FINNISH COMMONPLACES: THE POETICAL LANDSCAPE OF A FINN
This selection of popular Finnish poetry presents some of the poems and songs that sound in the Finnish ears around the year, everybody knows them, many by heart. The translations are in prose, which I regret. Translating poetry is a desperate undertaking even into one’s own language, into a foreign language it is sheer madness, but at least I hope to convey some of the literal meaning of the poems. Those who know Finnish and Swedish, can compare the translations with the originals, which all should be available in the Net. Probably all these texts have been translated by better hands before, but I avoided looking into the earlier translations.
These words and the tunes that are carrying them make us Finns cry or rejoice. On the other hand, they make many of us yawn, and that is why I don’t expect you to read this text, unless it interests you. But if you should one day find yourself under a Finnish boss, then you might want to drop some meaningful phrases in a casual conversation.
These poems also are part of the constructing process of the Finnish nation. Finland is very much built upon words, on literature. During the time of the sailing ships Finns were known as witches who could cast spells, although it may have been a misunderstanding, since it was the Lapps or Sami people that originally were meant (you know Serafina Pekkala in Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass). In any case, maybe it was because of this fame that Finns began to be known as a poetically gifted nation, right or wrong.
One of the reasons may also be the first poem I shall present:
The most famous Finnish love poem
(Digitized by the Finnish National Library.)
Not many Finnish poems have risen to world fame, but this one has: Jos mun tuttuni tulisi, If the one I know so well came (or: If my lover came). The poem has been recorded in many versions all over the region where Finnish is spoken. The earliest time when a version of it became known was in Henrik Gabriel Porthan’s De Poësi Fennica (leaflet 4, 1778), where it was translated into Latin. Later it became known in German (Goethe) and English (Acerbi) translations as well. This particular version was written down in 1846 in Ilomantsi, the easternmost municipality in the present-day Finland.
If the one I know so well,
the one I’ve seen so often, came,
I would go a mile to meet him,
to tear down the gates
to lower the fences;
I would take his hand in mine,
be it a snake on his palm;
I would throw my hands around his neck,
be the death on his throat;
I would lie beside him,
be his side full of blood;
I would kiss him on the mouth,
be it smeared with wolf’s blood.
(Transl. from SKVR VII2. 2366. Ilomantsi. Ahlqvist B, n. 145. 1846.)
Idealization is a fact!
The real construction process of the Finnish nation began in the early decades of the 19th century. Some decisive elements of the Finnish identity were created in the poetry of Johan Ludvig Runeberg (1804-1877). The poems in his book Fänrik Ståls sägner (Ensign Stål’s Tales, two parts 1848 & 1860) tell of the Finnish War 1808-1809, when Russia took Finland from Sweden in a sideshow of the Napoleonic wars. The birth of Finland as a separate political entity was due to a treaty made in Tilsit (in present day Kaliningrad) in the year 1807 between Napoleon and the Russian emperor Alexander I.
For about 700 hundred years Finland had been an indivisible part of the Swedish kingdom. In 1809 it became attached to the Russian empire as a Grand Duchy. It was important that the Swedish legislation and administrative traditions were maintained by the grace of Alexander, who wanted to guarantee the loyalty of the elite and the people of Finland during a critical time.
After the separation from Sweden the Finnish people had to find a new identity. “Swedes we are no more, Russians we do not want to be, so let us be Finns”, was a saying that characterizes the option the people of Finland had in front of them. Still, it was difficult for the Swedish speaking elite to really feel that they were part of the same nation as the common people, a majority of whom spoke Finnish. There were similar situations in the neighbouring nations as well, in Estonia and Latvia where it was Germans, or Lithuania where it was Poles that were in command, even if the Baltic area also was part of the Russian empire. Those minority elites stayed separate from the people among which they were living.
In Finland, we can to a great deal thank J. L. Runeberg that the Swedish speaking elite decided to adopt a Finnish identity. They began to feel that they belonged to the same nation as the common people, and, in fact, created at the same time the Finnish nation as we know it today. Runeberg’s Ensign Stål’s Tales, written in Swedish as all his works, begins with a poem Vårt land (Our land), where the poet shows that this particular piece of land, these lakes, hills and forests, is our country. This poem is still our national anthem. In another poem, Den femte juli (The Fifth of July), Runeberg shows even clearer that the people living in this country build a nation, all of them together. The hero named in the poem was a fine man, but his name (and even the war) is, in fact, almost irrelevant to the general meaning of the story. It is symptomatic that Runeberg uses in this poem in one occasion the Finnish name Suomi, even if in Swedish and many other languages the name is Finland. (Read more about the role of Runeberg in the Finnish history in works by Matti Klinge and other historians.)
