The Temple

Who are they talking to in the big temple?
If there were a reply it would be a conversation:
It is because there is none that they are fascinated.
What does not reply is the answer to a prayer.

C.H. Sisson 1914-2003. Enskur.

Flott ljóð eftir Davíð

Portkona

Eg sá hana. Eg sá hana.
Eg sá menn benda á hana
og þrá hana.

Hún gægist inn í gluggana.
Hún gengur inn í skuggana,
og sveina þangað seiðir hún,
og blíðu sína selur hún,
og samviskuna kvelur hún,
og böðla sína hatar hún,
og hjarta sínu glatar hún.

Eg sá hana. Eg sá hana.
Eg sá menn benda á hana
og smá hana.

Davíð Stefánsson (Kveðjur, 1924)

Uppáhalds ljóðið mitt

In Church

Often I try
To analyse the quality
Of its silences. Is this where God hides
From my searching? I have stopped to listen,
After the few people have gone,
To the air recomposing itself
For vigil. It has waited like this
Since the stones grouped themselves about it.
These are the hard ribs
Of a body that our prayers have failed
To animate. Shadows advance
From their corners to take possession
Of places the light held
For an hour. The bats resume
Their business. The uneasiness of the pews
Ceases. There is no other sound
In the darkness but the sound of a man
Breathing, testing his faith
On emptiness, nailing his questions
One by one to an untenanted cross.

R.S. Thomas, prestur í Wales (29.03.1913 - 25.09.2000).

Þetta finnst mér flott trúarleg pæling hjá kristnum presti um kirkjuna sína.

Ms Neutrino

Holes decorate mountains
You whoosh through
Perhaps leaving a trace
Of sonic soundless explosions.

The Pacific Ocean is a diamond
In its holy core. I wonder
About gods infiltrating mountains
And banning holes.