Translated from Fuglar (Birds, Forlagið 1990) and Loftnet klóra himin (Antennae Scratch Sky, JPV, 2008), along with a few unprinted poems, by Thórunn and her sister Vala Sigurlaug. Martin Regal read proofs.
Copyright Lifandi Saga, 2010.
Centaur
A fishy business named Centaur
is now my landlord.
They just bought my office
from descendants
of owners of the old company
Jupiter and Mars
that used the building
for running businesses
in fishy oceans.
Some centaurs are wise and gracious
friends of the Greek heroes,
such as Chiron and Pholus,
the other, wild, lawless, overspirited
who Hercules and Lapithe love to kill.
I was born in the year of the horse
a human mare …
a centaur-esse I guess
with Jupiter in ocean deep Cancer
opposite Capricornian Mars of the heights.
Now, at the time of latter-day Greece
centaurs tend to befriend
Eros and Dionysos.
Seeking balance after religious
mono-deist-despotism,
that has made our culture sick.
I have tamed, beaten and wound
my deepest veins
taking the evils
of civilization
to my heart.
Here I´m safe,
my fellow centaurs
will steer me, keep me
teach me, protect me
caress me and ride with me
through thrilling woods
of cognizance.
We jump out of paintings
with wondrous joy
canvass has never
been torn with such
a graciously greedy sound
as now when we become flesh.
Sabbath
Love old fashioned
Sabbath
with no work allowed
the grinding quern
takes relentless control.
Lay my feet
in Happiness’s bosom
eyes fixed in the hearth.
A sigh of relief
makes the log
fall
for its own heat.
The air’s so still.
No wiring, sprouting
tension.
In my reptile brain
cotton starts snowing
into ancient wounds.
Flowerbutterflies
stretching roots.
Outside
under a blanket of snow
sweet world of colour
in deep coma.
Unwritten snowy paper
in the homedrive
makes a marring sound.
An arabic snowpoem
written by tires.
Calligraphic mysteries
close up
grace for all seasons.
Raven flapping wings
lands in his home drive
writing the order of the day
on his sheet of snow.
Time to go out with gloves!
Stand on hands,
rediscover
the centre of ones tree.
Hey, apple- and peartrees!
I offer you truce
if I can stand hands down
a sweet while.
A new point of view
is the question.
The flakes snow upwards.
My world´s ascending!
In my cortex
life flows
in new key.
The grin
permanently
divides
my lips.
Nipples of bitterness
no longer a threat.
I go no more a hanging
in thin thongs of desire
gold moon shining bright.
Black weighty truce
my dark world of snow
clear as moon gold
and zealed with wings.
Conclusion
Without sorrow
our hearts are just a cup
conveying blood.
The Infinite Notch
The dash on the tombstone
makes all the difference.
If I get lucky and 84
like Kurt Vonnegut
my dash will point
east west
and say:
1954–2038
The dance
on this line in me
is neither a prologue
nor an epilogue.
It´s a hot dog
with all works.
Beyond the Line
The woman selling fruit
fills her table every morning.
Throws overripe
past post remnants
into the scrap heap.
The old ones take flight
landing on runway compost
where forms slowly
dissolve
no pollutive pyre
or costly graveyard.
It would serve humans best
to be stewed into compost
reviving dead forests and deserts.
By that covenant
we would not die.
Would go earth-tree
metamorphoses.
.
The root of an appletree
visits my coffin
and makes me an apple.
Maggot eats me too.
I become worm.
Worm me eats apple me.
A wagtail flying
eats worm
and I am bird.
Lovely to put my beak
into an apple
that is me.
Thus
time fills its vessel.
Resonance
Beauty
plays poker
with Death.
In Creation’s chest
every cell is unique.
Life
is as sensitive
as the eyes
of a broken in mare.
Death’s
resonance
magnifies
Life.