J. L. Runeberg
THE FIFTH OF JULY
1.
“So bright is shining the July sun,
my mind is wonderfully tuned
in this morning hour;
come, youth, if you wish, as I do,
come, let us take a few breaths
of the summer air in the grove;
it is a holiday today.”
2.
Thus spoke the old soldier,
tossed away the net, rose to go
and took silently my hand;
and through the village we wandered
and over the meadow’s blooming trail
till the blue lake and strand,
strewn in pearls of dew’s tears.
3.
O, what a sky, what an earth!
The old man spoke not a word,
he only seemed to behold.
A tear fell on his cheek now and then.
At last, he pressed my hand
and smiled and asked tardily:
“Tell me, can one die for this country?”
4.
I was silent. A gaze from the heart was
my only answer, easy to understand,
he did not search for another.
And the silence lasted for a minute,
he looked around the vicinity as before
from the hill, where we had stayed;
then he started to speak opening his heart:
5.
“Yes, young man, here from this strand
you see a part of the land
that you call the fatherland:
beautiful, as here by the lakes of Virrat,
it also is among the thousand isles of Saimaa,
where the waves of the Vuoksi River swell,
where the rapids of Imatra are covered with foam.
6.
And if you stood now far in the North,
you would see an as lovely country
from its high fjelds;
and if you saw the flat coast
washed by the waves of the Bothnian See,
Finland would lie before your eyes
and kindle love in your mind.
7.
But if you know what I mean,
can you understand the silent tear
that sits in my eye?
And this day, say if you guess,
how it can be so sweet,
and as much so bitter?
It is the Fifth of July now.
8.
A day dawns, a day passes,
how many leave a trace,
when they are taken from us?
The Fifth of July, ah, that one did not
go away without a trace, I remember it well
since seventeen years ago,
it was the day when Duncker died.
9.
There was a people in Suomi’s land,
it still is there: by the sorrow’s hand
it has learned to bear the fates,
it feels no sacrifice too heavy,
its courage is silent, its calm is hard
its loyalty defies the destiny,
it is the people we call ours.
10.
You see it now in its repose, you,
it is not tormented, not disturbed now,
still you can be infatuated with it;
I saw it under its time of trial,
in frost, in hunger, in storm, in battle,
I saw it was the same all along;
what, you may think, were my feelings then?
11.
I saw it bleed from day to day,
I saw victories and defeats,
but I did not see anyone betray;
in places where the sun did not rise
stood the fighter with an ice-covered body,
and still refused to yield,
although without home and hope.
12.
What patience, what bravery,
what strength in mind, what fire in blood,
what calmness through all the fortunes,
what exploits were demanded from the one
that this people, these men
would call their hero
and worship even after his death?
13.
But ask, if you meet
a veteran of that war,
one in the number of the brave,
ask if he knew at least one man
that would earn the price before all,
and certainly, he would answer:
“Yes, Sir, his name was Duncker.”
14–18 […]
(From an old copy of Ensign Stål's Sägner.)
As a student Runeberg was obliged to earn his living as a private tutor in the inland manor houses. In that way he became to know another Finland than the one he was used to during his childhood in the Swedish-speaking coastal towns and at the university in Turku (Åbo Akademi). It was almost like a foreign country with a different people, different language and customs. Runeberg developed a romantic, idealized notion of the Finnish people, which he expressed in the following poem, usually known in Finnish as Saarijärven Paavo, Paavo of Saarijärvi. This poem used to be learned by heart in schools at least before the Second World War. Are we like this? Not really, but there’s something we should strive after. The last four lines deserve to be repeated more often.
A forest scene from Saarijärvi (Pyhä-Häkki Natural Park).
(Photo: Aalto University Archives.)
High among the moors of Saarijärvi lived
The peasant Paavo on a frosty farm,
Cultivating its soil with industrious arms;
But from the Lord he waited for the growth.
And he lived there with wife and children,
Ate in sweat his scanty bread,
Dug the ditches, ploughed and sowed.
Spring came, and snow melted from the field,
And with it ran half of the sprouts,
Summer came and a hail shower broke out,
And it struck away half of the spikes;
Autumn came, and cold took what was left.
Paavo’s Spouse tore her hair and said:
Paavo, Paavo, you, a man born to misfortune!
Let us take the beggar’s staff; God has us forsaken;
It is hard to beg, but to starve, harder.
Paavo took his wife’s hand and said:
The Lord is only testing, but he does not forsake.
