Stephan G Stephansson

Stephan G. Stephansson of Iceland

Fundraising challenge

Stephan G. Stephansson is one of our nation’s most original poets, open-minded, profound and eloquent. Some of his poems are masterpieces. At the age of twenty, he went to the West in 1873 and has lived there ever since. He is a common man and has always worked hard for himself and his family. However, he has contributed to our literature, which will hardly ever be forgotten, because he has enriched them both in terms of content and form. He loves our nation, country and language, which his poems best show. – His countrymen in the West have expressed their thanks to him in various ways, but the Icelandic people here at home have not yet shown him any sign of their respect or gratitude. The poems fall into her favor, and one could assume that she would like to show her gratitude in some way or deed.

We, the undersigned representatives of: Ungmennafélaganna í Reykjavík, Hins íslenzka stúdentafélags, Stúdentafélags háskólans, Lestrarfélags kvenna Reykjavíkur, mentaskólafélagsins Framtíðarinnar, verzlunarmannafélagsins Merkúrs og sambandsstjórnar U.M.F.Í (the Youth Association in Reykjavík, the Icelandic Student Association, the University Student Association, the Reykjavík Women’s Reading Association, the Framtíðin School Association, the Merchants’ Association Merkúr and the U.M.F.Í  board), have therefore decided to invite the poet here for an introduction in the coming spring, and we need to raise money for that. We hope that all friends of the poet will be kind enough to contribute to this, depending on the content and reasons. Donors should write their names and contribution on this list, which will later be sent, together with the money, to the committee’s treasurer, Helgi Bergs, Þingholtsstræti 27, Reykjavík.

Reykjavík, 12 December, 1916

Ágúst H. Bjarnason, Guðbrandur Magnússon, Guðm. Davíðsson, Guðm. Finnbogason, Helgi Bergs, Laufey Vilhjálmsdóttir, Stefán Jóh. Stefánsson, Steinþór Guðmundsson, Theódóra Thoroddsen.

 Invitation Reykjavík, 2 January 1917

Mr. Stephan G. Stephansson
Markerville, Alberta
Dear Poet!

It has often been said here, at least among people, and even in print, how nice it would be for us, your countrymen, if we could ever get to see you here at home in your homeland. I hope you know you have many friends here who love your poems and admire them, and they would like nothing more than to be able to show you some token of the respect and gratitude that the Icelandic people owe you. As in some difficult matters, however, the execution of the idea has been slow, even though the desire is strong. But recently, the Youth Associations in Reykjavík, the Reykjavík Women’s Reading Association, the Mentaskólafélagið Framtíðin, the Merkúr trade association and the board of the U.M.F.Í got together to invite you here for an introduction in the coming spring and collect the money needed for that. We, the undersigned, were elected to a committee to carry out execution of this matter.

We therefore hereby take the liberty of sending you an invitation in the name of these members and all those who work with us, and we sincerely hope that you would be able to accept this invitation. It is planned that Gullfoss will go to New York at the latest in April this year and would probably leave there in the middle of May, arriving here late in that month. It occurred to us that this trip would perhaps suit you well. If you desire, you could stay here during the summer and travel around the country as long as you please. We hope that the trip could be enjoyable to you, as the Icelandic summer you love welcomes you.

All the costs of your journey, from the time you leave home until you return home, will be paid to you and the cost of travel to the west will be sent to you in advance. We will do everything in our power to make your return home pleasant. If you, as we hope, accept our invitation, we would like to receive the following telegram as soon as possible: Dr. Finnbogason Reykjavík  Yes Stephansson.

With best regards and wishes for a happy new year.

Respectfully.

August Bjarnason, Guðbrandur Magnússon, Guðm. Davíðsson, Guðm. Finnbogason, Laufey Vilhjálmsdóttir, Gunnl. Einarsson, Helgi Bergs, Stefán Jóh. Stefánsson, Steinþór Guðmundsson, Theódóra Thoroddsen.

In the West, Icelanders celebrated the poet, and the editor and publisher of the Almanak, Ólafur S. Thorgeirsson, dedicated the 1918 edition to the death of Stephan G. Stephansson. He published poems, speeches and pictures in his publication which are published here.