That´s how
Beauty
wins.
selfdefence
handle with care
this feeling of belonging together
it’s been clinched, bungled, kneaded
through hell and back
sticking its red obstinate head up again
face in my hands
your face my face
flesh music – bone comfort
keeping the devils
at bay
cherries
cherries are never lonlely
they come in pairs
two and two and two
preaching monogamy
red sweet edible
nipples wanting to be suckled
vampires sweet blood
running from the mouth
no fruit loves more
than cherries
red eyes after endless nights of love
totally lovesick
looking down on us cold members
of the frigid species
as if we know nothing of love
so let us get red eyed
become wolfe with antenna
our nerves the tree
our hearts the cherries
cherrie-twin-compasses
two and one
happily rotting away
in the wastebasket
down to the core
Maria’s Annunciation
25th of March
king of pain became flesh
day of Annunciation
nine months before Christmas
spirit of gods descending into womb again
cosmogenic evolution hidden
in the womb
a womb-mans womb
spirit flashing across that endless plain
tiny fishlike
hairy monkey kicking
33 really got to you creatively
we got quite something
to measure our pain with
and love
ready to die heroes everyone born
ready to live sugar and salt
god swimming oozing through it all
beneath the breastbone
out through the high backbone
winged feeling
this tiny protuberance
on the plain of creation
inside me
Old Churchyard
inside the entrance there´s a map:
“the red dot is where you are”
so this is what I am! when mapped out
a red dot – photosensitive
moving across a chessboard
above unsaid vaults
maggot eaten dots beneath the names
branches of trees these hosts
of dead
nerve branches touching me
fish-tail of Fate has done it´s flapping
offices gone and the smile
of a twelve-year-old
passing through this yard of death
a dot on a screen
almost swallowed by decay
when I find an exit of relief
a gate
another map
red dot still where I am
beating red dot
rhythmic flamingo
on through the gate
off the map
into the living storm
about to do some living
Worn World
Life saturates air, earth, water
electrifies, evaporates
impregnates
mixes
makes
enhances
changes
leaving obscure trails
of stuff
dispersing
oxygen, carbon
invisible paths
trafficking
endless missions.
Life’s
scratch
everywhere.
Omniscient
omnivorous
omnipotent.
Better stuff
A male’s rib is lousy material.
Since God made me from mud
I´m infinitely better.
No fall.
Just brainy delicious
upright innocence.
Music of the Spheres
Each day a heart beat
one year a slow yawn
stretching her long arms
around mother sun
with a fixed syncopic
change of rythm
every fourth year.
Heavens feet ticklish
she scratches with antennae
mountains and skyscrapers
ceaselessly feeling
her furrow.
Provoking planets
Earth with her antennae
sticking her fingers up
waking up lazily
opening eyelids
suckling the light.
Daisies each house topping
electric receiving
earth and air attracking
light of far distances
deep into ireses
fencing in
heaven and earth.
Antennas sure are
a key puzzle
in earths scenography:
zebra, crocodile
Himalaya’s honeydew
Hollywood, Roma
whales and zeppelins
sneak through their tiny eye.
Cyperspace lightdancing
touch antirub linking
dimensions presenting
through tiny antennas
welcoming everything.
Still she turns
heaven’s huge swinger
well greased
no moaning or squealing
never failing or slowing
her supermodel ride
on her invisible
yet so perfectly precise
path.
In her wake
deep sighs
gone years
used dreams
ragged time
lie in wait
till the next round
comes to plough
tease and stir.
Eternal ball
with your moony head
rolling around your body.
Keep going
lovely old devil.
mamma
we are all mothersuckers – on the eternal rebound
girls and boys just the same
mothersucker trauma this painful need for love
eternal vulnerable suckling years
desperately needing quality time with mamma
does fathersucker have a weaker meaning?
unless you visualize him as animal enough to let you suck him
it’s great big holy mamma that counts in decent fleshholds
mouth to milk and milk to mouth
can I ask why motherfucker’s such a terrible insult
to say someone’s fucked their mother?
hey, boy and girl, you know you mustn’t get mamma pregnant with your egg or sperm
“you fatherfucker you!”
“yes, and proud of it”
“please release me!”
