Fairion felehta (The grotto of the Spirits) - new update as of December 5, 2010 THE END!
I have started some time ago to transform a Swiss legend from the Canton of Jura into a poem with rhyming couplets, because when reading it I realised that we have practically all the necessary vocabulary. I shall post it in bits and pieces as it is going to be fairly long.
Source: Meinrad Lienert, Schweizer Sagen und Heldengeschichten
Comments and corrections most welcome.
Andanéya yá fairi en ranner
palúrenna ar marintar carner
nu falmar hya mi haure felehtar
nurtala – queni sanner – harmantar,
tauri Sírenando nér i vehte
andave túrienwa ló melehte
máre, írime, saile nission;
arvanime anente ilyaron.
Lírente ómainen elmendie,
findelentar nér analaurie.
Fenna felehtanto úne muina
mal né úcarinwa lelya minna
ar úne avatyarinwa ullume
hequa vinyamollo mine lúme.
Fírimonnar cénime anente
otsolar airissen, quie vantanente
tere i aldarembina imbe
peryanwa ló síre silma ar limbe.
« Lossewendi » né i nission esse
ten ánienwa ló Atani ostosse,
an nassentar i larmar fantaner
i mi lossea talmanna lantaner.
Yá urda loa i nórena úvane,
min’ imbi Lossewendi tulyane
máma morna ter nando taurea,
i ninque tenge loa almárea.
Yá i endesse lómeo, wende
luttien imbi nénur lorne lende,
nende varyanwa né ló narmo atta
querien queni nissello arata.
Yá hríve vaitane nóre quanda
lórenen lossea, ringa, anda,
Lossewendi túler i ostonna
lómissen cestien náreo anna,
*lautien inte ara lauca ruimen
mi tamin quie né lusta i men.
Nó Anar eccoitane i tamor,
i Vanimar, úcénime ló fírimor,
felehtannar nanwenner lintie,
ve andafind’eleni coirie
an vaina, ananda findilenta
tyárienwa né hlapu ló norienta.
*from LAW- warm, lauta make warm
updated July 22, 2010
Lintatalaite né i winyamo
ar sinwa ve leptafinya tamo
yeo verie ar víne se sahtaner
ar vanya arinesse se tyarner
langa i felehto more fenda.
Ter i mardi vantanes andave,
yassen yéni pa yéni, oiave,
nén cantane, fintane mi ondor,
únótime vanye Fairerondor.
Caima salqueva ar lassíva tá hirnes,
allumba i vantanen tanome caines.
Yá anes ata cuiva, arse tarne nís
ar ómarya né linda, quettaryar ve lís :
Update August 28, 2010
« Annawe, à lemya mi felcanyar
tere yéni mine, óni ar nésanyar.
Istyalmallo ranta samuvalye.
Site laimaron asie paruvalye
ar i maitale mirwe tincoinen,
yando nauval arimaite mírelínen.
I márie nolweye yar camuvalye
oiala vandalyanen atantuvalye:
ual cestuva ni mir mardanya,
cenuvanyel ire nás nirmenya.
Na vorosanya ar colc’ atta laurie
quantuvan annainen ilaurie:
malta poica ar marilla mine
rá ilya auren mir felcar sine.”
Sín, Annawe hande máriesse
sinta lumen vanya Náriesse.
Ilya omentie as Lossewen
endesse aureo né ve meren.
Tyávea apsa ar indo merya,
yé mána ma náne coivierya.
Update of October 10, 2010
(I lúmi váner ve hiutale
quantanwe ló nyarnar ar lindale.)
Lúmi pa lúmi váner lintie,
quantanwe ló i nyarie ar lindie.
Quie lemyanes andav’erinqua,
i lúme né lumna senna aqua.
«Masse ar manen ná i nisseva sambe?»,
maquentes immonna ar cenien ambe,
Annawe hilyane i nís nuldiesse
nurtaina mardaryanna sinyesse.
Lossewen náne lorna mi alta rondo
yasse túpina mi laiqua tarne ondo.
Tanome, caima sinasse i nís caine
cala nécasse, mi vanie ar raine.
Larmaya apantane talyato mine.
Ela, vánevie, talyat nér carine.
Update as of December 5, 2010:
Ruciénen, Annawe querne nissello.
Nornes, endanen palpala, et rondollo.
Lossewen eccoitane ar tá hanyane,
i vartanwa anes ar lamyane
etyamierya ter i haure felehtar;
naicelie ar sáre náner i quettar:
« Annawe, atyástienyel eryave
sinta lúmesse ar là andave
vandalya etérmarie, ah, Annawe !
Ambe aureli ar lyenna veryanwe
naumne i cilme ar ranta ilquo:
i nolwe, i melehte ar harmo.
A lelya sí, à nanwene taminna!
A nanwene cuilelyo sangienna!
Míri yar ánien lyena, hepuvalyet.
Lá quetta meno yasse acámielyet.
Nai cilmelyar nauvar sailie ar raine,
úsie martalya nauva paime.»
Sinen quentes, tá vanwa né i cala.