Homecoming of Stephan G. Stephánsson, poet 1917 

“One of the most significant events in the history of Western Icelanders is Stephán G. Stephánsson’s visit to Iceland last year. All the main cultural associations of the nation accepted the invitation…Stephán left home on May 7th, but stayed for about two weeks in Winnipeg, before he left for New York, because from there the trip was to cross the ocean on the Gullfoss, a ship owned by Eimskipafélag Íslands who had invited Stephán to be their guest between countries. During Stephán’s stay in Winnipeg, he was given an auspicious farewell party, together with Mr. Árni Eggertsson, with whom he traveled to Iceland. The club Helgi magri was responsible for it. Stephán came to Reykjavík the day before the nation’s memorial day, which is June 17. With the exception of the usual ceremony of respect, which is shown to the deceased national hero, Jón Sigurðsson, that day, the celebration was mostly about the Klettafjalla farmer and the poet: Stephán G. Stephánsson.

It occurred to the publisher of the Almanak that it would be both useful and fun to gather together everything that was said about Stephán at home, in formal and informal language, and was printed here and there in newspapers and in special editions, but here is more that was not printed. I know very well that all Western Icelanders will greatly enjoy reading what follows about one of the nicest men they have.”

Stephan G. Stephansson

Skáldagramur, gestur mæti,
Gaktu’ ‘í bæinn, taktu’ sæti.
”Langförull” í listar heimi,
Lands vors sæmd af beztu gerð.
Óra fórstu, en endist lengur,
ennþá muntu fullvel gengur.
:,:Klettafari í hug og hreimi,
Hvað er títt úr þinni ferð?:,:

Af þér straukstu vetrarvindinn,
Vatzt þér upp á hæsta tindinn,
Söngva vanst úr víðsýninu,
vökufús og geislakær.
Nær sem Ísland af þér frétti,
altaf varstu’ á geistum spretti
:,:fram úr miðlungs mýsuðinu,
máttkvæður og hamrafær. :,:

Dýr og þung er þeigna gjöfin,
þú slóst vita’ á breiðu höfin.
Sólarris að vestanverðu
virðir Frón þinn hörpuslátt
arnfleygastur Íslendingur,
Ameríski bragkýfingur
:,: gæfulega goðorð berðu,
gelur nýjan Egilshátt. :,:

Nú er ”Fóstran” fjálg og ræðin:
”Fyrirgefðu vöggukvæðin.
Gáfur svona glaðvakandi
get eg aldrei krept né svæft.
Þolinn varstu – því fór betur –
þinnar æsku snjóavetur.
:,: Fremd vor bezt í fjörru landi,
Frækilega’ er mark þitt hæft. :,:

Velkominn þig vornótt býður;
Vinarkveðja’ í blænum líður.
Dalaelfur djúp þitt róma;
Duna fossar gleðislag.
Stormur betri stilling sýnir.
Stuðlabjörgin frændur þínir,
:,: tíguleg í tíbrá ljóma,
telja sér þinn höfðingsbrag. :,:

Ekki þarftu’ í langar leitir,
ljós er kveikt um allar sveitir.
Saman lesa æska’ og elli
undir hinstu náttamál.
Logar yfir þessu þingi
þökk frá hverjum Íslendingi.
:,: Heilir þeysi’ að þínum velli!
Þakka fyrir silki’ og stál. :,:
17. júní 1917. Jakob Thorarensen

Speech by Dr.Guðmundur Finnbogason in honor of Stephan G. Stephansson, 17 June 1917.

I remember how amazed I was at the grasses that grew out of the sand east of Fjöllunum, where I was in my youth. They were more plentiful than other herbs, and there was a scent of grass. I have also often thought about the fact that some of the most eloquent people that our stories tell about was the very one who of all people had to go alone for the longest time and deal with small things; I mean Grettur Ásmundsson. And I think it is no less strange that two remote desert cottages should claim for the honor of having fostered a poet as powerful as our guest of honor, Stephan G. Stephansson. But it all boils down to the same thing. It shows that the evil spirit, which has dominion and power in these parts, is wholesome and pure. In the Bible, there are often mentions of unclean spirits coming out of people they had entered. He asked the name of one of these unclean spirits. But he answered: ”My name is Legion, because there are so many of us.” It was this Legion who asked to go to the pigs, and he did. But Legion is not out of the story. He is still alive. Legion is the impure spirit, which raises up the number, the head count, the conscience of the majority, the spirit of the age, the tyranny. It is he who wants to cast everyone in the same mould, tolerate no one to think, speak, live and act differently than the rest of the public. Legion is the enemy of all that is original, of all those who do not want to “tie their bundles in the same knots as their fellow travelers”. Every man is sought by Legion, and many are heavily possessed by him. It is the more powerful in the larger urban area. But in a pinch, he can’t help himself. There, the pure spirit of solitude, vastness, the spirit of free travel reigns. There, the individual is weighed on his own scales. The grasses that grow there are settlers. They do not live in the shelter of others. They put down roots in the sand on their own responsibility, live according to their natural laws of their own free will, in free cooperation with the sun, the rain and the wind. That is why there is a peculiar smell of grass. There the spirit of man finds himself, there his strings are aligned in harmony with nature. That’s why Grettir’s words are so profound. The poet of the little ones is

