THE NEW PROJECT

Ok.  I promised that I'd give you the first part of THE NEW PROJECT™ as soon as I finished it.  Well, given that nothing is ever truly finished, here it is.  This is an attempt at writing a piece of a prose saga, a þættr (short story), if you like.  It is very loosely based on the early days of the four shires in Western New York and Pennsylvania, or the Western Regions: the Debateable Lands, Thescorre, the Rhydderich Hael, and Myrkfaellin.  Please note that I said very loosely.  Thus its names: Fylkis saga vestrmarki  "The Saga of the Shires of the West-Marches".  The notion is that we find most OI verse interpolated and inserted into prose passages.  So, this is an attempt to shows what that would look like.  Actually, in a manuscript, it would look like this: GKS 1009 folio 5r with the verse written like prose.

My two greatest fears are: first, I got the vocabulary wrong.  Idiomatic language can be rough.  Second, and greatest, that I completely got the grammar wrong.  If you read OI and can help me with gentle commentary and correction, I'll greatly appreciate and gratefully accept it.

So, here you go, first in my attempt at OI; then, in English.

Fylkis saga vestrmarki  Chapter One (Fyrstr Kapital )

Langt síðan, það bar til að það var strííð á meðai inn fykis vestrmarkar ok reyfarar. Inn máttkar fyrðar af Hrafn-heim ok fylkingar Hala-stjarna ok is-drekki her-lið gnáttu með inn kussarar.  Hræs lanar hlaðit.  Úlfar hákku ok hrafnar háfu sam-drykkja.  Fengu úsigr fylkis-folk.   Válandi fólka heyrði megin konungr austan-verðr.  Sín drottning syrgði af angist þeirra.  Sendi inn konungr sín goðr riddari leggja á grið ok frið.  Þannig var það að Friðrekr mattkar siglað til vestrmark. Svá inn gamli segir:

1. Friðrek ræsir fremð inn

frið-skjöldri gráskegg vissin

haf-skip siglir  hlyðir 

humra til Austur rumlend.

Metendr leiða morgum

morðáls til villi-borgar;

öskranfossdœl ásetta

ískaldr reista dísasalr.

2. Siglt of uppdal stag lautr

sildar Traunda strauma.

Telgjaðr drekka til-eygðr

tingls-marr gulla þinga.

Barða höggorms byrskíð

bakað á fjördr blákald.

Mikil-sigr vannt á móti

merglauss þar reyfarar

Flyði á skipgengum höf til vesturs lendir reyfarar bautinn, meðan Friðrekr setja í brandr þorpar þeirra.  Frið-görvir drengi-ligr inn þrið-fylkis sam-einaði ok af þeirra fólk-tjaldum  ein fylkingarr-brodd flykaut.  Inn fylkis-fólk sinn gagni faginn ok báðu Frederick þeirra konung.  Svá skaldi segir:

3. Pruðr, vask með þér, þjóðann, 

þat haust frá komt austan; 

einn, stillir, mátt alla 

jǫrð hegna, svá fregnið; 

himin þóttisk þá heiðan 

hafa, es landa krafðir, 

ljos-bera, ok lifðir, 

landfolk tekit hǫndum.

Hann ferðaðist síðan fótgangandi ok á hestbaki.  Hann könnuðu hæðum oc dala,  eptir-leitan fyrir einn huldu-fanz af eldr-sǫgu.  Eptir marg-nátta, hann fundinn einn myrkfælsdala innan grœn-holt oc vatna-djúp.  Þar lifði folk all-froðu.  Þau hlýðusk á konunginn oc kom þat ásamt með þeim.  At þessu, svörðu hollustu-eiðr á Friðrek konung.   Fyrstr-konunginn var mönnum mikil öfuss á því.

Hann siglt sex í norðr, upp lœkar oc þjóðár, til haf inn-landi, oc skip-farað til sinn heim.  Loks heim, einn mikill fagnaðar-öl þeir fagnað þat allir ok sérhverir drekkað eitt öldr.  Friðrek var hjarta-prúðast konnunga.  Svá inn gamli segir:

4. Sal þin var upp sendir 

    seima til al-beimar.

    Veitir pella veizlan

    val-born kema hábarð.

    Hunangsbára hornar

    heðra drakk í gleði.

    Rota húfur roskinn

    risnu-maðr hávaði.

Translation:

Long ago, it happened that there was strife between the Western-forest shires and pirates.  The mighty firth of Raven-home, the Tail-Star army, and the Ice-Drake troops clashed with the Corsairs.  Corpses piled grew.  Wolves gorged and ravens caroused.  The shire-folk suffered. The mighty king of the Eastern Lands heard the people´s wailings.  His queen mourned for their anguish. The king sent his good knight to impose truce and peace.  Thus it was that might Frederick sailed to the West-march.  As the ancient skald says:

(Verse 1) Grizzled grey-beard Frederick the "Peace-Shield" advancer of honor, you sailed the warship from the lobster-slopes [OCEANS] to the Eastern lands.  You lead many testers of the battle eel [SWORD > WARRIORS] to the wild hills; you settled in the ice-cold valley of the roaring waterfall; you built a temple.

(Verse 2) You sailed the ox of the hollows of the herring [SHIP] Trundle across inland streams.  You carved the squint-eyed Dragons golden fleet (tingls-marr-þinga > SHIP-THING > FLEET).  You beat  the vipers breeze-skis [SHIPS] roasted them at the black-waved fjord.  You won a great victory against the marrowless pirates 

The beaten pirates fled far over the inland seas to the west, while the Frederick put fire to their villages.  The brave “peace-maker” brought the three shire-folk together and made an army of their folk-bands.  The people rejoiced in his victory and proclaimed him their king.  As the skald says:

(Verse 3) Brave king, I was with you that autumn when you came from the East; lord, you alone can secure the entire country; that was heard.  The countrymen thought they caught bright heaven with their hands when you claimed the lands, Light-bearer, and were alive.

He then traveled by foot and horseback exploring the hills and dales, searching for a hidden tribe that was rumored in ancient tales.  Among the deep lakes and the green woods, he soon discovered the dark fells dale, where a learned people lived.  These folk heard of the great King and swiftly swore their fealty to him alone.  Frederick, the first king of these lands, was gladdened by this.

He returned to his own home, sailing north on the rivers to the Inland Seas.  Finally home, they held a great joyful feast and all came.  Frederick was the most generous [Hjarta-prúðr  > Valiant hearted > Generous] of kings. As the old-one said:

(Verse 4) Dispenser of gold [GENEROUS MAN] your hall was open to all men.  The well-born came to feast at your high-table, giver of costly materials [GENEROUS MAN].  Horns of honey waves [MEAD] <they> drank here in joy.  Hospitable man you served ripe root-caps [MUSHROOMS].


---------------------------


Finally, a tip of the hat to Jackson Crawford, who is my inspiration to madness.  His most recent posting, Gunnar Fire-Iron, Skáld of the Wild West, is a very good attempt at writing poetry in an ON form.  You should go read it.