For Just One Time. . .Through a Land so White and Savage

(All pictures from my bedroom window)

The Icelandic Winter has held particular character of late: the lull of disaffection and disinterest gave way a few days ago when we got the sort of snow that holds itself together with special quality, and there are inches of it on every twig, a foot and a half on every tombstone, and the land gets cozy with its bulk. The winds have returned, the respite from them ever brief, so the trees and the University's birch hedges are not quite so impressive. But it is still a lovely season, and even the even misanthropic and patriotic (in their very local ways) Paul and James appear more at home.

The translations are long. I was getting angry at every word I had to look up (which, still, are most of them. But I am developing some sort of vocabulary, even if the semantic and morphological diversity of the major strong verbs make them an eternal pain in the ass), and it seemed that though I devoted copious time to it, the three chapters of Laxdæla saga were completed just barely in time for tomorrow's class. And likewise I am at risk for being understudied for the little quiz, and perhaps with this writing somewhat lacking in sleep (though copious amounts of good Oregonian black tea should help with that). Njals saga next week will be more lines, in less time, and it will only progress from there. But I remain appreciative, particularly this term, of spending all that time studying EXACTLY what I want to, barring another decent history course. I mean, I've got a language course that's ninety percent translation, and solid and (it appears) unstressful introduction to the most exotically pedantic subject in the world, palaeography and codecology, that I might be a real little philologist someday, and the lone proper lecture/paper-writing course is in the full spectrum of Old Norse religion: I've already decided that I'm going to write about trees in Old Norse religion, because I'm just that sort of predictable (Perhaps I will be writing just about The Tree, but we'll see how the research goes).

Still nervous about the summer. Proper thesis-writing. Whether or not I'll get a sufficient enough start this term: whether I'll translate enough of my texts to get a good enough sense to really write about them. And there remains the topic, even. I had a very nice sort of idea about the adaptation and abbreviation of Breta sögur and Trójumanna saga to fit into the distinctly world-history context of Hauksbók; but then I was reminded that I can edit a manuscript fragment for my thesis. And it needn't be said that there are numerous attractive aspects to that, both practical and romantic. But there is further going to be a grant, and a rather hefty grant, offered to MA students writing on supernatural topics: of course only one student will get it, but it is hefty motivation to change my topic to something that fits it its realms (maybe something about trees?). So, what was a week ago one of the few concrete ideas about the summer's work has gone utterly fluid again. So it goes.

Not really much else to say. Seem to be doing well in classes and grades. Not particularly stir crazy with the study, though there are perhaps little aches and pains from sitting around too much. Going to two (free) shows this week. It's not Paris in the 20's, but it's a good gig all the same. And probably healthier.

P.S. Bornhöved, from Malbrook´s second album, QwadeWulf, is an absolutely amazing song. More of my fellow folkies need to listen to Wolfgang Meyering and his Northern German band of awesomeness.

Falling Trojans and Melting Ice

Alas, no new pictures this week. I haven't really been out much, at least not to the sort of places one takes a camera. And the melting ice is not quite as picturesque as the piling snow. Times like this make me wish I had a smaller camera; but I think I made the right decision. A big, awkward camera means the pictures I get are better, and I'm less likely to turn into one of those people who do more taking of pictures that doing of, or observing of, things. Though the fear remains present, being of a sort of academic mindset, that in my mind the urge to record, or to make abstract, will win over the urge to experience.

But my Saturday's have been good. I made it out into the thick of the Reykjavik night-life last weekend, with my new sometimes-workout-partner Josefin (I seem to have became popular at the gym since Erin left. I'm training David in the basics, and Josefin pushed to me delightful levels of exertion this Friday and Saturday- we did heavy deadlift and heavy squats back-to-to! My lower back still hasn't recovered. It's wonderful-and Liv will be starting back up again next weekend. It's a little intimidating, but comforting at the same time: I need never be lonesome or un-spotted at the gym again.) and enjoyed myself as much as is possible in the crush and noise of the Reyjkavík at its most Las Vegas-like. Last night David and I went to Ölsmíthjan for a little Irish session, with his friend Ruth on whistle/guitar and a fiddler Ólafur (named for a king or a saint?) and several other whistlers/flautists and a guitarist whose names I really aught to remember. I had all the anxiety someone who knows me well would expect of that situation, but it was all kinds of fun, and it´s possible that I could have played worse than I did. I do wish I knew some of the tunes: I need to bulk up my repertoire. Jaime didn´t make it, alas: we didn´t get to enjoy any folk-clarinet. But the possibility remains that we´ll get back together again (other than the good folks going back to Scotland). Something to look forward to.

