The Pikebone Harp
(Excerpts from Chapters 40-41
of The Kalevala
in three different translations)
[The three main characters, Väinämöinen, Ilmarinen and Lemminkäinen, have taken
to sea.]
As soon as he got there to those broad waters
the vessel stopped running on, the boat stopped flying along.
The vessel stops on something solid, the boat lay to there without moving.
Craftsman Ilmarinen, reckless Lemminkäinen as the second,
stuck the steering oar into the sea, the firwood oar into the billows;
they try to pry that vessel loose from what it was stuck on;
the boat cannot run on nor does the wooden vessel get free.
Steadfast old Väinämöinen uttered a word, spoke thus:
“O you reckless son of Lempi! Bend over and see
what the vessel is stuck on, the boat fast on
in these broad waters, quiet lower reaches,
whether on a rock or on a rotten tree trunk
or some other obstacle.”
Reckless Lemminkäinen turned to look;
he looks under the boat, uttered a word, spoke thus:
“The boat is not on a rock, not on a rock, not on a rotten tree trunk;
the boat is on a pike’s shoulders, on the shoulder blades of a dog of the
water.”
[Lemminkäinen and Ilmarinen fail to budge the pike. Väinämöinen cuts it in two. The ship is freed and they have a huge fish dinner.]
Then the pike is cooked, as midmorning snacks.
The bones remained on the little island, the fishbones on the skerry.
Steadfast old Väinämöinen looks at them there,
looks, turns them over. He uttered a word, spoke thus:
“What might come of that, of those teeth of the pike,
of the broad jawbone if they were in a craftsman’s workshop,
at a skillful smith’s, in the hands of a capable man?”
Craftsman Ilmarinen spoke: “Nothing comes of nothing,
no work tool from a fishbone, not even in a craftsman’s workshop,
at a skilled smith’s, in the hands of a capable man.”
Steadfast old Väinämöinen said these words:
“Nevertheless, from these indeed might come
a fishbone harp
were there a competent person, a maker of a bone instrument.”
When no one else at all came, when there was no competent person,
no maker of a bone instrument, steadfast old Väinämöinen
turned himself into a constructor, made himself a maker.
He made a pikebone instrument, produced an instrument of eternal joy.
From what was the harp’s frame? From the great pike’s jawbone.
From what are the harp’s pegs? They are from the pike’s teeth.
From what are the harp’s strings? From the hairs of the demon’s gelding.
Now the instrument was produced, the harp got ready,
the great pikebone instrument, the fishbone harp.
[Lemminkäinen and various other people try to play the instrument, but none succeed in making anything but noise. An irritated old man suggests throwing it back into the sea.]
The music is spread abroad by the strings,
the harp rang out with words:
“I will not yet go into the water, not be placed under the waves!
Rather will I resound in the hands of the player,
clang out for him who took the
trouble to make me.”
Now they carried it carefully, bore it nicely
to the hand of the man who made it, to the knees of him who procured it.
Steadfast old Väinämöinen, eternal singer,
arranges his fingers, lightly rubs his thumbs together.
He seats himself on a music stone, places himself on a song boulder,
on a silver hill, on a golden knoll.
He took the instrument in his fingers, on his knees turned the instrument with a
tapering frame,
the harp under his hand. He uttered a word, spoke thus:
“Let him come to hear who previously may not have heard
the joyous music of eternal lays, the resonance of the harp.”
Thus old Väinämöinen began delicately to play
the pikebone sounding board, the fishbone harp.
His fingers rose quickly, his thumb moved lightly above.
Now joyous music resulted in joyous music,
rapture after rapture burst forth,
the music seemed like music, the song was like a proper song.
The pike’s tooth rang out, the fish’s tail gave forth sound,
the stallion’s hairs resounded, the steed’s hairs sang out clearly.
Old Väinämöinen played nor was there that thing in the forest
running about on four feet, leaping with its legs,
that did not come to hear, to marvel at the joyous music.
