They are meant to convey the meanings of the songs; they are not singable. Translating the rhythm and beauty of poetry from one language to another is rarely successful. Translating it so that it can be sung is almost impossible; I have not attempted to do it. I hope, however, that my translations will help to make these songs more accessible to an English-speaking audience, and that they will help English-speaking singers with the interpretation of these songs. Jump to a song: These are three of Norway's best known folksongs. Kjærringa mæ staven, Høgt oppi Hakkedalen, Otte potter rømme, Fire mærker smør, Saa kjinna Kari, Ola hadde før, Kjærringa mæ staven. Kjærringa mæ kjeppen hoppa over bekken, vil du koke kaffi, eg skal bæra vann. Woman with a stick Hops over the brook. If you'll cook coffee, I'll carry water. If you'll be the wife, I'll be the husband. Woman with a stick. The second verse was taught to me by my mother, and I have not seen it written anywhere. That is the way of folk music. It gets passed down from generation to generation, and sometimes, it changes... Paal sine høno paa haugan utslepte, Hønnun saa lett over haugan sprang. Paul kunne væl paa høno fornema, Ræven va ute mæ rumpa saa lang. Kluk, kluk, kluk, sa' høna paa haugom, Kluk, kluk, kluk, sa' høna paa haugom, Paal han sprang og rengde mæ augom; Naa tor'e inkje koma heim aat'n mor! Paul let his hens out on the hillside, The hens ran lightly over the hill. Paul could tell from the hens' actions, That the fox was out with his tail so long. Cluck, cluck, cluck, said the hens on the hillside, Cluck, cluck, cluck, said the hens on the hillside, Paul, he ran, and rolled his eyes; Now I don't dare go home to mother! He plays that instrument until the fiddle laughs, the boys dance, and the girls cry! SÆTERJENTENS SØNDAG The Sæter Girl's Sunday beautifully expresses the loneliness of the girls who were sent, alone, up to the high summer pastures to care for the cows and the sheep. Paa solen jeg ser, Det lider alt frem, Snart ar det ved hømessetide. O, den, som en stund Fik ønske sig hjem Blandt folk, Som paa kirkevej skride! Naar solskiven stiger lidt, saa den staar der midt Over skaret i kammen, Da ved jeg, i dalen Klokkerne garr, Da ringer fra taarnet Det sammen. Det nytter ej stort At tage sin bog Og synge i hejen sin salme; Mit loft er for højt, Og her er det dog, Som tonerne blegne of falme. O den, som i dag Fik blande sin røst Med hans og de øvriges stemme! Gud give, at snart Det lakked mod høst, Gud give, jeg atter var hjemme! I look at the sun, It reveals all, Soon it will be time for High Mass. Oh, one, who for a moment Wishes oneself home Among people, Who are going to church! When the sun has risen a bit So it stands right there Over the gap in the crest of the mountain, Then I know, in the valley Church bells are ringing, Then rings from the tower The same. It is of no use To take one's book And sing in the mountains one's psalms; My ceiling is too high, And here it is thus That the tones grow pale and fade. God grant, that soon It draws near to autumn, God grant, I once more will be home! EFTER EN SOMMERFUGL Chasing a Butterfly The butterfly almost gets caught, but you hear it fly away at the end. Sommerfuglen min, med vingerne fine, Røde og brune og røde og blaa, Finder du da ingen af blomsterne dine? Sommerfuglen min, med vingerne fine, Sæt dig nu der paa det svaiende straa. Sommerfuglen min, Jeg vil ikke skræmme dig, Vil bare naa dig, Vil bare faa dig Vil bare gjemme dig! Der havde jeg dig næsten, Og saa fløi du din vei. Sommerfuglen min, med vingerne fine, Røde og brune og røde og blaa, Jeg vil ikke skræmme dig, Vil bare naa dig, Vil bare faa dig Vil bare gjemme dig! Butterfly mine, with pretty wings, Red and brown and red and blue, Can't you find any of your flowers? Butterfly mine, with pretty wings, Sit yourself down on the swaying straw, Butterfly mine, I don't want to frighten you, Only want to reach you, Only want to get you, Only want to treasure you! There, I almost had you, And then you flew on your way. Butterfly mine, with pretty wings, Red and brown and red and blue, I don't want to frighten you, Only want to reach you, Only want to get you, Only want to treasure you! Sanktehansormen sin lykte har tænnt, Sitter og lyser i krat, Sommerfugl tat sine duggsokker paa, Lagt sig til hvile i klokken, den blaa, Drømmer saa deilig om solen, Drømmer om duft av fiolen. Sommerfugl tat sine duggsokker paa, Lagt
