Opens Kaperuka with "Terje Vigen"

Then Steinar Reinertsen from Spind is ready to perform Henrik Ibsen's epic poem. It happens at Backes Bu at 19.30.

It is the third year in a row that Reinertsen has taken the audience on the moving journey through all 43 stanzas of the well-known poem.

"Terje Vigen" is about a southerner who, during the age of privateering, risks his life by rowing across the sea in an open boat to save his family from starvation. The poem has become deeply embedded in the Norwegian consciousness and has become a timeless story about the struggle for values, daring, love and personal growth.

Steinar Reinertsen has now made it his mission to bring this powerful story to life every summer during Kaperuka.

For those of you who want to be prepared and perhaps learn the entire poem in rams. Here is "Terje Vigen":

1 There lived a strange gray one 
on the outermost bare ø; – 
He certainly didn't hurt anyone 
neither on land nor at sea; 
but sometimes his eyes sparkled badly, - 
preferably against rough weather, - 
and then people thought he was crazy, 
and then there were few, as if without fear 
Terje Vigen came close. 

2 Since I saw him once, 
he lay by the wharf with fish; 
his hair was white, but he laughed and sang 
and was as healthy as a youth. 
To the girls he had funny words, 
he joked with the children of the town, 
he swung south-west and sprang aboard; 
then he hoisted the jib, and home he sails 
in the sunshine, the old eagle.

3 Now I will tell you what I have heard 
about Terje from beginning to end, 
and should it sometimes fall a little dry, 
then it is true and certain; 
I just don't have it from his own mouth, 
but probably from his closest circle, - 
from those who were with him in his last moments 
and closed his eyes to the slumber of peace, 
when he died high up' in his thirties. 

4 He was a wild crab in his youth, 
came early from father and mother, 
and had all suffered many a dravat 
as the youngest young man on board. 
Since he escaped in Amsterdam, 
but longed for home in the end, 
and came with the "Association", captain Pram; 
but there was no one at home who knew him, 
there traveled like a poor boy. 

5 Now he had grown handsome and tall, 
and was also a well-dressed boy. 
But both father and mother were dead, 
indeed his whole family. 
He steered for a day, maybe two - 
but then he shook off his sorrow. 
He did not find rest, with the land beneath him; 
no, then it was better to build and live 
on the great rolling sea!

6 A year later, Terje was married, - 
it probably came up in a hurry. 
People thought he regretted that business, 
who tied him on a seat. 
Then he lived under his own roof 
a winter in full swing – 
though the panes shone, like clearest day, 
with small curtains and flower bag, 
in the little red-painted house. 

7 When the ice loosened from the stormy weather, 
Terje went on a journey with the brig; 
in autumn, when the gray goose flew south, 
he met it along the way. 
Then fell like a weight on the sailor's chest: 
he knew himself strong and young, 
he came from the shining shore of sunshine, 
aft lay the world with life and desire, - 
and for the bow a heavy winter. 

8 They attacked and the comrades left 
with land law for the heck of it. 
He sent them another look of longing, 
when he stood by his little house. 
He slipped behind the white curtain, - 
then he saw in the living room two, - 
his wife sat quietly spinning flax, 
but in the cradle lay, fresh and red and fine, 
a poor girl and laughed.

9 It was said that Terje's mind with a 
got serious from this moment. 
He slaved and toiled and never got tired 
of cradling one's child in slumber. 
On Sunday evening, when the dance sounded 
game from the nearest farm, 
his happiest shows at home he sang, 
while little Anna lay on his lap 
and pulled his brown hair. 

10 Then it languished and suffered until the war years 
in eighteen hundred and nine. 
There are still tales of those times of distress, 
in which the people were then placed. 
English cruisers closed every port, 
in the land there was growth and poverty, 
the poor starved, the rich suffered want, 
two strong arms were of no use, 
before the door stood soot and death.

11 Then Terje wandered for a day or two, 
then he shook off his sorrow; 
He was reminded of a celebrity, old and faithful: 
the great rolling sea. – 
In the west his work still has life 
in the legend, as the most daring deed: 
"when the wind blew a little less stiffly, 
Terje Vigen rowed for children and women 
across the sea in an open boat!”

12 The smallest scamp, there was a few, 
was elected to his Skagensfart. 
He left the sail and mast at home, - 
thus he was thought best preserved. 
He probably meant, Terje, that the boat carried, 
if the sea came a little across; 
the Judaean reef was probably difficult to clear, - 
but worse the English "Man of war" 
with eagle eyes from mers. 

13 Then he comforted himself with happiness in violence 
and train to the years windy. 
He arrived at Fladstrand safe and sound 
and fetched his expensive cargo. 
God knows, his leadership was not great: 
three barrels of barley, that was all; 
but Terje came from a poor land, - 
now he had the salvation of life on board; 
it was the wife and children that mattered. 

14 Three nights and days until the toft tied 
the strong, brave man; 
on the fourth morning, when the sun rose, 
he glimpsed a misty rim. 
It was not fleeting clouds he saw, 
there were mountains with peaks and gorges; 
but high above all the hills lay 
The Imenæs saddle wide and blue. 
Then he knew where he was. 