” haralyndur
hlákuvindur –
höfundur sem engan stælir,
sitt á eigin orðum mælir
hvað sem hugsar tún og tindur –
starfar, stundar,
straums og grundar
öflin leysa úr ísa-tjóðri
opna dyrnar fyrir gróðri
rumska því sem bundið blundar.”

I can’t see better than that this is a description of our guest of honor. And if the spirit of the Interior ever became flesh and lived with us, he is now sitting here. Stephan G. Stephansson is, in my eyes, the most mysterious phenomenon in Icelandic fiction. He was, as I pointed out earlier, raised in two deserted huts, which are now, and has probably not traveled widely around this country. He has never attended any school. He has always worked hard for himself and his family. He leaves here at the age of 20 and settles down in another continent, not once, but three times. Three times he has taken new land for cultivation, pushed the boundaries and put land under the plough. No one does this except the one who was born a settler, a leader, who dares to ride the ford before others and put his hand to the plow first. Actually, I don’t know why Stephan G. Stephansson didn’t enjoy his first or second settlement and not until he got to the west under Klettafjöll, unless it was because he wanted to be as far away from Legion and as close as possible to the little ones, so that he could say goodbye to the “infamous mountain robber”. But in all these seasons of the native, while he was tilling the land,
”opna dyrnar fyrir gróðri,
rumska því sem bundið blundar”
in the dust, he has been writing poems that have flown as far as the Icelandic language is spoken and will be preserved as long as it. The sower and the poet both speak in Icelandic, and in Stephan’s life this word has always kept its double meaning.

And this is what I find most remarkable: This man who in his youth lived the simple life of a commoner in remote stations, and since then has had his hand on the axe, the plough, the harrow, the spade, he is one of the most widespread settlers and chiefs in the state of the spirit of our nation. When he left the country at the age of 20 and everyone thought that he moved his rent in one trunk, or whoever his secret was, he brought with him an invisible treasure of everything that is most expensive and best-born in our language, literature and national character, and the telescope that showed him the homeland in all its majesty and beauty, whenever it caught his eye. On the one hand, I can understand the life that the Icelander lives in his poems and the images that are there of our country. In Stephan’s poems, the Icelandic is fruitful, it is there “mærðar timbur máli laufgað” (shriveled timber with leaves), like Egill. It’s as if words from every part of the Icelandic language, old and new, are available to him, they appear in a new light and unexpected relationships, or cast into the forms that the tongue has created long ago. I was completely surprised when I visited Stephan and found out that he has not an Icelandic dictionary – except for himself. But it’s also the vocabulary that would fall short. – If I am to judge from Stephan’s poems, then the Icelandic can conquer anything, and will never fall short, no matter what kind of subject it is applied to.

Stephan’s descriptions seem to me to have the advantage that as soon as the words hit, exactly where they are meant to meet, the metaphors dissolve and make everything alive and spontaneous. But this very thing has been a characteristic of true poetry in all ages, to give life and breath to everything, to make the visible world agree with the soul of man, so that it becomes its property and its treasure. And in many of Stephan’s best poems we find exactly this undercurrent of life in nature, we find that the description gives both at the same time: the image of the visible and the story of the invisible spirit that lives and stirs in it. At the heart of the matter, nature and human life merge. There reflects something else, there springs from something else:
”Mér skapar veröld með einstökum orðum,
íslenzkan nú, eins og hann gerði forðum”

states the poet. And sometimes we hardly identify the voice of nature and the voice of the poet as they sound the same.