Mix, you, half of bark into the bread,
I shall dig doubly more of ditches,
But from the Lord I shall wait for growth.
The wife put half of bark into the bread,
The man dug doubly more of ditches,
Sold the sheep, bought rye and sowed.
Spring came, and the show melted from the field,
But with it did run away none from the sprouts;
Summer came and a hail shower broke out,
But it struck away half of the spikes;
Autumn came, and cold took what was left.
Paavo’s spouse beat her breast and said:
Paavo, Paavo, you, a man born to misfortune!
Let us die, since God has us forsaken;
Hard is the death, but to live, even harder.
Paavo took his wife’s hand and said:
The Lord is only testing, but he does not forsake.
Mix, you, half of bark into the bread,
I shall dig doubly greater ditches,
But from the Lord I shall wait for growth.
The wife put half of bark into the bread,
The man dug doubly greater ditches,
Sold the cows, bought rye and sowed.
Spring came, and the snow melted from the field,
But with it ran nothing from the sprouts;
Summer came, and a hail shower broke out,
But it did not strike anything from the spikes;
Autumn came and cold, far away from the field,
let the crop stand golden and wait for the mower.
Then Paavo fell upon his knees, and said:
The Lord is only testing, he does not forsake.
And his spouse fell upon her knees and said:
The Lord is only testing, he does not forsake.
But with joy she said to the husband:
Paavo, Paavo, take the sickle with delight;
Now it is time to live glad days,
Now it is time to cast away bark,
And to bake the bread of rye alone.
Paavo took his wife’s hand, and said:
Woman, woman, only the one endures the test
Who does not forsake a needy neighbour;
Mix, you, half of bark into the bread,
Since frozen stands the field of our neighbour.
(J. L. Runeberg: Dikter, 1830.)
Squirrel’s happy life and a strange lullaby
The modern Finnish-language literature was founded by Aleksis Kivi (1834-1872). He gained considerable success for his plays during his lifetime, but his novel Seitsemän veljestä (The Seven Brothers, 1870) was met with a tragic lack of understanding. After some decades, just this novel was considered his masterpiece. It is curious that Kivi’s poetry did not during his lifetime nor many decades after his death attract as much praise. One of the reasons was that at the end of the 19th century Finnish academic poets were busy trying to introduce strict continental poetic forms into the Finnish language. Kivi’s poetry was closer to the essence of the Finnish language and not so rigid in its form. Later generations have started to value his poems higher. Especially his short lyrical poems are popular, not so much the long, epic poems. The following poems are extremely popular both as poems and songs. Song of the Squirrel, many times set to music, might be labelled as another unofficial national anthem. Song of My Heart, a rather odd lullaby, is most famous as a choir song composed by Jean Sibelius. Both poems were originally included as lyrical elements in the novel The Seven Brothers.
The oldest known picture of Aleksis Kivi,
done posthuomusly (probably) by Albert Edelfelt 1873.
SONG OF THE SQUIRREL
Sweetly lies the squirrel
in his room of moss;
there would the Doggy’s teeth,
nor the hunter’s trap,
never reach.
From its chamber high above
he looks around the orb of the world,
many are the battles beneath him;
he waves the spruce twig
like a banner of peace above his head.
What a life of happiness
in the swinging cradle castle!
There’s the little squirrel swaying
in the maternal bosom of the spruce:
the kantele* of the Woodland** is sounding.
There, the swinging-tail squirrel
is drowsing on the small window,
the birds, singing in the sky,
escort him in the evening
into the Eldorado of the dreams.
*Kantele, a traditional Finnish musical instrument, resembling the zither.
** Woodland, Metsola, mythological realm of the forest god.
SONG OF MY HEART
The grove of the Death, the nightly grove!
There’s a fine cradle of sand!
There shall I escort my baby.
There it is fun for the baby to be,
on the meadows of the Lord of Death
herding the cattle of the House of Death.
There it is fun for the baby to be,
when the evening comes,
rocking on the lap of the Maiden of Death.
Oh, how fun it is for him to be,
to loll in the golden cradle,
listen to the nightjar.
Wood of the Death, wood of the peace!
Far away from the feud and quarrel,
far away from the treacherous world.
(Seitsemän veljestä, 1870)
Spring carnival
(Photo: Jalmari Aarnio, Helsinki City Museum.)
First of May is an important festival in Finland, as close to a carnival as we can get. It is a holiday for the workers as well as a spring festival for the students and the rest of the people, the official start of the spring. You can’t escape the following song in First of May. It was written by Aleksanteri Rahkonen (1841-1877), one of the many primary school teacher-poets, who taught the Finnish children to read and write. Its popularity was guaranteed by the melody of Erkki Melartin (1875-1937).