The squirrels reached out from spray to spray,
the weasels betook themselves there, settled themselves on fences.
The elk sprang on the heaths, the lynxes jumped about joyfully.
In the fen the wolf, too, awoke, the bear in the heath got up
from its den in the pines, from out of the scrub firs.
The wolf ran great distances, the bear roamed the heaths;
at last it settled down on a fence, flung itself onto a gate.
The fence collapsed onto a rock, the gate toppled over onto a clearing.
Then it jumped up into a fir, turned suddenly up into a pine tree
to listen to the playing, to marvel at the joyous music.
[All sorts of other creatures — birds, fish, people, nature deities — come to hear and marvel.]
The very geniuses of the air, lovely virgins of the air,
marveled at the joyous music, listened to the harp;
some were radiant on the shaft-bow of the sky,
on the rainbow,
others were magnificent on the rosy-edged tip of a little cloud. . . .
Then old Väinämöinen played one day, played a second.
There was not that person or brave man,
not man or woman or girl with luxuriant hair
who did not start to weep, whose heart did not melt.
[Finally Väinämöinen himself weeps. His huge tears fall into the sea. When a duck dives down and recovers them, they have been transformed into blue pearls. Then the three heroes continue their voyage. . . .]
Literal translation by Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr. (1963)
[The three main characters, Väinämöinen, Ilmarinen and Lemminkäinen, have taken
to sea.]
But as soon as they were out,
Out upon the open water,
Suddenly the boat stopped moving
And the vessel stood stone still.
There the boat was firmly grounded,
Vessel fixed and motionless.
First the blacksmith Ilmarinen,
Then the wayward Lemminkäinen
Plunged the rudder deeper down,
Firwood oar beneath the billows
Trying thus to loose the vessel
From the thing it’s grounded on.
But the vessel does not move,
The wooden boat is not released.
Said old Väinämöinen then:
“O you nimble son of Lempi!
Lean over now and look to see
What the boat is grounded on,
Stuck on in these open waters,
In these peaceful lower reaches —
On a rock or sunken pine log
Or some other unseen snag.”
Lemminkäinen, leaning over,
Peers beneath the boat and says:
“No, the vessel’s on no rock,
Neither rock nor sunken pine log,
But the shoulders of a pike,
Backbone of the water-dog.”
[Lemminkäinen and Ilmarinen fail to budge the pike. Väinämöinen cuts it in two. The ship is freed and they have a huge fish dinner.]
When the pike was cooked and eaten,
Nothing but the bones were left there,
Fishbones on the rocky islet.
Väinämöinen looks them over,
Turns them over as he wonders:
“What thing could be made of those,
Fashioned from the pike’s great teeth,
Invented from its broad jawbone
Somehow in a craftsman’s workshop,
Workshop of a skilled artist,
In the hands of mighty talent.”
But smith Ilmarinen answered:
“Nothing ever comes from nothing,
Nothing useful from those fishbones
Even in a craftsman’s workshop,
Workshop of a skilled artist,
In the hands of mighty talent.”
Väinämöinen meditated:
“Yet from these might be invented
Something like a harp perhaps.
If one only had the skill,
He might make a harp of fishbone.”
Then when no one else came forward,
No one with the skill to do it,
To invent a harp of fishbone,
Old reliable Väinämöinen
Now became the skilled inventor,
Made himself the master craftsman —
Made the five-stringed harp of pikebone,
Made a thing of joy forever.
What’s the body of it made of?
Of the jawbone of the pike.
And the pegs, what are they made of?
Of the strong teeth of the pike.
And the strings, what are they made of?
From the mane of Hiisi’s gelding.
Now the instrument was finished,
Now the five-string harp was ready,
The great instrument of pikebone,
The great fishbone joyance giver.
[Lemminkäinen and various other people try to play the instrument, but none succeed in making anything but noise. An irritated old man suggests throwing it back into the sea.]
