The Poetry of the Skalds
by Egil Njalsson
(May 1993)
"As soon as Egil was seated he put the bracelet on his arm
and his eyebrows went back to normal. He laid down the sword
beside him along with the helmet, picked up the horn that had
been offered him and drank it down. Then he made a verse:
The King in his coat
Of steel sets this gold coil,
This ring, on my right arm
Where falcons have rested:
The gift hangs glowing,
My arm its gallows:
Honor was earned
By the feaster of eagles. |
After that, Egil took his full share of drink and talked to the
others." (From Egil's Saga, trans. by Hermann Pälsson and
Paul Edwards, 1976, p.129)
The poetry of the vikings often seems odd and stilted to
the modern speaker of English. One might feel that this is
primarily due to its "losing something in the translation" from
Old Norse, and it is true that the original beauty of the poetry
is hard to translate; but the causes of its unique sound are
much more fundamental. The poetic construction and devices used
by the viking poet were along much different lines from what
modern English speakers often consider to be "standard poetry."
The viking "skald," or poet-musician, had a miriad of
constructive techniques available to him. Many of these were
later used by the 13th-century Icelandic poet Snorri Sturlusson
in his Edda . This book consisted mostly of tales of the viking
gods, along with a viking book of proverbs and the tales of the
creation and end of the nine worlds; but it was not written
merely to recount these revered tales. Rather, it was written
as a style manual, demonstrating several different methods of
poetry construction as well as providing source material for
later re-tellings of the old legends.
The most commonly-used verse style was the "draupa." This
was an eight-line verse, with each line broken into two half-
lines, each typically containing one or two stressed syllables
and a small number of unstressed ones. Each pair of lines was
further tied together with alliteration: at least three of the
four half-lines in each couplet would have the same sound at the
beginning of a stressed syllable. This is easier demonstrated
than described: in the introductory example, the first couplet
stresses the words "King," "coat," "steel," and "coil," each of
which marks its own half-line, and three of which start with the
same sound. The second couplet is joined by alliteration on
"r," the third on "g," and the fourth on vowel sounds. Notice
that the alliteration is based on the stressed sound, not the
letter which produces the sound. Furthermore, to the skalds,
any vowel was considered to alliterate to any other vowel: thus
the alliteration in the last couplet of "Honor," "earned," and
"eagles." Respected 20th-century translators such as Magnus
Magnusson, Hermann Palsson, and Paul Edwards have sought to
maintain the poetic structure of the skalds, keeping the stress
pattern and the alliteration, though it sometimes means a less-
than-harmonious end result in English. Others have tried to
maintain the beauty of the skaldic intent, while sacrificing the
intricacy of the original form. Both camps have their
advantages.
The skaldic tradition is also marked by an often-extensive
use of the "kenning," a type of metaphor. Normally this was a
two-word, hyphenated term such as "ring-giver," "raven-feast,"
or "whale-way," referring respectively to a king, battle, and
the ocean, just to name a few examples. At times these could
become rather involved, as skalds used what I refer to as
second- and third-generation kennings: allusions in which the
standard kenning, such as "sea-steed" for ship, was too
overused, so another kenning such as "whale-way" might be
substituted for "sea," and perhaps an additional kenning for
"steed." The final product would thus be several steps removed
from the original literal meaning, and would need several mental
translations before the listener pieced together the exact
nature of the reference, but no-one seemed to mind. The
audience of the period loved these abstract references, for such
metaphors were used commonly enough that the average person
would ordinarily understand the reference. The introductory
example above used less strict metaphors such as "gallows" for a
place from which something (in this case, the arm-band) hangs,
and "feaster of eagles" for a king, alluding to his success
(real or imagined) in feeding the carrion birds through battle.
These draupa were often composed on the fly, to
commemmorate something that had just happened. In the case of
the above example, the skald composed the verse to thank a king
for the gift of a golden arm-band -- used not only as
ornamentation, but also as currency in those times. Others
might be composed to brow-beat lazy workers, to make note of a
late-comer, to prepare for battle, or to deliver an elaborate
curse. Yet others were composed for more solemn occasions.
Most viking kings had at least one court skald to accompany them
into battle and memorialize their deeds. In times of peace,
these court skalds would construct elaborate histories of the
king's lineage, making his ancestors sound appropriately
glorious.