Aleksanteri Rahkonen
THE LARK
Why do you, lark, fly to Finland
so early in the spring,
you do not thrive, joyful bird,
in the warm countries?
Why does your voice sound so fair
only under the Finnish sky,
and even if the trees are green,
you are flying so high up in the sky.
“The reason why I hasten to Finland
and fly so high up in the sky,
is that I want to see the most beautiful
shore under the skies.”
“And the reason why I sing,
is that the kantele is sounding here;
nowhere can one so rejoice,
as one can do in Finland.”
(Sääskiä, Mosquitoes, II 1867)
Summer is here!
Sharp differences between the seasons are characteristic of Finland. I love the real Finnish winter and most of us wait for snow to enlighten the dusky season. Still, only the people of the North know how it feels, when after a long winter the summer is coming. You may get some hint of the feeling, in megalomaniac proportions, by reading Brian Aldiss’ novel Helliconia Spring. In the old times, the hazards of winter were greater than today, and the feelings of relief were concrete when the hard time was over. This we can hear in the words of an old hymn called Suvivirsi (Summer hymn), which we share with the Swedes (Den blomstertid nu kommer). Original Swedish words were written by Haqvin Spegel and the Finnish version was made by Erik Cajanus (1675-1737). The hymn was included in the hymnbook of 1701, and still is in the current hymnbook of the Finnish Evangelical-Lutheran Church. The words in the hymn are, however, not as such tied to any particular religion. A great deal of emotion is tied to his hymn, because it has been traditionally sung at the end of the school year.
Erik Cajanus
SUMMER HYMN
Again the lovable time,
And the sweet summer, arrives,
When all places are adorned
By beautiful flowers.
Now the sweet Sun
Again comes nearer to us,
He bathes the dead,
Makes them again living.
The fair flowers of the meadows,
And the green rye field in the valley,
As well as the proud gardens,
The trees in green clothes,
They remind us
Of the great goodness of God,
That all can always see,
In the seasons of the year.
Now the bird with its fair voice
Again sings dexterously,
Why not we, then, sing
Joyfully to the Creator?
My Soul, thank GOD
Now with a song of rejoice,
As He makes us glad and fills us
With merciful gifts.
[…]
(Virsikirja, Hymn Book 1701)
Summer night’s wonders
Here is again a candidate for a modern (or post-modern) national anthem of Finland, and another panegyric for the Finnish summer. It was written by a prolific and popular poet, Eino Leino (1878-1926), one of the greatest in the Finnish literature. If you ask a Finn to recite a Finnish poem, this might be the one that most would remember. It is a truly lyrical piece with little narrative contents, only impression after impression about the Finnish summer night. It has been set to music many times, the most popular composition being by Kaj Chydenius, performed by Vesa-Matti (Vesku) Loiri. The fourth line is difficult to translate without an explanation. The original text tells about the smoke that arises from trees and bushes that were burned in order to prepare a “forest field” for sowing. People cultivated a batch of land for some years and then moved on to the next batch. This traditional type of agriculture was vanishing at the time of Leino.
Eino Leino
NOCTURNE
The song of corn crake in my ears,
full moon over rye’s heads:
for a summer night happiness is my own,
the dales are covered with smoke from bonfires.
I don’t exult, nor grieve or sigh,
but bring me the darkness of the forest,
shine of a cloud, where the day is drowning,
glimpse of a windy hill that is asleep,
smells of the twinflower and the shadows on the water;
out of them I shall make the song of my heart.
To thee I sing, maiden, summer’s herb,
the great silence of my heart,
my religion sounding like music,
oak-leaf garland, verdant and new.
I am not any more chasing a will-o’-the-wisp,
I do have the gold of happiness in my hand;
time stays still, the weathercock’s asleep;
in front of me a dusky road
leads towards an unknown house.
(Talviyö, Winter Night, 1905)
Where’s our real home?
The following religious poem was written by Juhana (Johan) Fredrik Granlund (1809–1874). For me Granlund is special, because he was born in my neighbouring municipality, Vesilahti, where I have spent my primary school years. He came from modest origins but his career as writer, printer and bookseller was impressive. The poem has become part of the popular poetry to the degree that few know the name of the author. Much of its modern fame stems from the first line, Täällä Pohjan tähden alla, “Here, under the North Star”, which one of our most important novelists, Väinö Linna, chose as the title of his trilogy Täällä Pohjantähden alla (1959-1962, translated into English by Richard Impola as: Under the North Star, 2001-2003).
