Decorah-posten og ved arnen., 1904-01-05
Fedraminne again.

Editor Decorah- Poster -
"Fedraminne" was written by Aas
mund olafsson Vinje. Mr. Vinje was
great poet, born in Telemarken, Norway
in 1918. All real poets are born, they
say. Lawyers and preachers and editor
and all kinds of doctors are raised, but
poets are born. But if you imagine thai
you have a cinch on the poetry business
simply besause you happen to be borr
some where, some time or other, you arr
apt to get LETT.
While poets must be born. translator
of poetry can be raised at a small expense
and with very little cultivation. Will
5000 and a committee Of 3 you can rails.
more t~ranslators in 6 months time, thar
you can shake a stick at, with n hand
tied behind you. Elias STEVENSON raised
a big crop at a cost of less than 800 q
head-but there wasn't a Vinje in the
whole lot, l don't think, and their trans
~lations looked like 30 cents beside the
original poem.
But, to return to u subject:
Aasmund was alright! He was very
patriotic. and in his "Fedraminne' he
describes the great achievements of our
forefathers, of whom he is very proud.
He devotes the first 3stanzas to their me,
mory, extolling their deeds and virtues,
and he puts it on thick.
In the 4th verse he takes a fall out OF
the younger generation and he hits from
the shoulder. He claims that we have
petered out and lack the sand and gump.
ton necessary to toe the mark set by the
old uns-in short, that we are n. &.
But he still has faith in his country and
people and hopes for the future, and in
the last verse, after taking a look at the
lay of the land to see where we are at, he
winds up with an encouraging Drive
on Rasmus," or words to that effect.
This is the gist of the poem. 1t is q
fine piece-all wool and a yard wide. II
deserves to be handed down to coming
generations in this country as well as tn,
old. But in order TO make it available
to us it must be translated from the orr.
ginal lingo to United States. This was
Elias Steenerson's idea when he so gene
rously offered a big bonus for the best
version of it. A. o. teaches a lesson that
we boys, old and young, should learn
We don't esteem and reverence our fore,
fathers as we ought to. We are not built
that way. Hero worship is not in our
line. The great doings of our ancestors
wont butter u bread and instead Of
banking on our "Fedrenearv," we dc
business IN the root hog or die" prin'
ciple.
Elias is o. X. however, but he learned
to his regret, we imagine, that you can't
gather roses from bramble bushes OF
pick plums from whiffietrees," as Bill
Shakespeare says, wen if you pay for it,
We have had several translations into
conventional English, that should have
aroused our enthusiasm, but we didn't
enthuse worth a cent
What we want is something broad and
elastic enough to fit our case-and in
terse, classical language.
Such n translation we believe will fill a
long felt want, and when we couldn't
get it by subsidy, we make it ourselves,
and give it to the readers of DEBORAH
Poster" free, gratis for nothing.
That dad was such a hustler
And hero in the strife
A rough and ready rustler
Who led n strenuous life
This ever should remind me
To hump to beat the band,
That | may leave behind me
Some footprints in the sand.
Pa was n record breaker,
For so the sagas run.
He was a fluent speaker
And handy with the gun.
You never heard him grumble
Nor at his luck complain,
And if he took a tumble,
He soon was up again.
In k%nighthood a dictator,
He taught the French to fight,
As bard and navigator
He was simply out of sight.
In front at martial functions,
Unto himself a law,
He ruled without injunctions
From Nome TO Panama.
But my old man went yonder -
As everybody must -
They wasted all the plumber,
And | must raise the dust.
have that tired feeling
Which words can ne'er express,
Dads greatness is concealing
My magnitude, | guess.
But hills are decked with clover,
The fields with corr and rice;
And, sail the sea all over,
You, still can cut no ice.
The skies are blue and bonny,
The mountains bold and high
And you Just bet your money,
Well get there - II we try.
Askelad.