Saturday Rave: Nocturne by Eino Leino, translated by Keith Bosley.

The journalist, poet, playwright, essayist, reviewer and translator Eino Leino was born Armas Einar Leopold Lönnbohm in 1878. 

In the wide range of genres in which he worked he had an enormous emotional range, too, covering everything from focussed love to a general misanthropy. 

Despite writing constantly, he had money troubles. He died at the age of forty seven.

There doesn't seem to be much of Eino Leino's poetry available in English, but this poem, beautifully translated by Keith Bosley, make me wish there was more.


The corncrake's song rings in my ears,
above the rye a full moon sails;
this summer night all sorrow clears
and woodsmoke drifts along the dales,
I do not laugh or grieve, or sigh;
the forest's darkness breathes nearby,
the red of clouds where day sinks deep,
the blue of windy hills asleep,
the twinflower's scent, the water's shade - 
of these my heart's own song is made.
You, girl as sweet as summer hay,
my heart's great peace, I sing to you,
O my devotion, tune and play
a wreath of oak twigs, green and new.
I have stopped chasing Jack-o'-Lantern,
I hold gold from the Demon's mountain;
around me life tightens its ring,
time stops, the vane has ceased to swing;
the road before me through the gloom
is leading to the unknown room.

Translated by Keith Bosley 

Word To Use Today: crake. A corncrake is a medium-sized bird that nests in hayfields. It has a particularly irritating and harsh watch-winding call that can be heard up to 1.5 kilometres away. It has all but vanished from Britain because of the modern habit of cutting the hay while the birds are nesting. The word crake comes from the Old Norse krāka, crow, or krākr, raven, which imitate the calls of these birds. 
Well, that's what my dictionary says, anyway, though I find this a bit odd because a crake is nothing like either a crow or a raven, being secretive and brown.


Corncrake: photo by Rachel Davies


Crow: photo by Ian Kirk 


But still, they're the experts.