I tamo cestane tierya paltala
tenna hirnes i felehto ando.
Nornes lintie i varnassenna nando.
I ostosse, ata móle i nessa nér
ar i tamor pa i men maquenter
yasse amáries i quanda lúmisse..
Apantanes ilqua – i arta melisse,
harmaryar, i annar ar nati vávie.
Napanes i nyarenna hurur úvie.
Mal i tamor lander - carien te save
quetierya, mernes tana ten i yáve
mentieryo lá i felco fenna.
Latyanes i colca ar litsenna
lantane sín henduryato céne.
I tamor lander amalálie senen.
Annawe né nattirinwa sillumello
ar rato quernes immo nórello.
Ar yando sillumello i nóre sina
i saile nissínen oia né hehtaina.
Here is the literal translation:
Once upon a time when Spirits still wandered
upon the Earth and built their homes
under waves or in large caves
hiding – people thought – their treasures,
the woods of Vallorbe were the haunt,
long governed by the might
of good, lovely, wise women;
the most beautiful they were of all.
They sang with wonderful voices,
their tresses were very much like gold.
The door of their cave was not secret,
but it was wrong done to go inside
and was not forgiven ever
except for a youngster once.
To Mortals they were visible
on holy weeks, when they wandered
through the treetangled vale
divided by a river silver shining and swift.
“White Maiden” was the women’s name
given by the Mortals in town,
for their true beings the raiment veiled
which in white fell to the ground.
When a difficult year drew near to the country,
one of the White Maiden led
a black sheep through the forested vale,
a white one indicated a blessed year.
When at midnight a maiden went
to swim among the sleeping water-lillies,
the pool was protected by two wolves
to turn people from the noble woman.
When winter wraped the whole country
in snow-white dream, cold, long,
White Women came to the town
in the night to search the gift of the fire,
to warm themselves beside the warm hearth
in the forge whenever the place was empty.
Before the Sun woke the smiths,
the Beautiful Ones, unseen by mortals,
returned to the caves with swiftness,
like living comets (Long-haired stars)
for their blond, very long hair
was caused to fly by their running.
updated July 22, 2010
Swift-footed was the youngster
and known as a clever smith
whose boldness and youth tempted him
and on a bright morning caused him
to cross the cave’s dark threshold.
Through the halls he wandered long,
where years after years, eternally,
water had shaped and decorated into rocks
uncountable beautiful fay-caves.
A bed of grass and leaves he then found,
very tired from walking he there lay down.
When he was awake again, beside him stood a woman.
Her voice was melodious and her words like honey:
Update August 28, 2010
“Donat, stay in my cave
through one long year with me and my sisters.
From our knowledge you will have a part.
Of this sort you will learn the comfort of plants
and the artful working with precious metals,
you will also be very skilled with jewels.
The goodness and wisdom which you will receive,
with your everlasting oath you will pay back:
you will not seek me in my dwelling,
I shall see you when it is my will.
Abide by the rules and two golden-shining boxes
I shall fill with daily gifts:
pure gold and one pearl
for every day in these caves.”
Now, Donat stayed in happiness
for a short time in fair June.
Every meeting with the White Woman
at noon (middle of the day) was like a feast.
Tasty food and festive mood,
what a good thing was his life.
Update October 10, 2010
(The hours went by like a wink
having been filled with tales and music.)
Hours upon hours passed with swiftness,
filled by the telling and singing.
Whenever he remained long alone
the time was heavy on him wholly.
"Where and how is the woman's room?",
he asked himself and in order to see more,
Annawe followed the woman in secret
to her hidden room in the evening.
The White Woman was asleep in a high vault
where covered in green stood a stone.
There, on this bed the woman was lying
in dim light, in beauty and peace.
Her raiment revealed one of her feet.
Behold! Gooselike, her feet were made.
Update December 5, 2010
With fear, Annawe, turned from the woman.
He ran, with beating heart from the cave.
Lossewen woke up and then understood,
that betrayed she was and her out-cry
echoed through the tall caves;
painful and bitter were the words:
“Donat, I have put you to test only
a short time and not long
your oath has stood, oh, Donat!
Some days more and to you wedding
was going to be the choice and a part of everything:
the secret lore, the power and of a treasure.
Go now, go back to the forge!
Go back to the tribulation of your life!
Precious things which I have given you, you shall keep them.
Not a word of the place where you have received them.
May your choices be wisdom and peace,
on the contrary, your fate will be punishment.”
Thus she spoke, then the light was gone.
The smith searched his way feeling with his hand,
until he found the cave’s gate.
He ran fast to the security of the valley.
In town, the young man toiled again
and the smiths on the place asked questions
where he had dwelled all the time.
He revealed all – the noble lover,
her treasures, the gifts and similar things.
He added to the tale abundant lies.
But the smiths laughed – to make them believe
his words, he wished to show them the fruit
of his journey beyond the cave’s doorway.
He opened the box and upon sand
fell now his eyes’ sight.
The smiths laughed louder of him.
Donat was despised from this hour
and soon he turned from the country.
And also from this hour this country
by the wise women forever was abandonned.