AlvĂssmál, a reading
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Summary
The Ballad of Alvis, or The Song of the All-Wise, is one of the most famous poems in the ancient Icelandic sagas, but it's not a traditional love letter to Thor. It's a poem about a young girl named Arvids, who wants to marry Thor's daughter.
Transcript
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No better summary of the Arvismal can be given than Gering's statement that it is a diversified chapter from the Scaldic poets.
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The narrative skeleton, contained solely in stanzas 1-8 and in 35, is of the slightest.
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The dwarf Arvids, desirous marrying Thor's daughter, is compelled by the god to answer a number of questions to test his knowledge.
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That all his answers are quite satisfactory makes no difference whatsoever to the outcome.
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The questions and answers differ radically from those in the Vathrunas Mall.
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Instead of being essentially mythological, they all concern synonyms.
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Thor asks what the earth, the sky, the moon, and so on are called in each of all the worlds.
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But there is no apparent significance in the fact that the gods call the earth one thing and the giants call it another.
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The answers are simply strings of poetic circumlocutions, or kennings.
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Concerning the use of these kennings in Scaldic poetry, see the introductory note to the Hymnskvita.
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Malt is presumably right in dating the poem as late as the 12th century,
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assigning it to the period of the Icelandic renaissance of Scaldic poetry.
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It appears to have been a work of a man skilled in poetic construction.
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The Lord's questions, for instance, are neatly balanced in pairs.
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and fully familiar with the intricacies of skaldic diction, but distinctly weak in this mythology.
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In other words, it is learned rather than spontaneous poetry.
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Fenner Johnson's attempt to make it a 10th century Norwegian poet baffles logic.
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Vikfesson is pretty sure that the poem shows marked traces of Celtic influence,
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which is by no means incompatible with Malk's theory.
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The poem is found only in Regius, where it follows the term Scevita, Snorist quotes stanzas 2, C, and 30,
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and the manuscripts of the prose that are giving the name of the poem as Alvismar, Alvinsmar, or Olvismar.
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It is apparently in excellent condition without serious errors of transmission,
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although interpolations or omissions in such a poem might have been made so easily as to defy detection.
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Translation of many of the synonyms presents, of course, unusual difficulties,
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particularly as many of the Norse words can be properly rendered in English only by more or less extended phrases.
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I have kept to the original meanings as closely as I could without utterly destroying the metarical structure.
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Now shall the bride my benches adorn, and homeward haste forthwith.
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Eager for wedlock to all shall I seem, nor at home shall I rob me of rest.
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What prey art thou, why so pale round the nose, by the dead hast thou laid of late?
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To a giant like dost thou look, methinks, thou wast not born for the bride.
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At this am I, and under the earth my home neath the rocks I have
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Break it shall I, for over the bride her father has foremost right
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At home was I not when the promise thou hast
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Not many will know thee, thou wandering man, who was bought with rings to bear thee.
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Vingthor the wanderer, wide am I, and I am Sithgrami's son.
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Against my will shalt thou get the maid, and win the marriage word.
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Thy goodwill now shall I quickly get, and win the marriage word.
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I long to have, and I would not lack, this snow-white maid for mine.
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the ways it is called by the wains evergreen by the giants the glower by elves the moist by the
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holy ones high answer me alas thou knowest all dwarf of the doom of men what call they the heaven
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beheld of the high one in each and every world heaven men call it the height of the gods the
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wains the weaver of winds giants the upper out elves the fair of the dwarfs the dripping all
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Answer me, Alvis, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men
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What call they the moon the men behold in each and every world?
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Moon with men, flame the gods among, the wheel in the house of hell
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The goer, the giants, the gleamer, the dwarfs, the elves, the teller of time
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Answer me, Alvis, thou knowest all, dwarfs of the doom of men
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What call it a sun that all men see in each and every world?
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Men call it sun, God's orb of the sun, the deceiver of the wall and the dwarfs.
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The giants, the ever-right, elves, farewell, are glowing the sons of the gods.
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Answer me, Alvis, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men.
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What call it the clouds that keep the rains in each and every world?
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Clouds men named them, rain hope gods called them.
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The wains call them kites of the wind, water-hoped giants, weather-might elves, the hellmen of secrets in hell.
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Answer me, Elvis, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men.
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What call they the wind, the windest fares, in each and every world?
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When do men call it the gods, the waverer, the nailer, the hellly high ones,
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the wailer of the giants, roaring winder, the elves, in hell the blistering blast?
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Answer me, Aravis, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men.
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What call they the calm, the quiet lies, in each and every world?
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Calm, men call it, the quiet, the gods, the wanes, the hush of the winds.
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The sultry, the giants, elves, day, stillness, the dwarfs, the shelter of day.
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Answer me, Aravis, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men.
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What call thee the sea, whereon men sail, in each and every world?
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Sea, men call it gods of the smooth line, the wave, as he is called by the wains.
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Ilhom, the giants, drinkstuff the elves, for the dwarfs' name is the deep.
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Answer me, Alistair, knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men.
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What call thee the fire, the flames of men, in each and all the worlds?
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fire men call it in the flame of the gods by the wains it is wildfire called
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the biter by giants the burner by dwarves the swift in the house of hell
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answer me out of this thou knowest all dwarf of the doom of men what call they the wood that
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grows for mankind in each and every world men call it the wood the gods the main of the field
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Answer me, Erebus, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men
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What call thee the seed that is sown by men in each and every world?
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Men call it grain and corn, the gods, growth in the world of the wains
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They eaten by giants, drink stuffed by elves, and held a slender stem
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Answer me, Erebus, thou knowest all, dwarf of the doom of men
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What call thee ale that is quaffed of men in each and every world?
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Bright draught with giants, mead with dwellers in hell
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But with treacherous wiles must I now betray thee
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