I have officially finished the Illiad and the 6th century pseudo-history Daretis Phrygii de excidio Trojae historia, both in translation. So I'm nicely onto my background reading for my thesis. Next I'm going to try my latin at a (fortunately heavily glossed) Ilias latina, a poetic shortening (it's about a thousand lines) of the Iliad, and definitely a source for some of the additions to Dares in Trójumanna saga. After that, I might skip some of the other Late Antique works, since they don't appear to have been among the source material in Scandinavia, and move on the the Aeniad and Gregory of Monmouth's Historia. Or maybe I'm just to lazy to read things that I don't have to, that aren't in translation. We shall see.

But there is a sense of deepening education there, now, which is nice. And we are moving from 50 lines of Íslensk Fornrit normalized Egils saga this week to 700 lines of normalized fornaldarsögur and 300 lines of diplomatic riddarasögur in the last week of our Old Icelandic class. So there is an equal sense of the hope for a deeper understanding, there, along with a general sort of dread. And the usual fear of incompetence. I´m not quite sure what to think about our Old Norse Religion/Belief class. I suppose it will depend on what I end up doing for my paper topic: perhaps I can find some strange, obscure was to tie it into my thesis.

And on a lighter note, there's going to be a Pathfinder game (which was explained to me as D&D 3.75) starting up in February, shortly after my 25th birthday. We're doing so oldschool-style stat rolling, so I'll be rumbling about with a Dwarven Paladin with an 11 Constitution. So there's some hope there for this being a real role-playing game, rather than just some tied-together scenes of dice-combat. That or I'm going to die very very quickly and hope I roll better for my next character.

(That's for anyone reading this who perhaps did not know exactly how much of a nerd I am. Now you know.)

Enjoying the switch from snow to rain to no end. Makes me feel alive.

Feast on the Yule and Return with the New Year

I meant to post last week, after my Feast on Christmas day, on the hospitality of Barbara and Jaime and Sarah, fine piles of vegetarian cooking and Spanish desserts and good company and good beer. But it has been the way of my mind lately that once it ventures into its hole, its little workspace, its peripheral vision goes a bit dark. So once I got back home, in the days before David and James returned, I mostly just thought about work, and taking breaks from work to eat and watch anime (and read LotR).

And yet though a selfish sin it may have been, it wasn't entirely without productivity. I have made so decent inroads into returning to my old German studies, and improving upon them with an academic vocabulary: I got through the introduction and some of the first chapter of Stephanie Wurth's Der "Antikenroman" in der islandischen Literatur des Mittelalters (There's some missing umlauts there: I don't really have the hang of doing German characters on this keyboard). Likewise I made inroads into reading both Breta sögur and Trójumanna saga. There's a certainly amount of fear in that little project, as neither exists in translation, and I'm not really confident I can read them, or even a sufficient portion of them, as well as the other works I'll likely need to gain some understanding of, in time to write my thesis. The near future does has a certain hazier-than-usual quality about it. But, fortunately, the corpus of nerd literature has lots of good anti-fear quotes and sentiments throughout: between Dune and others I think I have enough philosophical material to continue to work effectively.

New Years was excellent. Again with the hospitality of our Frakkastígur neighbors, and James and David (though no Paul) returned to add Commonwealth class and grace to the festivities. They do love their fireworks in their country, and have very little fear about them. Bahb saw someone light their house on fire, though it was raining, and there were great piles of snow on the ground. And there were plenteous children walking about with great flares and roman candles. Sparks were clattering against the windows and balcony of Hallsgrímskirkja. James was laughing and shouting at anything that gave him the slightest opportunity or provocation.

And for we proud and few who signed up to learn firsthand of seiðr and shamanism and berserkr from Neil Price himself, class begins next week. So the send-off has been had. Back to the tomes.

 Two shots of my window, in day and night

 The approach to Hallgrímskirkja on New Years Eve

 James, Sarah, and Barbara, like little children

 Leifr Eriksson, watching over his Christmas tree

 I have a thing for blurry pictures. And the child

is adorable.

 Siobhan

 David, being framed by Siobhan

 I don´t actually recall who this is supposed to be.

It´s in front of the courthouse, I believe.