Stephan’s materials are no less rich and multifaceted than his case. One wonders where all that wealth of ideas comes from, where and when he has acquired all that he knows. He has said that
”lífsins kvöð og kjarni er það að líða
og kenna til í stormum sinna tíða.”
And he has done that. He is so sensitive to the weather that he feels equally with what is happening at home in Iceland, in the east to Russia, in the south to the Transvaal and in what is closer to him, and his mind lives equally in our antiquity and stories and in the present and future. He gets nourishment from all sources. And when we know all this and remember that the goddess of poetry on his sixtieth birthday said to him:
”Þú helgaðir stritinu hraustleik og dag,
mér hríðar og nótt og þreytu.”
When we remember, in other words, that his poems, with all that they contain, are mostly half-awake work, then one has to ask: When did he sleep? One thing is certain:
”Þú hefir af þér æfilangt
engan róður sofið.”
And now you sit here among us, Stephan G. Stephansson. Be welcome! We asked you to come because we really wanted to shake your hand and thank you for your settlement work in the needs of Icelandic literature. You have enriched us with a variety of poems that will live on for centuries to come, because as you yourself have said to another poet:
”Yfir áraflóðið
út með Furðuströndum,
langseildara er ljóðið
lengstum vinahöndum!

Það berst út á Ægi eilífðanna
eins og byr til frægustu siglinganna.
Þér þarf ekki að segja það né sanna
sextugum í flokki yngri manna.

Yfir aldasjóum
óma hörpur Braga
enn frá eyðiskógum
elztu landnámsdaga.

Hver sem orti, ungur þó að félli,
uppi er hann! því kvæði heldur velli.
Aftanskin þér skín frá hverju felli.
Skáldin bera fegurst hæstu elli.”

This has everything to do with yourself, and it’s nice, because of the praise you’ve given about others, you can turn on yourself and say like a boy: ”You can be that yourself.” But you are also one of the most beautiful examples of what I consider the immortal honor of our nation, that an Icelandic farmer who
Ӈr og eindaga
sólbitinn slær,
siglir særokinn
stjörnuskininn stritar.”
he can sit on the higher bench with the spirited men of the nation and take his place there with energy and nobility.

Your poems are proof to us that Icelandic is a settler language and does not need to wither at the root or fade, even though it is planted on a distant shore in the midst of other, more populous languages, that it proves to be powerful in nature, wherever it comes and grows up with each new subject. In your journey we learn many things that have shone the most on the life and literature of our forefathers: manliness, purity, daring, tyranny and eloquence. You have gone on your own journeys, whether others liked it or not, and followed the only thing that you thought was truest and most manly. All streets are in the first single level, all leaders are single. (There is only one single path, a farmer is their own leader.) But where there is a good man, even in spite of all, others follow:
”og alfaraleið verður, einstígur hans
þó aldirnar fenni yfir sporin.”

We thank you for the mind and heart that you have brought to your people and homeland, for all the wonderful poems that you have recited to them. We thank you for the fact that you did not dare to set out on the deep and dangerous sea and come here, and we wish and hope that the journey can be a pleasure for you and that the homeland welcomes you with all the joy and the tenderness she has. We hope that it turns out for you as you have hoped:
”nóttlaus voraldar veröld
þar sem víðsýnið skín.”
Sit heill með oss!

About Stephan G. Stephansson. (Delivered at the Women´s Festival in Reykjavík June 19, 1917)

The Western-Icelandic poet, Stephan G. Stephansson, has returned home. It is almost like a fairy tale that at long last we get to see him here, at home, able to thank him ourselves with a handshake for his poems. They have always reached us from afar, so full of homesickness, full of love and true devotion to the homeland and everything Iceland. His love poems to the homeland are always beautiful, yet heartfelt from the distance. It was fitting that we inhabitants of the Capital can rejoice with him here at home on June 17., the Nations Memorial Day but the ladies so happy to be able to welcome him on their Festival Day, June 19. And the ladies have every reason to do so. Stephan supports equal rights more than just with words. Only few of our poets would rejoice with the achievement of equal rights, understand better the value of such rights, rejoice over the fact women appreciate their value. This is borne out in his many decriptions of women. Those are not sentimental love poems, not irresponsible flattery. There one will not find those “pitiful calm down poems” about “my sweat life” and “my beautiful love”. He insists that women must have a healthy and spiritual grace, be true women. Such qualities he appreciates. He shows it with few but obvious words. And I feel every woman most often should be proud to be honored by Stepan in two, three lines in a verse than in the long, common love poems. This is followed by samples the speaker chooses to prove her point.

– Eg mundi fljótt hafa getið mér til um höfundinn að öðrum eins vísuorðum og þessum:
”Og drotningar hjarta er viðkvæmt og varmt
þó varirnar fljóti ekki í gælum”.