15 He was close to home: a stuck time 
he is still holding out well! 
His heart lifted up in faith and suffering, 
he was close to a prayer to God. 
Then it was as if the word froze on his lips; 
he stared, he was not mistaken, – 
through the shutter, which eased at the same moment, 
he saw a corvette in Hestnæs Sound 
to dove for folded sails.

16 The boat was stolen; there was a signal, 
and the nearest race was smell; 
but the sunset wind flapped scraps, – 
Terje's flight went west. 
Then they tore the dinghy from the edge of the rail, 
he heard the sailors' song, - -
with his feet tuned against the frame of his beard 
he rowed so the sea gushed and burned, 
and the blood from the nails sprang. 

17 The imprisonment is called the blind shards 
slightly east of Homborg Sound. 
It breaks badly in upland weather there, 
under two feet of water there is a bund. 
There it sprays white, there it glitters yellow, 
even the calmest sea gaze day; – 
but the swell is never so hollow, 
inside there is lard at first, 
with broken wave features. 

18 Didind Terje Vigen's bearded father 
like an arrow between suddenness and fire; 
but behind him, in the trail of the wake, 
jogged the dinghy with fifteen men. 
Then he screamed through the roar of the surf 
to God in his greatest need: 
"deep down there on the gravel of the beach 
my wife sits by the poor house, 
and waiting with the child for bread!”

19 However, the fifteen screamed louder than he: 
as at Lyngør, so it happened here. 
Luck is with the Englishman 
on a hunt between Norway's skerries. 
When Terje turned towards the top of the bow, 
then the dinghy ran aground; 
from the mast the officer commanded "stop!" 
He raised an oar with the blade up 
and chop it at the base of the beard. 

20 Frames and planks for hewn burst, 
the sea came in like a waterfall; 
in two feet of water the expensive cargo sank, 
however, Terje's defiance did not subside. 
He fought his way through the armed men 
and leaped over the edge, - 
he ducked and swam and ducked again; 
but the dinghy came loose; where he turned 
resounding sabers and rifle shots.

21 They fished him up, he was brought aboard, 
the corvette gave a victory salute; 
aft of the cabin, proud and big, 
stood the boss, an eighteen-year-old boy. 
His first battle concerned Terje's boat, 
for he now kneissed so handsomely; 
but Terje knew better, - 
the strong man lay praying and weeping 
iknæ on the corvette's deck. 

22 He bought with tears, they sold him smiles, 
they resented with mockery for prayer. 
It blew from the east, at sea with lee 
stood England's victorious son. 
Then Terje Vigen took the train; now it was done 
now he took his grief to himself. 
But those who captured him found it strange how fast 
that something was like the weather gone 
from the clouded vault of his brow.

23 He was in "prison" for many years, 
it is said in full five; 
his neck bowed, weeping became his hair 
of the dreams of his home. 
Something he carried, but did not give notice, - 
it was like his only treasure. 
Then eighteen hundred and fourteen came with peace; 
the Norwegian prisoners, and Terje with, 
was brought home on a Swedish frigate.

24 At home by the wharf he disembarked 
with the King's patent as a pilot; 
but few knew the gray-haired man, 
there traveled as a young sailor. 
His house was a stranger's; what happened 
the two, - he in there for: 
"when the man left them and no one gave them, 
then in the end they got a common grave 
of the municipality in poor people's land." – –

25 The years passed and he smoked his don 
as pilot on the outermost island; 
he certainly did no man harm, 
neither on land nor at sea; 
but sometimes his eyes sparkled badly, - 
when it broke over bows and shards, - 
and then people thought he was crazy, 
and then there were few, as if without fear 
Terje Vigen came close.

26 A moonlit evening with an onshore wind 
came life in the pilots' pack; 
an English yacht drifted towards the coast ind 
with torn mainsail and jib. 
From the summit it sent red flags 
an emergency war beyond words. 
A little inside, a boat went over the stanchion, 
it wound itself against the storm blow by blow, 
and the pilot stood stout on board. 

27 He seemed so safe, the gray-haired man; 
like a giant in the wheel he grasped; – 
the yacht moored, stood again from shore, 
and the boat swam behind in tow. 
The lord, with lady and child in arms, 
came aft, he took to his hat: 
"I will make you as rich as you are now poor, 
if saved you carry us from the noise of the surf." 
- But the pilot let go of the rudder and steered.

28 His cheek turned white, his mouth laughed, 
like a smile, which finally gains power. 
Inward it bore, and high on the ground 
stood the lord's magnificent yacht. 
"The command failed! In the boats down! 
My lord and my lady with me! 
It breaks into splinters, - I know - 
but within lies the safe link; 
my keel track will show you the way!" 

29 The fire of fire burned where the beard flew 
towards land with its expensive cargo. 
Aft stood the pilot, strong and tall, 
his eye was wild and keen. 
He scuttled in shelter towards Gæslingen's peak, 
and to leeward towards Hestenes-sund; 
then he let go of the rudder and staysail strap, 
he swung an oar with the blade up 
and chop it into the bottom of the boat.