But the harp strings interrupted
As they rang out with these words:
“I will not go under water
Nor yet underneath the seawaves.
I will ring out for my player,
Him who took the pains to make me.”
So indeed they took it safely,
Carried it with all due care
To the hands of him who made it,
To the knees of its inventor.
Old reliable Väinämöinen,
Singer immortal, rubs his thumbs
And limbers up his fingers;
Seats himself upon the joystone,
Takes his place upon the songrock,
High up on a silver hill,
There upon a golden knob.
Then he took his new-made harp
And he laid it on his knees,
Underneath his hands and said:
“Come and hear now, all of you
Who have never heard before
Joy of poetry supernal
Echoing from the joyance giver!”
Then old Väinämöinen played,
Leading off with delicate chords
On the pikebone instrument,
On the new-made harp of fishbone.
Nimbly rose and fell his fingers
As his thumb moved lightly, lightly.
Now the music rose to joyance
And the joy to high rejoicing;
All the music felt so real,
On from song to song high hymning,
With the twanging of the pike tooth
And the sounding of the fish tail,
All the horsehair strings resounding,
Stallion hairs re-echoing.
Väinämöinen went on playing.
There was not a single creature
Of the forest, of the woodland,
Not a single four-foot runner,
Not a single hind-leg leaper
That did not run out to listen
And to wonder at the joyance.
Squirrels hurried out to hear it,
Leaping on from branch to branch,
And the weasels came there also,
Settling down upon the fences;
On the heather elk were bounding,
Lynxes leaping up for joy.
Even the fen-laired wolf awoke
And the heath bear from his den
In the pine and firwood thicket.
From afar the wolf came running,
And the bear traversed the heathland
Till he landed on a fence,
Threw himself upon the gate.
The fence fell over on the rocks
And the gate into the clearing.
Then he scampered up a fir tree,
Spun around into a pine,
There to listen to the playing
And to wonder at the joyance.
[All sorts of other creatures — birds, fish, people, nature deities — come to hear and marvel.]
Even Nature’s airy daughters,
Beautiful virgins of the sky,
Listened to the thrilling music,
Rejoicing with the gladness of it;
Some upon the rainbow’s rim,
Shimmering on the shaft of heaven,
Some upon a little cloudlet,
Resplendent on the roseate border. . . .
Väinämöinen went on playing,
Played one day and played a second.
There was not a single person,
Not the hardiest of men,
Neither any man nor woman
Nor a loose-haired maiden either
Who did not break out in tears
Or whose heart remained unmelted.
[Finally Väinämöinen himself weeps. His huge tears fall into the sea. When a duck dives down and recovers them, they have been transformed into blue pearls. Then the three heroes continue their voyage. . . .]
Translated by Eino Friberg (1988)
[The three main characters, Väinämöinen, Ilmarinen and Lemminkäinen, have taken
to sea.]
Only when he had got there
to those wide waters
did the craft jam, stop running
the little boat stop speeding —
and the craft jams hard
the boat will not budge.
Smith Ilmarinen
next wanton Lemminkäinen
stuck a paddle in the sea
a spruce sliver in the wave:
patiently they work to free
that craft from the jam;
but the little boat won’t run
nor will the wooden craft shift.
Steady old Väinämöinen
uttered a word and spoke thus:
“O you wanton Loverboy
lean over and see
what the craft is jammed upon
the little boat tangled with
on these wide waters
on this quiet stretch —
whether a rock or a log
or something else in the way!”
That wanton Lemminkäinen
spun round to look. He
looks below the little boat;
“The boat is not on a rock —
not a rock and not a log:
the boat’s on a pike’s shoulders
on a water-dog’s haunches!”
[Lemminkäinen and Ilmarinen fail to budge the pike. Väinämöinen cuts it in two. The ship is freed and they have a huge fish dinner.]
Then the pike is cooked
breakfasted on in titbits.
