Day no more #53168
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No more day. Poem 74 by Matthías Johannessen. Illustrations by Erro.
National holiday
1.
At Thingvellir, a quarter changes
the nation
in the underworld
ancients
and adventure:
I still see myself.
this folk life on the fields
and the people in the fangbrekku
in colorful clothes
on black lava and in green grass
and out into this light
and this blue one
silent prayer disappears,
disappears thanks for this hope,
anticipation
and a promise:
truly, truly it is said
that Ingólfur would go first
from Norway to Iceland.
And the national poet blesses
heather and grass
with his words,
they fly between him and us,
from one century to another
like birds in the sky
and the earth.
National holiday
1.
At Thingvellir, a quarter changes
the nation
in the underworld
ancients
and adventure:
I still see myself.
this folk life on the fields
and the people in the fangbrekku
in colorful clothes
on black lava and in green grass
and out into this light
and this blue one
silent prayer disappears,
disappears thanks for this hope,
anticipation
and a promise:
truly, truly it is said
that Ingólfur would go first
from Norway to Iceland.
And the national poet blesses
heather and grass
with his words,
they fly between him and us,
from one century to another
like birds in the sky
and the earth.