30 In stood the sea with foamy white spray - 
there raged on the wreckage a strife -; 
but the mother lifted her daughter high 
on the arm, of horror white. 
"Anna, my child!" she cried out in her woe; 
then the gray-haired man beavered; 
he grasped his lap, drove the helm into shelter, 
and the boat was firm as a bird to see, 
thus it feeds suddenly and wildly. 

31 It thorned, they sank; but the sea was fat 
within it the circuit of the surf; 
upwards stretched a long deep hidden, 
there they stood knee-deep in water. 
Then the lord shouted: "kend - the back of the bow - 
it fails,—there is no fly!” 
But the pilot smiled: "No, be safe; 
a sunken beard with three barrels of barley 
is the boat that carries us now." 

32 There jogged a memory of a half-forgotten deed 
like lightning over the lord's features -, 
he knew the sailor, who lay weeping 
Iknæ on the corvette's deck! 
Then Terje Vigen screamed: "all mine you held 
in your hand, and you let it go for praise. 
A moment more, a retribution has been made – –» 
then the English big man was proud 
bowed the knee to the Norwegian pilot. 

33 But Terje stood supported by the shaft of the oar, 
as slender as in the years of youth; 
his eyes burned with infinite power, 
for the wind flowed his hair. 
"You sailed imag on your big corvette, 
I rowed my little boat; 
I slaved for mine till death weary, 
you took their bread, and it came so easily to you 
to mock my bitter cry.

34 Your rich lady is bright as a spring, 
her hand is fine as silk,— 
my wife's hand it was rough and hard; 
but she was now mine anyway. 
There children have golden hair and blue eyes, 
as a suffering guest of Our Lord; 
my daughter was nothing to watch out for, 
she was, God bless it, thin and grey, 
of which the children of poor people are the majority. 

35 Look, the was my wealth on this earth, 
it was all I called mine. 
It seemed to me a treasure so great; 
but it meant so little to you. – 
Now the hour of retribution strikes, - 
for now you will tempt for a while, 
which will come up against the long years, 
there bent my neck and bleached my hair 
and sunk my happiness to the ground.”

36 The child he seized and swung it free, 
with the left one around the lady's waist. 
“Back, my lord! A single step,— 
and it costs you a child and a life!” 
At a gallop the Briton stood to battle again; 
but the arm was road and food; – 
his breath burned, his eyes were clouded, 
and his hair – so known at first dawn – 
was crying in the only night. 

37 But Terje's forehead bore clarity and peace, 
his bringing went freely and quietly. 
Reverently he lifted the child down, 
and kissed its hands gently. 
He breathed, as if released from a prison vault, 
his voice sounded calm and steady: 
"Now Terje Vigen is himself again. 
Until now flowed my blood like a stony river; 
before I had to - I had to have revenge!

38 The long years in the "prison" nausea, 
they made my heart sick. 
Afterwards I lay like the straw of the heath, 
and then suddenly ugly. 
But now it's over; we two are clear; 
your debtor does not cheat. 
I gave what I had, - you took all mine, 
and demand, if you think you have wronged the clock, 
Our lord, who made me like this.” – – 

39 When the dawn shone everyone was saved; 
the yacht was furthest in the harbor. 
With the saga of the night, they probably prefer, 
but Terje's name goes far. 
The gray storm clouds of dreams 
swept away a stormy night; 
and Terje once again carried as much rank as few 
the neck, there was crooked the other day he lay 
iknæ on the corvette's deck.

40 The lord came, and my lady with, 
and many, many with them; 
they shook his hand in farewell and God's peace, 
where they stood in his small home. 
They gave thanks for salvation when the storm pealed, 
for salvation from sea-going and skerries; 
but Terje stroked the child's tow: 
"No, the one who saved, then the worst of it was, 
it was probably the little one there ?” – –

41 When the yacht turned for Hestnæs Sound, 
it raised the Norwegian flag. 
A little further west is a foam-covered ground, - 
there gave it the smooth layer. 
Then a tear sparkled in Terje's eyes; 
he stared from the heath: 
"I have lost a lot, but I have gained a lot. 
It was for the best, maybe, it went as it went,
- and then you'll have a roof then, God!" 

42 Thus it was that I saw him once, 
he was lying by the wharf with fish. 
His hair was white, but he laughed and sang 
and was as healthy as a youth. 
To the girls he had funny words, 
he joked with the children of the town, 
he swung south-west and sprang aboard; 
then he hoisted the jib, and home he sails 
in the sunshine, the old eagle.

43 At Fjære church I saw a grave, 
it lay on a weather-hardened spot; 
it was not shelled, was sunken and low, 
but still carried his black board. 
There "Thærie Wiighen" was written in white, 
as well as the year he rested. – 
He was made for sunburn and wind fan, 
and therefore the grass became so stiff and stiff, 
but with wild flowers among them.