Yallah!
Her er turt nú
og tveir dreingir renna
runt um húsið
við vatnrevolvarum
annar í reyðari troyggju
hin í grønari
teir flenna
og ýla
og skjóta hvønn annan
og inn á vindeygað hjá mær
smáir løkir
renna niður eftir rútinum
BBC World sigur frá
at tað fløðir í New South Wales
í Avstralia
eg síggi í múlan
á eini kúgv
sum hevur rent seg fasta
í móruni
í ánni
djúp í áarførinum
ein kona í kajakk
liggur hjá henni
við aðrari hondini upp undir øsið
so at tað stóra svarthvíta høvdið
ikki fer undir vatnskorpuna
meðan tær bíða
eftir bjargingarliðnum
eyguni í kúnni
vill
av angist
hondin á konuni
kyrrandi
Einaferð
ansaði eg eftir neytum
tey vóru hebraisk
feit
og fleiri enn sjey
Yallah!
skuldi eg rópa eftir teimum
fyri at reka tey inn
at mjólkast
eg var 19 ár
og hugsaði ikki um
at yallah er arabiskt
tað róptu vit eisini
tá ein kúgv skuldi kálva
og tann óborni sat fastur
trossi mátti setast á
og ein traktorur
mátti skrykkja
eina treka sál
út í bíbilsku sólina
Nú eru teir á kroppi
uttanfyri
tann reyði
og tann grøni
tað dryppar
úr hárinum
og rennur
niður eftir andlitinum
revolvararnir eru tómir
og kúgvin í Avstralia
er nú so troytt
av at halda sær uppi
at hon eisini má togast
upp á turt
við traktori
Upptak
Standi nývaknað
á heimsins egg
í morgun
aldurnar geitarlomb
sum leypa kát
millum fjørusteinarnar
klettarnir puturgráir
í lýsingini
pyntaðir
við purpurtara
og eg bara
eitt pu
eyðsæð
men tápuliga
eydnusæl
eigi einans
tamar tankar
og patos
sjálvt skýggini
eru barnslig
glaskend og gjøgnumskygd
sveima sart rósulitt
yvir silvurslættanum
eg blundi
og lati ein bláligan anga
fylla meg
og tá ið eg aftur hyggi
spretta gylt rótskot
ljós
úr dýpinum
spíra
búnast bulmikil
og vaksa heilt inn í himmalin
ljóðleysir logar
bleiktrandi brandar
soleiðis man tað hava kenst
at vera til
í tí romantiska rákinum
eg bendi meg niður
og taki ein sliputan
plastposa upp
úr grøna fjøruhylinum
næst mær
standi eina løtu
og lati hann dryppa
hann er gulur
og ljósareyður
eins og sólarrisið
kaldur undir hondini
tá eg rulli hann saman
og stappi hann í lumman
eina løtu seinni liggi eg á knæ
ikki í tilbiðjan
men fyri at henta spreingitræðrir upp
grulvandi á øllum fýra
grótbrotið á reyninum
gapar svart
veksur og veksur
eitt tannleyst op
grælandi
á frekvensum
sum vit ikki hoyra
tjaldursgrælingar
trippa undan aldunum
leggja høvdini á skák
og síggja út sum spurnartekn
Upphav
Her er ein stytt útgáva
av mínum apokryfum um
illgras
og
góðvarni
og
eitt stað í minninum
sum eitur
gentukamarið
Her eru tankarásir
aftur til ættmøður
og inn í dreymafløkjur
ja, heilt inn til eina opinbering
um eina geit
eina sera systur
loðsur og lagna
um somu tíð
Her er ein móðir
ið staðfestir seg
á einum vegamóti
óendaliga
miðlívs móð
men sum tó noktar
at avnokta lívið
ella tann litin
ið gevur lívinum
innihald
Her er ivin
vælkomin
her er náðin
ein sjálvfylgja
her eru fylgjurnar
av at flýggja
undan øllum
teimum himmalvendu eygunum
Her er barnið
sum onki skilti
men sum føldi alt
heilt inn á botn
har ið sálin krokaði
undan orðunum
Her er uppreistur
og undirgivni
hvørt um annað
innantannaýlið
og uttanásmílið
tann ótamda
og tann ódjarva
fløktar
hvør í aðra
Her er sannleikin um
at allir sannleikar
syndrast
og fúna
og flákra burtur
gyltir í lotinum
Her er tíðin
sum ikki ber til
at krøkja seg í
men sum krøkir seg í alt
sum er til
Her er eitt hylki rundan um
kjøt
og
sorg
og
orku
og ekstasu
Her er eitt eg
sum sappar
og skrollar
í trúarviðurskiftum
og vísindum
og endurgevur
apokalyptisk
tíðindi
um vøkstur
og villinidjór
og hugsar
—hvat meira er at siga?
frá Karmageitin
Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs
Listen to an excerpt of the original Faroese read by the poet:
“I’d have to grow horns,” Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs told me, describing her inspiration and impetus for the paired books—play and poems—Gentukamarið and Karmageitin and how she became “a little bit of a goat.”
