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Posts Tagged ‘Snorri Sturluson’

Snorri Sturlusson: Odín i Troia als Edda

… los hombres siempre han pensado que los troyanos eran los verdaderos héroes. Pensamos en Virgilio, pero también podríamos pensar en Snorri Sturluson, que, en su más joven edad, escribió que Odín —el Odín de los sajones, el dios— era hijo de Príamo y hermano de Héctor. Los hombres siempre han buscado la afinidad con los troyanos derrotados, y no con los griegos victoriosos. Quizá sea porque hay una dignidad en la derrota que a duras penas le corresponde a la victoria.

Jorge Luís Borges. El arte de contar historias.

 

 

THE PROSE EDDA


Prologue


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3. The people of Troy and Thor

Near the middle of the world, a building and a living hall were constructed, which became the most renowned that have ever been. The place was named Troy and is found in the region we call Turkey. It was built much larger than others and in many ways with greater skill; neither cost nor the resources of the country were spared. There were twelve kingdoms with one high king, and to each kingdom belonged many groups who paid tribute. In the city there were twelve main chieftains. These rulers were superior in all human attributes to the other people who had preceded them in the world.

One of the kings was named Munon or Mennon. He was married to Troan, the daughter of Priam, the chief king. They had a son who was named Tror, the one we call Thor. He was brought up in Thracia by a duke named Loricus, and when he was ten years old he received his father’s weapons. So great was his beauty that, when he was among other people, he stood out as elephant ivory does when inlaid in oak. His hair was more beautiful than gold. By the time he was twelve years old he had acquired his full strength. Then he was able to lift from the ground ten bearskins, all in a pile. Next he killed his foster-father Loricus and his wife Lora, or Glora, and took possession of the realm of Thracia. We call that place Trudheim. Afterwards he travelled widely through many lands, exploring all parts of the world, and on his own he overcame all manner of berserkers and giants, as well as one of the greatest dragons and many beasts.

In the northern part of the world he came across the profetess called Sybil, whom we call Sif, and he married her. No one knows Sif’s ancestors. She was the loveliest of women, with hair like gold. Their son, named Loridi, was much like his father. Loridi’s son was Einridi, his son Vingethor, his son Vingenir, his son Moda, his son Magi, his son Seskef, his son Bedvig, his son Athra, whom we call Annar, his son Itrmann, his son Heremod, his son Skjaldun, whom we call Skjold, his son Finn, and his son Friallaf, whom we call Fridleif. He had a son named Voden, the one we call Odin, an excellent man because of his wisdom and because he had every kind of accomplishment. His wife, named Frigida, we call Frigg.

 

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5. Odin’s journey continues and the Æsir settle in the north.

Then Odin set out, and arrived in the country called Reidgotaland. He took posession of all that he wanted in that land and made his son Skjold ruler. […] What is now called Jutland was then called Reidgotaland.

He then went northward to what is now called Sweden, were a king named Gylfi lived. When the king learned of the journey of these Asians, who were called Æsir, he went to meet them, offering to grant Odin as much authority in his kingdom as he wanted. Wherever they stayed in these lands a time of peace and prosperity accompanied their journey, so that all believed the newcomers were the cause. This was because the local inhabitants saw they were unlike any others they had known in beauty and intelligence. Recognizing the land’s rich possibilities, Odin chose a place for a town, the one that is now called Sigtun. He appointed leaders and, in accordance with the customs of Troy, he selected twelve men to administer the law of the land. In this way he organized the laws as they had been in Troy, in the manner that the Turks were accustomed.


GYLFAGINNING

[…]

 

55. The epilogue of Gylfaginning

[…] Someone there was called by the name Thor, and he was taken to be the old Thor of the Æsir and Thor the Charioteer. To him they attributed the great deeds that Thor or Ector [Hector] accomplished in Troy. Thus people believed that it was the Turks who told stories about Ulixes [Ulysses] and it is they who called him Loki, because the Turks were his worst enemy.

[…]

 

Snorri Sturlusson

The Prose Edda

 

Snorri Sturluson

The Prose Edda.

Penguin Classics

Penguin Books. London.

