Two poems by the contemporary Icelandic poet Sjón (Sigurjón Sigurðsson), in my translation:
the stone collector’s song
I remember the thirst and the darkness
I remember one-way streets
I remember closed alleys
and you
you pointed to a cellar door
there used to be a pub there
which we visited
a lot
here it is you said comfortingly
your stone collection
it isn’t
lost
on the shelves behind the bar
waits the iceland spar
all my
stones
sulphur – pyrite – opal
and jasper – dear friends!
none of you have I
forgotten
and up there on the ceiling hang
the obsidian sacks
heavy with
anxiety
*
gallstones
that is the poem I sing
as I squat under house-walls
when the winter denies me shelter
family life
after doing the washing-up the man stumbles
across a reindeer
that is lying under the coffee table
ruminating
it notices him
and rears up in fright
starts running out of the parlour
along the passage
where it jumps
over a pair of sandals
and a woman’s shoe.
he chases it into the bedroom
the beast creeps
under
the double bed
he gets down on all fours
watches it
join the herd
it grunts
elegantly
and the man disappears
(from söngur steinasafnarans [2007])
See also in this blog: an icelandic economist in soho
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