Sigbjørn Skåden 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 3 poems translated

from: northern sami to: english

Original

Translation

Skuovvadeddjiid gonagas - 5. Oassi

northern sami | Sigbjørn Skåden

Est-il rien sur la terre
qui soit plus surprenant
que la grande misère
du pauvre Juif-Errant!
Juohke bássi girjji namma lean mon,
skuovvadeddjiid gonagas,
leak gus mu oaidnán?
Mon jodán du márkana selju,
du giláža bálgáid,
du deattáma roaŋkejogaid:
Laqedem,
Buttadeo,
Ahasverus,
Kartafilus,
skuovaid reiden mon juohkehaččii
aman máilmmážan jorráma bisánit;
skuovaid gehtte in lihčo mon Jusup,
virkos giedak gorrok mielarabdda deattáldagaid,
goavrume historjjá čada gonagasa šerres biktasiigo, 
leak gus mu oaidnán?
skuovak jitnek
ipmasiid
go eatnama jodásan:
da datta dayadhvam
shantih shantih shantih!
de dette diebbelii
sáhtán sáhtán sáhtán!

Bidjek barggu eatnamii,
diktek váimmu gátnjaliid vardit;
la traversée augmentre,
Jusup čatná skuovaid:
gilibojá,
guldaleaddji,
buktejeaddji,
sogasuhkki,
viekseveahkki,
váibmoborri,
guolásteaddji,
ildasdahkki,
sluŋkejeaddji,
botnjalbivdi,
binnosbannos boatkabárdni,
gonagasa buoskkassárdni,
báhtareaddji,
geampagoddi,
ganjaloari čiegusárdna;
bijan mahkáshája uniformma,
suonaidsuorri
čatná julggiide sogaseainni geahčastagaid
ja diktá eatnama giedastit
ábirabdda olbmočollosiid.
Le dernier jugement
finira ton tourment.

Mon riegádin guoktelogigolbma jagi rájen,
ledjen losses mánná gievrras váimmuin.
Eiddi lávii mu askkin doallat
lulláme siivosániid mu beljiid sisa,
mu vuosttas muitu
lea skábmamánu sárgumiid
beaivvi mon čuoigat ohppen,
lean vuolábeal` siergarodu soahteprinsá
ja geargebávtti lojes vildu.
Mon riegádin siidabárdnin,
váibmu lea nanus sládjohájan,
skovlábálgá sáttun ja giehkanborddi muitalusais,
lean guolásteaddji ja dálureaŋga,
ja go bidjen julggiid
nuorttaguvlui vančča nala
sadden mon
báhtareaddji
ja siidiiboahtti
simme hámin.

© Sigbjørn Skåden
from: Skuovvadeddjiid gonagas
Evenskjer: Skániid Girjie, 2004
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2019

The King of Shoemakers - part 5

english

Est-il rien sur la terre
qui soit plus surprenant
que la grande misère
du paure Juif-Errant!
Every hallowed book’s name am I,
the king of shoemakers,
have you seen me?
I traverse the squares of your townships,
the roads of your hamlets,
the murky rivers of your ornamentations:
Laquedem,
Buttadeo,
Ahasverus,
Kartafilus,
I fashion shoes for all
to spin my tiny world;
without my shoes I were not Jusup,
busy fingers sewing mindrecessed ornaments,
propulsively walking through history in a king’s shiny clothes,
have you seen me?
my shoes wallop
eccentricities
as I traverse the land:
da datta dayadhvam
shantih, shantih, shantih!
do duty duefully
satan, satan, satan!
 
Lay your hands to the ground,
let tears bleed from your heart;
la traversée augmentre,
Jusup ties his shoes:
hamlet’s laddie,
echo marker,
notion donor,
kinship wringer,
sheep farm henchman,
entrails’ eater,
ocean trawler,
rattle maker,
sorry crawler,
anger stoker,
itsy bitsy farmstead clinger,
king and country’s dirty flinger,
broken runner,
giant killer,
teardropped mugfaced deadly ringer;
I put on my somehow scented uniform,
the sinew binder
ties his feet to the stares from the kinship wall
and lets the soil twine
the sea rim’s human entrails.
Le dernier jugement
finira ton tourment.
 
I was born twenty-three years ago,
a sturdy child with a robust heart.
Mother used to hold me in her lap
blowing sweet words into my ears,
my first memory
are November drawings
the day I learnt how to ski,
I am the warrior prince of the wicker thickets
and the wild oat of the stony rubble.
I was born a kinsman,
my heart made from the scent of meadows freshly mowed,
of sandy school roads and of stories whispered over kitchen tables,
I am a fisher lad and a farmstead worker,
and when I set my feet upon the deck
of the northbound boat
I became
a fugitive
and a home comer
in the same guise. 

Translated by Sigbjørn Skåden

Notáhtat márkosámi čoahkážis (Notáhta 23)

northern sami | Sigbjørn Skåden

Mu árku leat šođbes, bárkejun sálljamuorat,
čadnon aktii.

Mu árku leat boares poastaseahkat,
látnjon ja gorrojun kokoŋŋá hápmái.

Mu árku lea vuosttaš
idja ja beaivi midjas čuovvu.

Mu árku lea earenoamáš juollegas
sabetboksa man nu hálbái
ožžon Ruoŧas.

Mu árku lea vanca, borjasa gehtte, árjjuid
gehtte, rabas dáivvas mu badjel.
 
Mu árku lea biegga, ja
luhttojun olbmot guddet mu
báktái.

© Sigbjørn Skåden
from: Notáhtat márkosámi čoahkážis
Indigenuity, 2012
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2019

Notes From a Backwoods Saami Core (Note 23)

english

My coffin is slender, skinned
trunks of willow,
tightly bound.

My coffin is old postal bags,
split and sewn to a snug cocoon.

My coffin is nightfall
and the following day.

My coffin is the particularly
roomy ski box I got so cheaply
in Sweden.

My coffin is a boat, with
no sail, no oars, and the
sky open above me.

My coffin is the wind, and
entrusted men
carry me onto the mount.

Translated by Sigbjørn Skåden

Notáhtat márkosámi čoahkážis (Notáhta 14)

northern sami | Sigbjørn Skåden

Jámehat leat dánne. Ii hal
dramáhtalaččat, ii hal gáibideaddji,
baicce virolaččat, leat
dánne.

© Sigbjørn Skåden
from: Notáhtat márkosámi čoahkážis
Indigenuity, 2012
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2019

Notes From a Backwoods Saami Core (Note 14)

english

The dead are here. With no
drama, no conundrum, without
being anything out of the ordinary,
they are here.

Translated by Sigbjørn Skåden