand poetry in the
world of the Vikings as an oral art form. In transforming the poem thus, the director has – as can be seen above – simplified and condensed the original, perhaps implying
that Old Norse oral poetry is itself here to be understood as relatively simplistic. In condensing the poem by omitting several lines from this section (as indicated by the
ellipses above), the viewer is also given the impression that this section of Hávamál is more tightly focussed than it is in reality, by omitting references – such as that to
‘rýtanda svíni’ (‘a grunting pig’) – which may have seemed incongruous in the new
context.26 In transforming the poem into a form suitable for on-screen performance
another significant change has been made: while in Hávamál the poem appears to the reader to be spoken by a single speaker, here, in Vikings, its lines are shared between two characters. By sharing the lines between Floki and Rollo an important
feature of Old Norse poetry is emphasised: that it must be spoken from memory. As
a result, the viewer infers that the shared lines must constitute a kind of gnomic or
proverbial social wisdom that is commonly known. The use of Hávamál here, then, serves to produce a particular view of viking society in Vikings – in this instance, that it is misogynistic.
Parts of Hávamál are also, in the third season, transformed into a funeral chant.
At the end of the third season, Ragnar feigns death in order to infiltrate the fortification of Paris, having requested and been granted a Christian burial in consecrated
land within the city wal s. Ragnar is placed into a cask
et and the entire viking troop
– believing that he is actual y dead – escorts his body to the entrance of the city in a funeral procession. As they do so, they repeatedly sing the following Old Norse
(which constitutes stanzas 76 and 77 of Hávamál) (22:22–23:38):
Deyr fé,
deyia frændr,
deyr siálfr it sama,
en orztírr
deyr aldregi
hveim er sér góðan getr.
Deyr fé,
deyia frændr,
deyr siálfr it sama;
ek veit einn,
at aldri deyr:
dómr um dauðan hvern.
Although these lines remain untranslated in Vikings, they can be rendered thus in English:
Cattle die,
kinsmen die,
26 Ibid., p. 19.
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one dies oneself just the same,
but the fame of renown
never dies
for any who earns himself that excellence.
Cattle die,
kinsmen die,
one dies oneself just the same.
I know one thing
that never dies:
judgement on every man dead.27
It is easy to see why these verses have been used as the basis for a funeral chant:
their focus on death is clearly appropriate for the occasion, while the repetitive,
formulaic structure lends itself to oral performance. The focus on the importance
of posthumous fame also chimes with modern conceptions of the heathen heroic
ethic. And although we have no evidence of Hávamál being used in any way as part of a funerary rite, Hirst’s treatment of the material here certainly makes the viewer
feel as if the stanzas could have been used in this way: while the director’s translation of the verse into this funerary context is not authentic (and this, of course, is not
necessarily the aim of historical drama), it certainly is believable. Translating eddic poetry here for a visual context functions as a hypothetical experiment into the
possible performance histories of eddic verse. Although we have no direct evidence
of eddic poetry being performed in this manner, performing it here allows us a
space in which to imagine what eddic poetry may have looked and sounded like in
performance. This scene is thus not simply derivative of Old Norse poetry; rather, it
also functions as a praxis-based exploration into the possible performance contexts
of Hávamál. Translation here, then, functions as a method of scholarly inquiry in its own right.