“dad, do you mind?”
worse than what?
worse than wearing a uniform and killing civilians?
worse than almost anything – unless it’s customary
motherfuckers are brutes if they fuck their mammas against their will
but if the mammas enjoy it it’s just a familiar feeling?
like with other animals
but hold on, why does a mamma lion drive out her son so soon?
so her next lover who’s the king of the jungle
doesn’t finish him off
“you motherfucker!”
said to cause anger, get even, humiliate
is the stigma because they’re a) bastards or
b) wimps who can reach no further than their mammas with their
pathetic dicks and so get dangerously close with their sperm, passing diseases down to posterity?
“silence this woman!”
(big mamma is tough when she gets physical)
surely you shouldn’t be a bastard or a wimp
just stick to a happy medium and never play it too strong or too weak – according to Western notions of chivalry after berserkers went out of fashion
hold tight onto the prevailing mood
never let the bluebird out of your heart
no cocaine needed – stimulant of Western death
if there’s plenty of time
nor opium – tranquillizer of sunrise
if no one’s desperate
just be nicely middle-of-the-road
an ordinary boy has average prowess
no problems in the pants department
an ordinary girl a non-toxic Icelandic poppy
why do I find ordinary people so fucking boring?
me sick devil me – must be
the human animal thinks so much
that it put safety cordons round everything
banned keeping dogs ’cos of tapeworm
the tapeworm’s gone – dogs still banned
old commandments made to minimize pain
still in force though the precondition for the pain has gone
and the commandment itself causes pain, in this instance:
a dire shortage of free-and-easy dogs
we know it’s better to find new love than cling to one that’s worn out
there’s still enough to eat for kids of the old love
yet the commandment remains in force with all its condemnation
who splits just because he splits? splits what?
adultery is evil, cheating
even though animals need it
the cookie is crumbled by its nature but must be held together
in the knowledge that images will be tarnished
the big-mouthed bitches will condemn you as an evil lech and her as a poor cuckold
and the other woman as a whore, which they do unmercifully
after all she was born on the accursed Sunday after Holy Trinity
and her text of the day the scarlet woman
women will happily serve the crew of a four-man boat
make love to the whole ship, and everybody’s happy
every last thwart
does anyone doubt the goddess?
happily have your cake and another on the side
nibbling both only makes them bigger
if bigamy wasn’t banned
making up for their misery at not being allowed to practise forbidden proclivity with the thought of another worse – even more forbidden
now let the word motherfucker glide over the sensory fields of your imagination
the next person to say “it could be worse”
will be beaten over the head
don’t settle for less than total well-being
after a fine invention like the condom
the reason for not being allowed to fuck mamma and dad
no longer exists
but it’s still strictly forbidden to fuck them
the ugliest insult even to mention it
I’m not saying everyone should fuck their parents
out of gratitude
but that it should sound good to hear you say motherfucker
since they say it all the time in every other fucking Hollywood movie
big mamma is constantly offended, because motherfucker is a negative concept
making it seem bad to service her
let’s make it beautiful, and being a bitch too
a bitch in heat is beautiful
a bitch with her puppies beautiful
goddess mamma sexual being
who can fuck again at last without shame like other animals
paternity can be proved genetically
many centuries of sick ownership of women obsolete
her animals the bitch – the vixen – the queen
beautiful in season and in mating
relaxation of a whole load of tension
sisters and brothers soon can get married
if they promise not to have children
the only sin left is to feel bad
and still into eternity you feel bad if you hurt someone
mother of all sins dissolves
enjoy suffering and make it creative
use the difficulty:
if I wasn’t so sick of watching
the social tedium of monogamy
this text wouldn’t exist
back to my beloved mamma
my substitute because loving her is allowed:
being a baby in her arms was oh so hot
she tangled me in deepest sense-debauch
happy sense-land her embrace
in Spanish the worst insult is an incitement
which I find even stranger than motherfucker:
“chinga te madre” or “fuck your mother”
sounds nice if you don’t understand it
my mind’s afraid to go there
but banish every fearful thought and ride right into the forest
with Robin Hood and his cheerful mates:
“chinga te madre”
ugly to incite you to something that’s forbidden?
your father would thrash you out of jealousy if you fancied yourself your mamma’s lover, whether you’re boy or girl
as you’re younger than him, unconditionally loved and lower in the pecking order than – el padre
“chinga me madre – sure I will”
like a dog, I do as I’m told
but the inner blow of the insult is like a storm
why is it so hurtful to tell someone to fuck their mother?