Juhana Fredrik Granlund
OUR HOME COUNTRY
Here, under the North Star,
is now our home country,
but there, behind the stars,
we shall get another home.
Here, as do the flowers,
we have a short time only,
there, an endless life,
as have the angels.
Here, the heart sobs and
the eye is filled with cry;
there, the heart rejoices and
the joy is in the eye.
Thither, on the wings of hope,
little heart, already fly!
Because there is my home country,
there I want to go.
Merry Christmas!
The words of one of the most popular Finnish Christmas carol, Kun Joulu on, When it is Christmas, were written by Alpo Noponen (1862–1927), a primary school teacher, as many of those who wrote poems for seasonal events and religious circumstances. Even Otto Kotilainen, who sat the words tunes, was a primary school teacher, but also a professional composer. Noponen and Kotilainen were friends and worked as teachers in the primary school of Tehtaankatu (Factory Street) in Helsinki, in fact, the same school, where my dear wife Riitta, some fifty years later was pupil. The words and the melody were published in 1901 in a journal called Joulupukki (Santa Claus) published by Noponen. This song is played innumerable times in radio during the Christmas season. You can find many versions of it in Youtube.
Alpo Noponen
WHEN IT IS CHRISTMAS
When the ground is snow covered and the lakes are in ice
and the eye of the sun has died out,
when the swallow is far away,
and the wood is void, songless,
a warm breath is felt in the winter weather,
when it is Christmas!
Nobody remembers worry or sorrow,
you don’t feel the bitter cold,
only the song is ringing from the children’s mouths,
and the eyes are glowing with joy,
and the flames are shining in the Christmas trees,
when it is Christmas!
Mom has filled the table to the brim,
she gives and gets the presents,
but the crib, straws and the star above,
they are looming preciously into the eyes;
that’s why a Christian’s mind is tender,
when it is Christmas!
I should have stopped here, but I still want to add the Christmas carol that has been twice voted as the most popular by the Finns. In fact, it is my favourite as well. Sylvias sång, Sylvia’s song, was published in a collection of poems, Sylvias sånger, Sylvia’s songs, in 1853 by Zacharias (Zachris) Topelius (1818-1898), a poet, playwright and novelist that has contributed immensely to the construction of the Finnish nation. The poem was set to music by Karl Collan (1828-1871), a composer and librarian, who died too young of cholera. The poem was written in Swedish, but exists, as many other Topelius’ poems, in fine Finnish translations. The protagonist of the poem, Sylvia, is a blackcap (Sylvia atricapilla) passing the winter in Sicily. This is a paradoxical Christmas carol, because there is nothing religious in it, just homesickness and patriotic feelings. It has been said that there was a hidden political message that Topelius wrote into the poem under the depressing reign of Nicholas I, but modern listeners don’t think of it. There is lots of nationalist pathos in the poem, as in many other poems of my selection. These feelings were important in the 19th century, and we still must find a positive, peaceful and constructive role for them in our own times.
(Photo Riitta Mäkinen, November 2023.)
Zachris Topelius
SYLVIA’S SONG
And now it is Christmas in my beloved North, is it Christmas in your heart, too?
And the candles they are burning on the
brimful table, and the children are on tiptoe with expectation.
There, high beneath the ceiling, there hangs it still, the cage, that has imprisoned my truest
friend,
and the song has died away in the prison castle, oh, who lends a heart for the
singer’s sorrow?
I live in the land of the eternal springs,
where the glowing grapes grow.
The cypresses smell on the seashore, where I have my lonely nest.
The flaming Etna is sparkling so beautifully, and the air is springlike and the grass is green,
the fragrance of oranges comes out of the forest, and the sweet mandolin is
sounding lovely.
The cypresses smell. The swelling sea breaks like silver on the beach;
on the foot of the Etna, there is a grave,
in sorrow transformed into flowers.
There is slumbering a guest from a northern dale; and now it is Christmas in
his fathers’ hall.
Who is singing your song, as it used to happen once? Hear, Sylvia sings the
song of your home country!
And beam, you brightest star in the sky,
look down on my beloved North!
And when you go away under the sky’s brim, bless my fatherland!
In the blooming springs on the golden
shore, where is a land like the land of my ancestors?
For you I want to sing about love and spring, as long as your Sylvia’s heart
beats.
(Sylvias sånger, Sylvia’s songs, 1853)
(Translations and commentary by Ilkka Mäkinen for Christmas 2013, here slightly uppdated.)
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