Yet not all skalds were courtly hangers-on. The most
famous skald of the viking period was Egil Skallagrimsson, one
of the characters after whom I, Egil Njalsson, was named. (The
other namesake, Njal, was a lawspeaker, but that is a subject
for another discussion...) Egil was definitely not one to hang
around court and compose praises of a king, unless he just
happened to be there at the time, and felt that the king
deserved a poem. Egil was a complex individual, as full of
fiery temper and battle skill as he was of artistic talent, or
of love for his family and his god Odin -- the god of poetry and
wisdom (among other things). When Egil was at the ripe old age
of three, his father stopped taking him to parties, because Egil
got too rowdy when he was drunk. He committed his first killing
at the age of six: he borrowed a friend's axe and sank it into
the head of a ten-year-old who had tripped him during a game of
viking football. (For this he was severely reprimanded by his
father.) Yet as he grew into adulthood his poetic skill
increased, as did his fighting ability and his love for those
close to him. When his beloved son died at sea, he was torn
between feelings of love, loss, and the perceived betrayal by
Odin for taking his son away. Egil composed the immensely
beautiful "On the Loss of Sons" [attached] as his way of dealing
with the pain. In it he not only grieves the loss of his only
heir and beloved son, but also rails against Odin for letting it
happen, and ends by resigning himself to the inevitability of
his own death.
His other great epic poem requires a bit of background
explanation. Egil's greatest enemy was King Eirik Bloodaxe,
whose wife was Gunnhild. In battle with Eirik, Egil had been
responsible not only for the death of Gunnhild's brother, but
also for the death of one of Eirik's sons. Egil was banished
from Eirik's presence, but before he left the area Egil erected
a "scorn-pole," filled with runic curses upon Eirik and his
family -- the worst insult possible. Yet Eirik was not a
popular king in Norway, and was eventually driven out. He,
along with those who had sworn allegiance to him, fled to
England, where Eirik became king. (The throne of England was
under viking control for most of the viking period.) At one
point Egil's ship was blown off course and crashed on the
English coast. Egil, travelling alone, could have moved
incognito to the nearest port and gotten himself a ride out, but
he thought it would seem cowardly if he was caught attempting to
flee from the land of his enemy. Instead, he sought out his
friend Arinbjorn (the one who had loaned him the axe so long
ago, who was now serving Eirik), and asked for his help in
confronting the king. Together with twenty of Arinbjorn's armed
followers, they went to Eirik's throne room. When they arrived,
Arinbjorn told Eirik that there was someone outside who wanted
to see Eirik... someone Eirik knew... someone he'd dealt with
before... No further introduction was necessary, and when Egil
entered the room Gunnhild screamed at Eirik to have Egil killed
immediately. Arinbjorn pointed out that since it was now dark
outside, killing Egil would be murder rather than justice (a
viking law), and the sight of Arinbjorn's armed guards made
Eirik tend to agree. He said they would discuss the matter in
the morning, and Egil left with Arinbjorn. Egil stayed up all
night composing a 20-verse poem in Eirik's praise, though he was
pestered by a bird who was thought to be Gunnhild in shape-
changed form. In the morning, Egil returned to the throne room
with Arinbjorn and his guards, and discovered that Eirik had
also taken the opportunity to call together his own guards.
With the room filled with armed men, Egil stepped forward, and,
unbidden, recited his new work, which was later named "The Head
Ransom" [also attached]. Though not sincere, it was
nevertheless nobly composed and sang Eirik's praises for all
the world to hear. In addition, Egil introduced something he
had probably heard in Latin poetry: for the first time in
viking poetry, end-rhyme was used -- the poetry device with
which we 20th-century English speakers are most familiar.
Everyone present must have immediately understood what an
innovation this was, and that Eirik's immortal fame was now
assured thanks to his greatest enemy. Before Eirik could decide
what to do, Arinbjorn stepped forward and said that if Eirik
still wanted to kill Egil, Arinbjorn and his followers would
make sure that "the story would be worth telling." In the end,
Egil was freed, and Arinbjorn was eventually allowed to return
to Norway, where he developed quite a reputation for himself.
Though I do not claim to be a poet on the order of Egil
Skallagrimsson or Snorri Sturlusson, I am quite an admirer of
the skaldic tradition. Their draupa, and the events which
caused these poems to be written, are a great inspiration, and
it is my earnest hope that I and other students of the viking
period will in some small way be able to bring this tradition to
the Duchy of Dragonspine.