who says that sexual love is less holy than mothers love?
it hurts because it’s forbidden and you’d be a bastard to force her
– she who taught you the limits – to do what’s forbidden
and a bastard to entice her willingly to do what’s forbidden
and a wimp not to try it on with a woman who loves you less
you never know, other embraces may turn out good
from the world of poetry and faith
to love your mamma
kiss your own elbow
and eat blueberries with the soles of your feet
will never stop wanting you mamma
in the physical certainty that you’re long dead
a heap in Shakespeare’s play of worm-eaten creation
love you all the more and myself
along with recent fleshholds
fall into the great embrace
the lost piece that completes the puzzle
become a single-cell organism again and wait for the shot
the software programmed for birth
no conception is ordinary
the world’s full of them
between the mountains the shore and the deep blue sea
pure theology
there’s a suspicion that old suns sense life slower
therefore more and better and sharper
and the same applies to jellyfish
die down into warm earth
fall into your arms mamma
the interwoven mantle of life
all-life, ever-life, forever-life
ever life and never life in the same breath
to go to the goddess
is to have a date with your joy
die in summer
buried in soft earth
in nothing but woollen socks
kiss me on the breastbone
on the green sward
and promise to live as well as you can
if I have a say
have a say!
I just had a say
thank you
Islands of Galapagos
dry Earth pulling so hard
skinny erect and vertical
we are with
water gurgling our 77% liquid so happily:
want to swim with giant soup-turtles
love their nonchalant sensitive eyes
their sensual cold blood
we are the same, just an illusion of form
millions of years do that to us
soup-turtles ewoke each others lust
so gently when they fuck
veneral lust illuminating
the water around and my timely
longing to hold another form
like the first sea lizard
drifting to the Galapagos
million years it took him
to yield to the form
the far away islands
out in the Pacific
demanded
––––––––
million years stuck out here in the Atlantic
my species yielding to the will of this harsh land
radioactive with horns, tail and scales
for a reason
devouring fish
drinking sea
no escape
sputtering salt bad tempered
through a whole in the nape of the neck
fucking every season in and out
on the shore
while young sealions
bite our tails
for fun
the beauty of hexagonal eyes
the fly draws a knot around the flower
fastening it peremptorily onto life
our relative really
loves the smell of a flower´s sexual organ
as humans do
flies wrap various things up along their air-route
excrement and fish-recrement
also attracts you dark winged tiny beasts
real Beauty I guess is what you eat
I greet you fat bee
truely like yours some of my inner core
meet you in the dandelion
the keenest sunworshipper of all
see you with my millenarian dandelion eyes
love is relevant
as is seeing
and the centre of affection
a prayer
Auðhumla blessed cow!
mighty four legs
at Earth’s cardinal points
four giant dragons flapping their wings
sending forth winds east west north south
your sweet rivers of milk
flowing every day
nourishing Ými = earth
horned Auðhumla in heaven!