ISBN: 9780140447552

L’èpica d’Homer a “El arte de contar historias”, de Borges

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EL ARTE DE CONTAR HISTORIAS

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[…] voy a hablar de lo que supongo la más antigua forma de poesía: la épica. Ocupémonos de ella un momento.

Quizá el primer ejemplo que nos venga a la mente sea La historia de Troya, como la llamó Andrew Lang, que tan certeramente la tradujo. Examinaremos en ella la antiquísima narración de la historia. Ya en el primer verso encontramos algo así: «Háblame, musa, de la ira de Aquiles». O, como creo que tradujo el profesor Rouse: «An angry man —that is my subject» («Un hombre iracundo: tal es mi tema»). Quizá Homero, o el hombre a quien llamamos Homero (pues ésta es, evidentemente, una vieja cuestión), pensó escribir un poema sobre un hombre iracundo, y eso nos desconcierta, pues pensamos en la ira a la manera de los latinos: «ira furor brevis». La ira es una locura pasajera, un ataque de locura. Es verdad que la trama de la Ilíada no es, en sí, precisamente agradable: esa idea del héroe malhumorado en su tienda, que siente que el rey lo ha tratado injustamente, emprende la guerra como una disputa personal porque han matado a su amigo y vende por fin al padre el cadáver del hombre al que ha matado.

Pero quizá (puede que ya lo haya dicho antes, estoy seguro), quizá las intenciones del poeta carezcan de importancia. Lo que hoy importa es que, aunque Homero creyera que contaba esa historia, en realidad contaba algo mucho más noble: la historia de un hombre, un héroe, que ataca una ciudad que sabe que no conquistará nunca, un hombre que sabe que morirá antes de que la ciudad caiga; y la historia aun más conmovedora de los hombres que defienden una ciudad cuyo destino ya conocen, una ciudad que ya está en llamas. Yo creo que éste es el verdadero tema de la Ilíada. Y, de hecho, los hombres siempre han pensado que los troyanos eran los verdaderos héroes. Pensamos en Virgilio, pero también podríamos pensar en Snorri Sturluson, que, en su más joven edad, escribió que Odín —el Odín de los sajones, el dios— era hijo de Príamo y hermano de Héctor. Los hombres siempre han buscado la afinidad con los troyanos derrotados, y no con los griegos victoriosos. Quizá sea porque hay una dignidad en la derrota que a duras penas le corresponde a la victoria.

Tomemos un segundo poema épico, la Odisea. Podemos leer la Odisea de dos maneras. Supongo que el hombre (o la mujer, como pensaba Samuel Butler) que la escribió no ignoraba que en realidad contenía dos historias: el regreso de Ulises a su casa y las maravillas y peligros del mar. Si tomamos la Odisea en el primer sentido, entonces tenemos la idea del regreso, la idea de que vivimos en el destierro y nuestro verdadero lugar está en el pasado o en el cielo o en cualquier otra parte, que nunca estamos en casa.

Pero evidentemente la vida de la marinería y el regreso tenían que ser convertidos en algo interesante. Así que, poco a poco, se fueron añadiendo múltiples maravillas. Y ya, cuando acudimos a Las mil y una noches, encontramos que la versión árabe de la Odisea, los siete viajes de Simbad el marino, no son la historia de un regreso, sino un relato de aventuras; y creo que como tal lo leemos. Cuando leemos la Odisea, creo que lo que sentimos es el encanto, la magia del mar; lo que sentimos es lo que el navegante nos revela. Por ejemplo: no tiene ánimo para el arpa, ni para la distribución de anillos, ni para el goce de la mujer, ni para la grandeza del mundo. Sólo busca las altas corrientes saladas. Asi tenemos las dos historias en una: podemos leerla como un retorno a casa y como un relato de aventuras, quizá el más admirable que jamás haya sido escrito o cantado.

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Jorge Luis Borges

El arte de contar historias.

Traducció de l’anglès al castellà per Justo Navarro.

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Jorge Luis Borges.

Arte poética. Seis conferencias.

Traducción de Justo Navarro

Prólogo de Pere Gimferrer

Edición, notas y epílogo de Calin-Andrei Mihailescu

Ed. Crítica. Barcelona, 2010 (2ª ed.)

ISBN: 9788484326038

Biblioteca de Bolsillo, 118.

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