En hann hefir líka auga fyrir kvenfegurð sé hún hrein og sönn.

”Og vorsins yndi og örugt traust
mér ofið fanst í svip þinn inn,
og viðmót  hýrt og hispurslaust”

segir hann í eina mansöngnum, sem til er í Andvökum. Þar finnur hann að vorið sjálft hefir tekið sér gerfi þessarar konu. Hann er viss um það, því allir eiginleikar hennar eru eiginleikar vorsins. Í yfirliti hennar er vorfegurð.

”Og svipur yfir ennið hátt,
-svo æskuslétt og frítt og breitt –
af dagsbrún langri í austurátt
þá alt er loftið milt og heitt.
Hún árdags lit og ljóma ber,
en ljósið bak við skærra er.

Og augun dökk við dimma brá
-svo djúp og skær og morgunglöð-
þau sýndust öllu ljós sitt ljá.
Eins ljóma í geisla döggvot blöð,
þá út um skúra skýin svört
sést skína um dagmál sólin björt.”

En sál hennar er líka þrungin af geislum og heiðríkju vorsins.

”Og mér fanst æ við orðin þín
mér opnast heimur fagurskýr
og alt hið forna sökkva úr sýn,
en sjónarhringur birtast nýr.
Svo breytir vorið velli og björk
og víkkar heimsins endamörk.

Það var sem inst í öndu mér
að augun þín þú hefðir fest,
og eins og vísað væri þér
á versin þau sem kvað eg bezt.
Svo ratar vor á blómablað,
sem býr í skugga á eyðistað.”

Það væri engin tískubrúða né tildursdrós, sem fengi svona kvæði. Ljóðin til þeirra eru öðruvísi. Þar er Hlaðgerður fremst í flokki. Þar kveður við annan tón:

”Nú skil eg hví hönd þín var hvít eins og ull
en haldlaus, – og þetta sem skein eins og gull
í silkiþráð glitað, þitt sólbjarta hár,
Var gefið til sýnis, en engum til fjár.
Þú hefðir ei léð það til liðþurfa manns,
í lífshættu stöddum, í bogastreng hans.

Nú sé eg að augun þín svelldoðagljá
sem sævarós lagður, en djúpöldublá,
en tennurnar, hvirfing úr hafperlum gjör
um hláturinn tamda, er svaf þér á vör –
og heiðslétta ennið og íroðin kinn
var alt saman gert fyrir spegilinn þinn.”

Eg hefi oft undrast, hvernig hægt var að koma svo glöggri mynd og jafn sárbiturri ádeilu fyrir í tveimur erindum. En hann skygnist líka dýpra:

”Trúðu mér, Hlaðgerður að eins um eitt,
eg yrki ekki til þess að sakast um neitt”

Afsökunin er þessi.

”Venjurnar heimta þig svona til sín,
úr siðum og háttum er innrætni þín.
Og það er oss sveinunum sjálfþakkarvert,
því svona höfum vor boð til þín gert.”

Þeir væru ekki allir karlmennirnir, sem fengjust til að viðurkenna þetta, að almennings álitið þurfi hér að breytast, kröfurnar að verða heilbrigðari og stærri. En þá eru kvenréttindin fyrst komin í rétt horf, þegar bæði karlmenn og konur skilja það til fullnustu.. Stephan finnur sjálfur til þess, að hann er ekki ástaskáld, eftir venjulegum mælikvarða. Hann kann ekki listina þá, að ríma alt upp á ”sál” og ”bál”, ”hjarta” og ”bjarta” og ”ást” sem ”brást”. Hann segir sjálfur um það:

”Já mig, sem var þrásinnis kveðinn í kút
og kaus mér að hlusta og þegja,
er hjúfrandi ástaskáld heltu sér út –
ef hendingar kvæði eg til meyja:
hver tólf vetra Rósalind reigðist við mér
með ”rómaninn” fyrsta í kjöltunni á sér!”

Því miður eru konurnar of margar, sem halda áfram við rómanalesturinn en reigjast við kröfum og kenningum þeirra, er hugsa eins og Stephan G. – Of fáar konur hafa líka lesið ljós hans þannig, að þær hafi grafið þar til gullsins. Þær gætu ekki allar sagt eins og Ólöf á Hlöðum:

”Stephan G. minn Stephansson
stendur bak við tjöldin.