send some architypal milk
into this human skull
replenishing me
with strength and faith
make us strong and resilient
you’re a good poet
I can see it in your face
earth’s crust
keeps emailing messages
through my skin and insides
now it’s the aftermath
of a wondrous triple feast:
chocolate from Ghana
New Guinea and Equador
crust and skin
grow hair and cocoa plants
zinc in the African chocolate
from earth’s crust at that very place in Ghana
is entering the roots of my hair
now as we speak
crust and skin
got holes and openings
of interconnection
as does every boarder every surface
no real boarders on earths crust
except rivers, precipieces, swamps and coastlines
boarders across water
are ridiculous
as lines through air
all crisscrossed by fish and birds
no straight lines in nature
no distinct directions
given by sun, moon and planets
though they cross the same invisible
bridge in the sky every day
no borders – no set directions
just this constant soothing pull of Earth
and this sweet upward longing
of growth and fertility
called heliocentricity
religions, counters, rulers, clocks
and other measuring devices
definitions and classifications
like the Linnéan and Darwinian
give vision
in a floating poetic way
when you get sick of it all just
close your eyes and dissolve:
left & right
inside & outside
front & back
east & west
time & memory
along with all other boarders and limitations
massively attacking
our capacity for happiness
civilization isn´t doomed
just stuck inside its old cubic sense
of regulating being
rules, timers, rulers
serving our collective greed
and need for revenge
love, glory, power
my godess, to find release
takes an inner earthquake
readjusting our senses
onto pure empathy
setting right
weather, water, wars
hunger, diseases
it’s time to throw
overfed gift-crazy father Christmas
off the cliff
along with statues of Stalin
uncle Sam, John the Bully
and the statue of false liberty
time to return stolen treasures
starting with the statues of Panthenon
and never again
depict the enemy as evil
hoardes called enemy
are no Tolkien monsters
just excellent average specimens
like each and every most of us
evil scary eye of Mordor
resembling a horrid bloody cunt
is your much needed lover
if she scares you
go see a healer
politics are down to every beating heart
body of every being and earth itself
recognizing our inate familiarity:
an ancient evolutionary flip gene
made our left-sides identical to our right-sides
mine, yours, the swan’s, the banana-fly’s
we’re identical to solarsystems
radiating like a sun
when our sinister side feels ready
to melt into your right side
solarplexus exploding
life turning incessantly around our middle
cooling down
becoming a snowball at the far side of the solarsystem
rolling out of rule and measure
north becomes south becomes east becomes west
dissolving directions you throw away the map
and eat the key
calmer than a floating cloud now
lying down on mount Esja
belly down
for good
sleeping
detatched like a planet
dreaming of
mega-trillion beings
magnificent emotive centres
all over earth
stuffing themselves and ejecting
dreaming of
mega-trillion beings
magnificent emotive centres
inside my body
stuffing themselves and ejecting
incessantly contracting and releasing
your heart and your lungs
you’ve become your old self again
feeling the hair on your head
naming your toes
fix your world so that it has 777 directions
with colour, tone
then it dawns on you
that affection, love and appreciation
are thickly spread and evenly
where there is harmony
while innate to life are occasional
pangs of painful disharmony
that you have to endure
to know the real taste
of happiness
even the kingdom of stones
disregarding time
is endowed with sentiment
as the stone will eventually
lend itself
to a living being
red chile hot feeling
deep in the mantle of lava
every particle in us
was inside earth
eons ago
baked in her huge oven
thus our hearts are her core
and her core our heart
disregarding time
same old garment
our messiah-dracula-mohamed-buddha heart
drifted apart eons ago
about to reconnect
moonshining sunshining
old earthly snake
biting his mega scrillion tails
while organisms mix and heal
even inside the eye of the hurricane
our planet soars at the heart
the trip is unlimited
Unchain my Heart
Kind ideas, please take me.
No opposition.
I dangle loose here
by the intersection of change.
Free of fetters that clutched me
with frostbite knots
entering my front shoulders
through lungs and heart
settling on ribs and spinal cord
where roses grew
with a special Icelandic
everlasting fragrance
of spicy, sad debauchery.
It is known
when thorn tea drips from nipples
within six hours
mares shake off their sorrows.
No one to blame for your thoughts
mythology, religion
location of motherland
nature
sad history
ugly eyes
or tiny cunt.
From fetters to beauty
in spite of perilous
painful longing
to live
touch
belong to
sip a breast
release a woman
suck God’s mother
sense big boom …
No.
Status quo is best.
Sunshine hurts.
Seeking far fetched joy
is poignant.
Happinesse bides her own time.
A Bag Lady
Rough seas I have swum,
stretching bones, flesh and soul,
around me and mine.
A wolf with antenna
to survive
and stay intact.
Wolf with antenna
my constellation.
Feet stuck in a trap
gnawed them off
flew away
pained my heart out
electrifying nerves.
Sensing splendour.
L’amour dans le jardin
or a fantasy about edible pulpy plants
Sweet love of two cherries!
in pairs, infinitely
stalking it out together
and dying united.
Soft bananas
brown spots of ageing
reminders of man’s maturity.
Sensuality increases
sweetness arrives late.
We pity unripe youths
with full respect
in spite of their firm skin.
