Piano Sonata from Spring Flute
It has been a long time since you whistled a tune
ate a nice meal
reclined on the green sofa
- in the style of Mozart
read a book or a magazine
yet I do not complain much
and leave it to a piano sonata
to charge the air with expectations
concentrate the mind
An inviting glance
to love
... | Let us live from Field of Life
Let us make love
let us live the years of nakedness
in times of conflict
a duet
looking for life
away from the others
Askur and Embla |
Touch from Spring flute
My eyes
are fingers
touching
beauty
arranging it into a bouquet
No words
without the yarn
my poems
are spun from
without you
shapeless poetic damage
nothing
to communicate
|
A Cold and Aimless Flight
Let us awake anew
the tunes
we played
by the spring
let us enjoy as before
and live
ecstasy
|
Fiero
Is it his nature or
his passion
to light a
fire
put out?
|
Dare
Put a hand
brave
into the mouth of the wolf
or take on
the guise of a fly
should it help me
to have
|
Danger
Wish
I were
not
the woman
who young was
given
|
Him and Her
The woman is the night, life
the sun
the man is the day, death
the shade
Dusk and Dawn
on the carousel of years
Does disintegration follow fusion
attraction separation?
|
Net
What God has joined
still exists
in your starfish heart
to entwine us again
entangle us in your tightly woven net
catch the eyes so clear
in the calmest pool
pale-faced regard them
as they break
in a strong freezing current
no human being must
separate?
| Surf
The raging surf
surrounds everything
fascinates me
drinks my lust and my love
I hang on desperately to the pleasures of the deep
hoping I will never be shot up
to the surface
Magic beauty and threat
resides in this golden waterfall
an irrepressible longing
pulls me down the current
to you
|
Don't Touch Me
Love draws
shivers
before windows
the final hour
an open side wound
no one sees
the bleeding
no one smells
separations
cry Christ
cry
| A Lone Tree
Behind mountains and beyond seas
stands a lone tree
badly rooted and lacking care
sometimes I am that tree
no one knows
the crooked path to me but you
and when you come the tree will turn
leaf-green and fill up with juice
|
Ties
Happily, I write you onto the land, the light, the blueness of dusk, the deep and myself. I hold tightly onto your words and caresses and carry them with me wherever I go; they disclose the child in the poem that is brought to life inside me.
| Clock Hand
Where are you big hand?
Without you I glide forward
alone
and move myself either back or forward
the fragile glass
an imagined fortress and a black rein
pull me in two directions
pointlessly
without you
|
Love Tree
I am the peace in the forest, dressed in
evening red words. I can not make things up: my life is
running its course in the hourglass of the day. Oh, come let us make
love
tonight.
| Sonatina
bearing witness to
memories
beyond the story tower
of the white scrolls
of love
|
Whistling in the Field
"Glorious green nature
sweeps sorrow aside
lets poems grow"
| Blood
Why
stitch a name
into ones heart?
Every prick
followed by
the warm blood
of suppressed hopes
every stitch
a fresh pain
|
the autumn forest
Also here life is out and about
finely wrought magnificent
the forest-ocean-symphony
yet I am alone
| Vincent
Sunflowers
keep me awake
their scent when the colours of night
dry on the brushes
suddenly I see where
he emerges
with one more flower
and kisses me
|
A Fair Breeze
That day
cheerfulness reigns
in eyes of the sea
reality protests
but we sail
a quick breeze on a yacht
with the biggest dream
on board
| The Flood
When the day rises, the women wash their dreams in
the salty sea, hang them up for display where
a red shadow falls on the brightest ones. Then
they rinse the men out, but they all come
back like the flood.
|
Rest
A melancholic seashell
curled around my rest
babbling until the morning
that nothing is as it once was
except for painful emotions
can not fight against
reckless memories
long to rest
interminably
inside a white seashell
|
Strings
Music blue pupils
their tones
a hot summer night
of the sea-of-the-thousand-strings
|
Field
Freshly sown words
pick themselves up from
the soil
a light is lit
| Translated by Vera Júlíusdóttir. |
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