An animist Finnish berry song

Miraculous conception according to the woods and the mountains

Harvest time is a period of both celebration and solemnity, a fact attested by the Old English name for September, Haligmonað — holy month. Folk practices like the ritualization of cutting the last sheaf, and songs like John Barleycorn demonstrate that past generations were aware of the weight of the sacrifice made by plants and animals in order that our human communities could live and thrive through winter.

In my last post I spoke about the mythic relationship between berries, rarefied places and human flourishing. While berry season is still upon us, I want to share a piece of folklore I revisit every year now, which could even be considered a bit of animist liturgy. It evokes the same network of associations, combined with an earthy eroticism that is often missing from modern discussions of folklore, though it was very much present in the seasonal practices of the past.

Akseli Gallen-Kallela - Marjatta and the Christ Child

This is the final rune poem of the Finnish Kalevala,¹ which gives an account of the Virgin Mary’s miraculous pregnancy that differs beautifully from the story of that event that most of us would recognize.

The shepherdess Marjatta (whose name plays on the Finnish word marja — berry), wonders how long she will remain a maiden. A berry calls out to her from the mountaintop, longing to be eaten, and leaps into her mouth, nestling into her belly. There it grows into a miraculous child. Here is an excerpt of an English verse translation of the song:²

…and if you want to sing it yourself, try it with this popular runosong melody…

“Wretched are the lives of shepherds,
Lives of maidens still more wretched,
Guarding flocks upon the mountains;
Serpents creep in bog and stubble,
On the greensward dart the lizards;
But it was no serpent singing,
Nor a sacred lizard calling,
It was but the mountain-berry
Calling to the lonely maiden:
“Come, O virgin, come and pluck me,
Come and take me to thy bosom,
Take me, tinsel-breasted virgin,

Take me, maiden, copper-belted,
Ere the slimy snail devours me,
Ere the black-worm feeds upon me.
Hundreds pass my way unmindful,
Thousands come within my hearing,
Berry-maidens swarm about me,
Children come in countless numbers,
None of these has come to gather,
Come to pluck this ruddy berry.”

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Listened to its gentle pleading,
Ran to pick the berry, calling,
With her fair and dainty fingers,
Saw it smiling near the meadow,
Like a cranberry in feature,
Like a strawberry in flavor;
But the virgin, Mariatta,
Could not pluck the woodland-stranger,
Thereupon she cut a charm-stick,
Downward pressed upon the berry,
When it rose as if by magic,
Rose above her shoes of ermine,
Then above her copper girdle,
Darted upward to her bosom,
Leaped upon the maiden’s shoulder,
On her dimpled chin it rested,
On her lips it perched a moment,
Hastened to her tongue expectant;
To and fro it rocked and lingered,
Thence it hastened on its journey,
Settled in the maiden’s bosom.
Mariatta, child of beauty,
Thus became a bride impregnate,
Wedded to the mountain-berry…”

The sacredness of the wild berry is illuminated in this song by the insistence that like humankind, it too knows longing, and the longing it feels is to be eaten and to create new life in us, those who would give it death.

What humbler story of harvest-as-death-and-resurrection is there than the fruit that longs to perish only so it can share its seeds?

Warmly,

Danica

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