The Internet is AWESOME!

Okay… so not only is the internet awesome, but so is my husband. I had searched for an hour or two this afternoon to see if I could find an English translation to the poem but had no luck. I mentioned this fruitless search to Xan at dinner. Within 5 min. of searching, he had found this translation for me. It is a poem about the 13 “Santa Claus’s” they have in Iceland.

To give credit where credit is due, the website I copied this from is:
http://notendur.centrum.is/sjbokband/joh.html/yulelads00.html

The Yuletide Lads
English translation/Copyright © Hallberg Hallmundsson.

Let me tell the story
of the lads of few charms,
who once upon a time
used to visit our farms.

They came from the mountains,
as many of you know,
in a long single file
to the farmsteads below.

Grýla was their mother
– she gave them ogre milk –
and the father Leppalúdi;
a loathsome ilk.

They were called the Yuletide lads
– at Yuletide they were due –
and always came one by one,
not ever two by two.

Thirteen altogether,
these gents in their prime
didn´t want to irk people
all at one time.

Creeping up, all stealth,
they unlocked the door.
The kitchen and the pantry
they came looking for.

They hid where they could,
with a cunning look or sneer,
ready with their pranks
when people weren´t near.

And even when they were seen,
they weren´t loath to roam
and play their tricks – disturbing
the peace of the home.

staur.jpg (10485 bytes) The first of them was Sheep-Cote Clod.
He came stiff as wood,
to pray upon the farmer´s sheep
as far as he could.

He wished to suck the ewes,
but it was no accident
he couldn´t; he had stiff knees
– not to convenient.

The second was Gully Gawk,
gray his head and mien.
He snuck into the cow barn
from his craggy ravine.

Hiding in the stalls,
he would steal the milk, while
the milkmaid gave the cowherd
a meaningful smile.

gilja.jpg (10223 bytes)
stufur.jpg (13011 bytes) Stubby was the third called,
a stunted little man,
who watched for every chance
to whisk off a pan.

And scurrying away with it,
he scraped off the bits
that stuck to the bottom
and brims – his favorites.

The fourth was Spoon Licker;
like spindle he was thin.
He felt himself in clover
when the cook wasn´t in.

Then stepping up, he grappled
the stirring spoon with glee,
holding it with both hands
for it was slippery.

tvoru.jpg (11183 bytes)
potta.jpg (9035 bytes) Pot Scraper, the fifth one,
was a funny sort of chap.
When kids were given scrapings,
he´d come to the door and tap.

And they would rush to see
if there really was a guest.
Then he hurried to the pot
and had a scrapingfest.

Bowl Licker, the sixth one,
was shockingly ill bred.
From underneath the bedsteads
he stuck his ugly head.

And when the bowls were left
to be licked by dog or cat,
he snatched them for himself
– he was sure good at that!

aska.jpg (12047 bytes)
hurda.jpg (10690 bytes) The seventh was Door Slammer,
a sorry, vulgar chap:
When people in the twilight
would take a little nap,

he was happy as a lark
with the havoc he could wreak,
slamming doors and hearing
the hinges on them sqeak.

Skyr* Gobbler, the eighth,
was an awful stupid bloke.
He lambasted the skyr tub
till the lid on it broke.

Then he stood there gobbling
– his greed was well known –
until, about to burst,
he would bleat, howl and groan.

skyr.jpg (12328 bytes)
bjugna.jpg (11163 bytes) The ninth was Sausage Swiper,
a shifty pilferer.
He climbed up to the rafters
and raided food from there.

Sitting on a crossbeam
in soot and in smoke,
he fed himself on sausage
fit for gentlefolk.

The tenth was Window Peeper,
a weird little twit,
who stepped up to the window
and stole a peek through it.

And whatever was inside
to which his eye was drawn,
he most likely attempted
to take later on.

glugga.jpg (10193 bytes)
gatta.jpg (11664 bytes) Eleventh was Door Sniffer,
a doltish lad and gross.
He never got a cold, yet had
a huge, sensitive nose.

He caught the scent of lace bread
while leagues away still
and ran toward it weightless
as wind over dale and hill.

Meat Hook, the twelfth one,
his talent would display
as soon as he arrived
on Saint Thorlak´s Day.

He snagged himself a morsel
of meet of any sort,
although his hook at times was
a tiny bit short.

kjet.jpg (9894 bytes)
kerta.jpg (14625 bytes) The thirteenth was Candle Beggar
– ´twas cold, I believe,
if he was not the last
of the lot on Christmas Eve.

He trailed after the little ones
who, like happy sprites,
ran about the farm with
their fine tallow lights.

On Christmas night itself
– so a wise man writes
– the lads were all restraint
and just stared at the lights.

Then one by one they trotted off
into the frost and snow.
On Twelfth Night the last
of the lads used to go.

Their footprints in the highlands
are effaced now for long,
the memories have all turned
to image and song

*Dairy product, similar to yogurt.

<Home> Copyright © 1999-2000 bokband.com.

Pictures/Copyright©Olafur Petursson

So, now you know the story of the 13 Yule lads as they are called. Here´s a bit of historical information I found on Wikipedia:

The Yule Lads were originally portrayed as being mischievous, or even criminal, pranksters that would steal from, or in other way harass the population (at the time mostly rural farmers). They all had descriptive names that conveyed their modus operandi.

The Yule Lads are traditionally said to be the sons of the mountain-dwelling trolls Grýla and Leppalúði. Additionally, the Yule Lads are often depicted with the Yuletide Cat, a beast that, according to folklore, eats children that don’t receive new clothes in time for Christmas.

In modern times the Yule Lads have been depicted as taking on a more benevolent role comparable to Santa Claus and other related figures and putting small gifts (or potatoes if the child has misbehaved) into shoes placed by children into their windows the last thirteen nights before Christmas Eve. They are occasionally depicted as wearing the costume traditionally worn by Santa Claus, but are otherwise generally shown wearing late medieval style Icelandic clothing.

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