Unripe bananas, yuck!
Alas, strawberries
fading before our eyes.
As do people
who grow mouldy
prematurely.
For only a day
heaven fantastic
leaving lust so soon.
Melons, mangos and that family of fruit
are like us common folk – recilient when ripe.
Sweetness takes time
the longer the better.
Multi taste orgasm
when time is ripe
and sheath allows full sweetness.
Hovering discord
of rot creeping near
makes absolute taste like
monosodium glutamate.
Admiring youth is a compensation
for its horrors and disasters.
Unripe, tasteless melons
do not hit the taste buds.
One of our best hidden secrets
is that ageing is good.
We admire youth to lessen its pain.
Poor creatures.
But never dispair.
There is always someone
as unseemly as you
to chance upon
for comfort
on the way of all pulp.
Folk and Felines
So impressed when four legged creatures
stroll a long way to greet me.
Egyptian Gods accept me as a friend!
The first dog, fed by man,
said:
“She feeds me delicious food,
she must be God!”
The first cat, fed by man,
accepted this treat differently:
“Mmm, she brings me such good food,
I must be God.”
A dog is prose
but a cat is poetry
someone said.
The ecco can be flat
though the day joins in properly
so it is superb
to have divine poems with tails
amongst friends.
My heart and that of the striped
sag bellied cat
down on the corner
rejoice
when there is resonance
in the harp of our heaven.
Life is music.
It´s as simple as that.
Mutual friendship
flows between species.
Makes it easier to hold our hearts
when bullied with drivelled nonsense
of vicious human clans.
Thus it is necessary for the lovesick,
musicsick or sociosick
(or whatever …
everything has a disease label
nowadays)
to have cats for the dear game
of feeling with all senses
sharing glances
grimaces, gestures
babbling, mewing
speaking cat language
complaining, stroking, touching
having a bite.
Making pure music
when time is ripe
the set of drums rejoices:
two heads
two behinds and eight feet.
Four eyed Odin
on the eight legged Sleipnir
one tail and eight
different seized legs
four toed and fingered
and four furry paws.
Health is mainly at risk
in the presence of monsters
that have practised
stiffness and depression
and fed themselves
on poisonous ancient misery
meticulously through the ages.
Clearly
utterly
out of zink
with nature.
through the looking glass
in Gotland flowers change shape easily
turn out to be butterflies …
flowers taking to flight
are a common sight
and butterflies turned flowers
seals turn out to be rocks
but only occationally
rocks change into seals
such an event was recorded
in July 2006
our flower takes on wings and flies away
our butterfly on the other hand
feels deeply rooted
the rock waits patiently
for the right sunset
to turn seal again
inkfish blood
have retreated deep into oceanic forests
nameless creatures swimming so softly
crazy-bright animal-vegetation
another planet under the ocean skin
meeting our own wet deep oceanic depths
where fishy feelings make out and eat each other
an octopuss wrenching a heart loose in a bed of seaweed
… awe is all we got …
oceans in our screens
to be or not to be – is not the question
to be and have to be – is the thing
In the Swimming Pool
In the pool one is ageless
as if in formalin
not belonging to ones own species
let alone ones sex.
I read the signs
skin and fatigue
further swum than mine.
We swim together
same old route.
There is no other.
Sunbathed, floating
in a light blue drink.
As honorable
as can be.
We swim counter clockwise
provoking everything
against the rush of the sun
in order to slow down time.
We swim anticlockwise
while the water
is being sucked
clockwise
down the drain
softly
into the throat of time.
Check
we say
and swim our circle.
Life
does not let us down
that is the gospel.
Check
say the snails
crawling their route.
Checkmate
says God
as someone dips
a shabby snail
in boiling oil.
Check
say the worms
and eat the dove.
Checkmate
says time
the guillemots
away and dead.
Snow melts in unmapped roads.
Hostages of time
fondle sunbeams
breaking on the surface
forming angels in water
while the giantess drills her way
through the mountain
with a Checks’ drill
till the air of two districts
meets
in a kiss.
The swimmer
stretches
through water.
The giantess
stretches herself
through the mountain.
Analphabetically
petrified
in poetry.