The Warmth of Ice

Første vårens søndagsmorgen
kan vi igjen se den skare
Er endelig slutt på sorgen
over åker løper hare

På det høyeste fjell i øst
kan du se solen den røde
Du kan se, og nyte den trøst
fra varden se jorden føde

Solen har fått sin kraft tilbake
Eikeånden er født påny
Solen har fått sin makt tilbake
Sommeren har kommet


The first Sunday morning of spring
we can see the army again
Finally mourning ends
A hare runs across the field

On the tallest mountain in the east
you can see the red sun
You can see and enjoy the comfort
from the peak see Earth give birth

The force of the sun has returned
the oak spirit is reborn
The power of the sun has returned
Summer has arrived

You know, in spite of the coarser of Varg’s views which I may nitpick over, the man’s music is phenomenal. The sort of dreary, meditative state his art induces in me speaks of a powerful kind of magic. And in many ways, that’s exactly what he is; a magician, or magi — a shaman or druid in the realest sense.

The sort of invocation of mystical energy Varg conjures comes from deep within. It’s an often untouched resource, the spirit of the North, but for him, as he runs through the forest, the black sun shines forth through the backdrop of green and earth and warms his back along his journey. Truly there are few who feel the warmth of the frozen North to the extent Varg does at what is likely a totally suprarational level, which is transmuted hitherto in the form of music.

Hail to Burzum.


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