Annars hugar utan við
oní potta gæti’ eg,
stari inn á andans svið,
óði hans þar mæti eg.”

Stephan er orðfár. En það sem hann segir, er honum alvara. Þess vegna er stundum hálfkveðin vísa meira virði en eldheitar ástarjátningar á vörum sumra annara. Það er ekki íburðamikið þetta um stúlku, sem hann játar, að ekki hafi neinn sérstakan fríðleik til að bera.:

”En liti eg augun hennar hlýju í,
hreinlega sagt: eg fann til ljúfrar gleði.”

Og svo kemur þessi lýsing á tilfinningalífi hans sjálfs:

”Eg á til karl minn, kró í huga mér,
hvaðvetna fagurt óvart þangað safnast.

Sumarkvölds eilífð, skógur skúra blár,
skríðbúin hlíð og fossahljóð þar stendur,
Hrafnsvartir lokkar, ljósar augnabrár,
ljúflinga brjóst og mjúkar hvítar hendur.
Mér er þó sérhvers svipmynd ung og ný –
samt á eg enn þar marga kyma tóma.
Fallegu augun hennar þráfalt því
þangað sér smeygja milli eldri blóma.”

Finnum við ekki að inn í þessa kyma hefir fátt getað smeygt sér, nema það, sem var ”ekta”?  Og hún er ”ekta” myndin sem hann dregur upp, þar sem hann í minningarljóðum um frændkonu sína kveður þannig:

”Og höndin þín kvenlega, knáleg og feit,
sem kærleikur mjúk og sem einlægnin heit,
jafn hæf til að styðja og hjúkra:
öll vandaverk sýndist að gæti afgreitt
og geirinn, ef þyrfti, eins hæglega reitt
sem hagræða  hægindi sjúkra”

Væri ekki hver kona öfundsverð, sem fengi slík erfiljóð? Einmitt frá manni eins og Stephani G. Stephanssyni, manni sem ekki virðist kunna að smjaðra. Eða sú, er fengi minningarljóð, lífs eða liðin, líkt og í kvæðinu ”Kurly”. Það er æskuvina hans. Hann hefir ekki séð hana né frétt ad henni árum saman:

”Þann kaldlýsta haustmorgun höfðum við kvaðst,
þú hrygg – eg með fáyrðaró”

Hann gleymir henni aldrei. Eftir mörg ár, er hann að geta sér þess til hvar hún muni vera og hvernig henni líði. Hann veit það ekki, en eitt veit hann: hún hefir aldrei getað tapað manngildi sínu, sem sönn og fögur kona, hlýtur alt af að vera dýrmæt og hrein perla, hvert sem lífsflaumurinn hefir skolað henni.

”Þú átt kannse í fjölsótta garðinum gröf
við ”hleym ei” og drjúpandi tré-
‘ið bezta kvað fallvaltast, forlögin þau,
að fegurðin skammlífust sé.
Og það, sem er ágætast, þroskast og fyrst,
og þarf ekki áranna með –
Eg fæst ekki um ranglátt þó ræzt hafi á þér
sú reglan, sem vel getur skeð.

Þú sætir í dýflissu, dæmd henni var
oft drenglund, eins hrein eins og þín .–

Og eins er það sama þó sjálfmenskuþræll
þú sért eins og fjöldinn og eg,
þín snild breytir hreysum í hallir og skart
í heimkynni allsnægjuleg.
Því kongborin sál gerir kimann að sal,
að kastala garðshornið svalt!”

Þó frú sértu göfug og skrýðist í skart,
sá skrúði þér maklega fer,
þú prýðir svo gullið! – og dementadjásn
er dýrmætt í hárinu á þér.

Í gröf þína ”Kurly”, mín kveð eg um jól.
Í kot þitt, í höll þína inn.
Í fásinni áranna ekki er þér gleymt,
því enn er eg riddarinn þinn.”

Men like Stephan G. Stephansson are not likely to forget.  Women, like the ones he best describes, should be unforgetable and he has done his so that will be the case.  Few speeches which have been delivered in the world are as uninteresting as toasts to women. Hardly ever has one influenced the way of thinking or positive mentality of women or were supposed to. Often we have attempted to close our ears to avoid hearing them. But in “Andvökur” Stephan G.´s one finds many toasts to women, that will and could make us more noble, bigger. None of us should close our ears to such. For such we are most grateful. Such toasts are of the kind we can dedicate those to June 19.
Ingibjörg Benediktsdóttir