Some bones were left on the crag
fishbones on the rock.
Steady old Väinämöinen
at that looks at them —
looks at them, turns them over;
he uttered a word, spoke thus:
“I wonder what these —
these pike-teeth, this wide
jawbone — could become
were they in a smith’s workshop
with a skilful craftsman, in
a mighty man’s hands?”
The smith Ilmarinen said:
“What’s nothing becomes nothing
a fishbone no tool
even in a smith’s workshop
with a skilful craftsman, in
a mighty man’s hands.”
Steady old Väinämöinen
put this into words:
“But surely these could become
a kantele of fishbones
were there someone who knew how
who could make an instrument of bones.”
When no one else came forward
and there was none who knew how
who could make an instrument of bones
steady old Väinämöinen
made of himself a maker
took the shape of a shaper:
he made an instrument of pike bones
produced a joy forever.
What was the kantele’s belly from? —
’twas from the big pike’s jawbone.
What the kantele’s pegs from? —
they were made from the pike’s teeth.
What the kantele’s strings from? —
from the hairs of the Demon’s gelding.
Now the instrument was made
and ready the kantele
the great pikebone instrument
the kantele of fish-fins.
[Lemminkäinen and various other people try to play the instrument, but none succeed in making anything but noise. An irritated old man suggests throwing it back into the sea.]
The instrument finds its tongue
the kantele struck up words:
“I’ll not hit the water yet
nor dwell below the billows!
I’ll play first with a player
whine with one who’s taken pains.”
So it was carried with care
borne beautifully
to the hand of its maker
the knees of him who fetched it.
Steady old Väinämöinen
the everlasting singer
prepares his fingers
rubs his thumbs ready;
he sits on the rock of joy
on the song-boulder settles
on the silver hill
on the golden knoll;
he fingered the instrument
turned the curved thing on his knees
the kantele in his hands;
he uttered a word, spoke thus:
“Now, let him come and listen
who may not before have heard
the joy of eternal bards
the sound of the kantele!”
At that old Väinämöinen
began to play prettily
the sounding thing of pike-bones
the kantele of fish-bones;
his fingers rose nimbly, his
thumb lifted lightly;
now joy waxed joyful
delight echoed like delight
music sounded like music
song had the effect of song;
the pike’s tooth tinkled
the fish-tail poured forth
the stallion’s hairs called
the hairs of the steed rang out.
As old Väinämöinen played
there was none in the forest
running on four legs
or hopping on foot
that did not come to listen
marvel at the merriment:
the squirrels reached from leafy
twig to leafy twig
and the stoats turned up
sat down on fences;
the elk skipped upon the heaths
and the lynxes made merry.
The wolf too woke on a swamp
and the bear rose on the heath
from a den of pine
from a spruce thicket;
the wolf ran long distances
the bear ranged over the heaths
sat down at last on a fence
and fling themselves at a gate:
the fence fell upon the rock
the gate toppled in the glade;
then they scrambled up a spruce
they swung up a pine
to listen to the music
marvel at the merriment.
[All sorts of other creatures — birds, fish, people, nature deities — come to hear and marvel.]
Yes, the air’s nature-daughters
and the air’s lovely lassies
marvelled at the merriment
listened to the kantele;
one on the sky’s collar-bow
shimmered upon a rainbow
one on top of a small cloud
bloomed upon the russet edge. . . .
Then the old Väinämöinen
played for one day, played for two;
there was no fellow
nor any brave man
there was no man nor wife, nor
one who wore her hair in braids
who did not fall to weeping
whose heart did not melt.
[Finally Väinämöinen himself weeps. His huge tears fall into the sea. When a duck dives down and recovers them, they have been transformed into blue pearls. Then the three heroes continue their voyage. . . .]
Translated by Keith Bosley (1989)
Three translations of an episode from the Finnish folk-epic, The Kalevala.
[Rexroth essay on The Kalevala]