by Ingibjörg Háraldsdóttir

Kona
Woman

When everything has been said and done
when all of the problems in the world
are laid out, weighed, and settled upon
when eyes have met
and hands have been shaken
in the gravity of that moment
— a woman always comes along
to clear the table,
mop the floor, and open the windows
to chase the cigar smoke out. 

That never fails. 

Translated by Meg Matich.

by Sjón

náttúruljóð
Nature Poem     

(i) 

in a hushed whir
the milkyway sends hails

(ii)

a silk glove, newsewn
blueberry shimmer of stars

(iii)

a redfeathered bird, windswept off course,
in the rib cage of a swan in decay

(iv)

an emotionally wavering
pinstraight rainbow

(v)

a honeycoated fly in a web
a dark patch on the end moraine

(vi)

of such diaphanous material
she moves anonymous through the city 

Translated by Meg Matich.

by Sjón

birting
daybreak

long to morning, even longer to daybreak
when the man jerks awake
to the call of a moorbird

it’s January
he lives downtown
in a flat facing a garden, inlaid with flagstone

the man rises to his feet
walks quietly between rooms
until convinced he’s awake

in the kitchen, he pours himself a glass of milk
sits at the table, the glass in his right hand

he listens to his own breath
until he can’t make it out anymore 

Translated by Meg Matich.

by Sjón

mannfræði
human science

rodin’s sculpture of adam
shows the newlycreated man
taking his first steps

his shoulders stooped
right foot at rest on a stone
arms hang at his sides

he’s already fatigued
from standing upright

left index finger seeks touch
but michelangelo’s god has gone
into the world of clouds

his eyes turned, longing, toward the dust
where he lay not long ago 

his life force neither stronger nor weaker

he falls and walks in time 

Translated by Meg Matich.