On the Tray
by Kristín Ómarsdóttir
maidens dunk fishtails and flukes in the pool
— tepid water gilds and colors them — striped balls
in a striped chair a woman combs her bed hair
and brings me news from the fascist television channel
the lips work effortlessly, heaped sugarspoon sentences
the same color as the veins on the back of her hand
the trees in the garden play, they checkmate the sky
on the tray, the radio sings : please, forget me not
Translated by Lytton Smith.
The Colors in my Dollhouse
by Kristín Ómarsdóttir
the floor light green
the walls tinfoil
the couches pink
my tongue is green
my eyes hollow
a stranger leads me out the bedroom
Translated by Lytton Smith.
Poetry
by Ragnar Helgi Ólafsson
Poetry
Skáldamál
I want to talk to you in poetry,
in unbroken silence.
It’s not as difficult as it sounds:
Just like
dragging a crystal glass
by a strand of wool
over
a boulder beach.
Translated by Ragnar Helgi Ólafsson.
A consolation for those
by Ragnar Helgi Ólafsson
who cannot find themselves
in their present
(or: In the future #3)
Til hughreystingar
þeim sem finna sig ekki
í samtíma sínum
(eða: Í framtíðinni #3)
In the future
when time-travel
is routine:
People will still go to the pub
but slip back in time to have a smoke.
Most people will still have a job
and a permanent residence
in the present
but travel in time in spare moments.
In the future
— some nights —
nobody will be there.
Translated by Ragnar Helgi Ólafsson.