It was our first time meeting and we sat in her classically Scandinavian dining room—all light woods and clean angles—with a view down the hill to old Tórshavn. She told me it was her first time hosting an American and joked that her daughter had recommended she serve me Coke and corn dogs but that there’d been no time to go to the store. We sipped coffee and she related how in 2015 a male Faroese poet of the older generation wrote a scathing roundup of the Faroe Islands’ literature from that year. In one sentence he dismissed the entire contribution of Faroese women as “all that writing from the girls’ room.”
The comment made her determined to write something Faroese and feminine that would “intrude into the old boys’ club.” That’s when she had a dream about a goat, an odd sister that came to her to encourage her to grow her horns so she could take on the establishment and her own complex history. She became the titular Karma Goat, the poet as a mischievous and curious bringer of karma to her insular society.
The poems from The Karma Goat, three of which are published here, explore what it means to be a Faroese woman living a modern life but connected to her lineage through a dreamy mesh of neural pathways [that] lead back to my foremothers. “What is it to be a woman? To be an older woman—to become invisible and accept that you’re in charge and not in charge at all,” Kjelnæs asked as she discussed the life moment captured in the collection. I am grateful, particularly in this context, for my cotranslator Rakul í Gerðinum, whose lived experience, language skill, and patient fielding of my questions were invaluable.
The book explores themes of Faroese femininity in depth, but it is also cut through with other themes—ekphrasis in Chagall’s goat-heavy art, the consumption of international news media in the context of a micronation with little international sway, insomnia and worry, and grappling with faith and religion after a childhood in a fundamentalist context. It’s one of the most dynamic books I’ve worked on as a translator. And it is certainly one that accomplished what it set out to do. Kjelnæs broke down the doors of the Faroese literary establishment and its old boys’ club, garnering a nomination for the 2023 Nordic Prize.
It was our first time meeting and we sat in her classically Scandinavian dining room—all light woods and clean angles—with a view down the hill to old Tórshavn. She told me it was her first time hosting an American and joked that her daughter had recommended she serve me Coke and corn dogs but that there’d been no time to go to the store. We sipped coffee and she related how in 2015 a male Faroese poet of the older generation wrote a scathing roundup of the Faroe Islands’ literature from that year. In one sentence he dismissed the entire contribution of Faroese women as “all that writing from the girls’ room.”
The comment made her determined to write something Faroese and feminine that would “intrude into the old boys’ club.” That’s when she had a dream about a goat, an odd sister that came to her to encourage her to grow her horns so she could take on the establishment and her own complex history. She became the titular Karma Goat, the poet as a mischievous and curious bringer of karma to her insular society.
The poems from The Karma Goat, three of which are published here, explore what it means to be a Faroese woman living a modern life but connected to her lineage through a dreamy mesh of neural pathways [that] lead back to my foremothers. “What is it to be a woman? To be an older woman—to become invisible and accept that you’re in charge and not in charge at all,” Kjelnæs asked as she discussed the life moment captured in the collection. I am grateful, particularly in this context, for my cotranslator Rakul í Gerðinum, whose lived experience, language skill, and patient fielding of my questions were invaluable.
The book explores themes of Faroese femininity in depth, but it is also cut through with other themes—ekphrasis in Chagall’s goat-heavy art, the consumption of international news media in the context of a micronation with little international sway, insomnia and worry, and grappling with faith and religion after a childhood in a fundamentalist context. It’s one of the most dynamic books I’ve worked on as a translator. And it is certainly one that accomplished what it set out to do. Kjelnæs broke down the doors of the Faroese literary establishment and its old boys’ club, garnering a nomination for the 2023 Nordic Prize.
Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs is a poet, playwright, and prose writer based in Tórshavn on the Faroe Islands. Born in 1974, she has published many different works, including her three collections of poetry Rót Tripp (Road Trip; Sprotin, 2012), Opna (Open; Sprotin, 2016), and Karmageitin (The Karma Goat; Ungu Føroyar, 2022), as well as her two plays Tóm rúm (Empty Spaces; Sprotin, 2014) and Gentukamarið (A Girlhood Room; Ungu Føroyar, 2022). She is a popular author of YA novels on the islands and writes lyrics for the Faroese singer/songwriter Eivør. Her two most recent books were nominated for the 2023 Nordic Prize.
Matthew Landrum is the author of Berlin Poems (A Midsummer Night’s Press, 2019). He is an administrator and teacher at a private school for students on the autism spectrum in the Metro Detroit area.
Rakul í Gerðinum is a scholar of Faroese children’s and YA literature. She has cotranslated a range of contemporary Faroese poetry into English, including Rannvá Holm Mortensen’s Sólsmakkur.
