Man of the match
As usual he lay stiff on the bench for a long time and as usual I had
to pretend to be doing something else, tucking him in as if he were
porcelain, fixing the sheet by pulling its corner and making sure that
it wasn’t wrinkled to get him to relax because he was tense like
a black panther and even though I would say he handled it better than
anyone else on the team and ejoyed being massaged as if he were made
for it and was then like a calf nuzzling at your palm I had to approach
gently each time like it was his first session on the bench and we had
never seen each other before and it was often on the tip of my tongue
to introduce myself, and this time was no different even though he had
been voted man of the match, so I hummed and fiddled with the sheet
like a tablecloth on a buffet and only then did he relax and it started
to pour out of him just like when he ran up the side of the pitch, and
he asked if I had seen the grass after the game, it had been one great
gash, then he cursed the referee, saying he didn’t deserve that
yellow card, then that he didn’t understand why he should always
have to make a such a big deal of thanking the spectators, it wasn’t
his style, he didn’t understand the coach, he has asked him to
come out of the game but he meant someone else, he could by no means
understand why his team mates hadn’t passed him the ball more,
he was wide open for the majority of the second half and could’ve
put more in the net, he was furious about this and on top of all that
his wife wouldn’t let him watch the American thriller seven three
times in a row when he knew exactly what he was doing and did it when
ever he felt like it, he had to be tough and relentless, it was the
only thing that worked, every one should understand that about football,
he had plenty of technique and he was good looking, nothing lacking
there, he could say that here on the bench where conversations were
confidential, but he needed to build courage, even though he kept it
to himself, that was his style, and in the end he said that he couldn’t
figure himself out because what he wanted most of all was to be farmer,
the earth was so soft and moist and warm, and then he could be his own
master. I felt that he had become as tender as lung except for a knot
between his shoulder blades so I told him that I start work on it. Then
he sprang to his feet and said: What bloody nonsense, I’ve got
no bleeding intrest in being a farmer, man gets to be such a mewing
kitten here on this bench.
[translated by Baldur Guđlaugsson]
Ellastina's magicbook by Elísabet K. Jökulsdóttir
THE HOUSBREAKER
Once upon a time there was a housebreker who was always breaking in
and always hoping that a woman in a floral dressing gown would wake
up and say, when she saw the look af anguish on his face: I know that
you
are good at heart, my poor thing. And then she would give him milk to
lap put of a bowl.
THE SEVEN BOYS
The boy girl was in love with a lot of boys at the same time. The first
had
such a beautiful voice that she wanted to sleep with him, the second
had
shoulders that she longed to run her fingers along, the third acted
so well
on stace that she aquired faith in life, the fourth worshipped and admired
her so she went to look at herself in the mirror, the fifth had eyes
like
stars so she wanted to go rowing with him, the sixth was much younger
than her and then time changed its shape, but the seventh was best,
because she could make no sense of anything, only felt that all the
string
of her heart were singing and so she went cascading over the edge of
the
rock. And if she tried do ring him the telephone always caught fire.
THE COMPENSATION CHILD
Once upon a time there was a child whose parents were so perfect that
they were always giving their child compensation. Yet no sticking-plaster
was ever seen on this child. The child accepted the compensation gladly,
but in the end suffered from greed, which appeared in an increased look
of self-torment on its face. To end the story I must add that when the
child
reached the years of maturity it had acquired that stubborn feeling
that
life owed it something.
THE HONEY POT
The man who left his woman in a hurry, left his honey pot behind. She
didn’t know whether it was by accident or deliberately. The woman
wept
buckets when her man left. But at las she could tell that the sky above
her
had risen. When the woman had polished off the honey a year later, the
man came back and begged the woman on his knees to marry him but by
then she had become too sweet for him.
A GIRL WHO HAD A SEAL
Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a seal. She lived alone
in
a cabin by the shore because her father and mother hand been killed
in the
war. The little girl stopped talking and began to take to dreaming.
When
she met the seal she did not know whether it was real or in her
imagination. The seal became the little girl s seal. Then she died and
the
seal wept and drew her down to the bottom of the sea and buried her
there.
THE SLEEPING BAG GIRL
The girl with sleeping sickness had a sleeping bag in which she slept
day
in and day out. She lay awake and stared at random until she got used
to
the darkness. Then she got severely depressed and it became clear to
her
that she could never say what she still had unsaid. Then she snuggled
up
in her sleeping bag and fell fast asleep when daylight came.
A LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVED ON FISHES HEARTS
A little girl I knew lived solely on fishes hearts. She had goldfish
in a
bowl and was alone a home all day with her fishes. Her father and mother
where always buying more and more fishes for her, because when they
came home from work in the evening she said this fish had died today
and three yesterday. When they asked the girl what she had done with
the
dead fishes she said she had buried them in a hole in the garden or
thrown
them in the rubbish. So they always bought more fishes because she was
at so much. But once when her mother was re-potting all the flowers
she
found dead fish in every single flowerpot. After stern questioning it
came
to light that the girl had killed the fishes by cutting out their hearts
and
then she ate one fish s heart a day. And when they asked her why on
earth
she did this she did not know why on earth she ate fish s hearts. Then
they put her in the children s ward of a mental hospital, solely because
she dit not the reason.
THE CITY'S SOFAS
Once upon a time there was a girl who had slept on most of the city's
sofas because she had no control over what was happening in her head.
THE SENSITIVE WOMAN
A woman had lived a miserable life. Now she was sitting with relief
in
front of the television and the only thing that really gladdened her
sad
heart was when the newsreader said: We think it right to warn you that
the pictures we are about to show must upset sensitive people. The
woman then politely asked all those present to be quiet, stared fixedly
at
the screen and felt sense of horror spread along her backbone. It is
not
hard to see that this woman had become hooked on sensitivity.
THE GRANDMOTHERS CHILD
Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a grandmother. The
manner in which the grandmother treated her grandchild is quite
unprintable. But if your imagination is so sick that you suspect you
know
what this grandmother did to her little girl, you will unhesitatingly
propose that the grandmother should be taken to be executed.
THE MAN WHO BELIEVED IN THE SEA
Have you heard the story about the man who believed in the sea? I know
nothing about his ancestry or his orgins or his fate. I just imagine
that the
sea has always been kind to him and that he has not lost anyone in the
sea. But in some way the sea has shown him its power. I see him clearly
before me, sitting looking at the sea and sea looking at him.
THE DIVORCE CHILDREN
The divorce children had parents who parted company and each went
their separate way. The children were left behind, looked by turns to
east
and west and saw their parents receding into distance until they
disappeared in a blue haze beyond the furthest field of vision. Then
the
children hatched a plot and afterwards many people were surprised that
they did not seem to have any interest in widening their horizons. In
the
place where the family had stood together before a tree now upside down,
into the ground. The divorce children still crouch there, carving their
roots.
THE CIGARETTE GIRL
There was once a girl who looked into eyes so much that she got crazy
about looking into eyes and at las she began to think about what eyes
tasted like and it must have be tickly having countless eyes in one's
stomach so round and soft and when she finally burned at the stake she
shouted over the crowd and said she had been fishing for souls and said
she repented of nothing and then she peered at them all as she burned.
A MAN WHO HAD MANY ACQUAINTANCES
Once upon a time there was a man who had many acquaintances.
Whenever someone wanted to be his friend and for example dive into the
coral sea with him, he ran away like shot, looked up a few acquaintances,
chatted with them about under the sun and did not spare himself. But
the
man had one true friend who never failed him and this so-called friend
of
his laid him in the grave.
THE CREATURES FROM OUTER SPACE AND THE CHILD
Once upon a time creatures from outer space came flying to the earth
from an unknown star and kidnapped a child that had run away from
home because its parents did not pay any attention to it. When the child
was brought back to the earth may light years later it was not a day
older
than when it had disappeared but its parents had grown old as Meshuselah
sitting by the fireside. And when they saw the child running about the
living-room they asked each other what child this could be and came
to
the conclusion that it must probably be one of their fucking
grandchildren.
FEAT
Once upon a time there was a girl who split herself in two and one half
of
her floated out into space and flies around there, while the other half
dug
itself into the earth and creeps about there.
[translated by David McDuff]
PEACE-POEMS IN ENGLISH
1
When my mother weaps
peace reigns.
When her face turns to stone
the war has started.
2
The only way
to make her weap
again,
is bring her back her children.
3
My lonlyness caused me pain
in the head,
until I could jump into my heart,
but not without tears.
4
Peace is solitude,
it lives in a tent
in the desert,
where the heart also lives,
like so many other places.
5
When I asked
the Beduin in the desert,
what would be peace,
he answered with one word: You.
I didn’t understand,
but my tears floaded.
6
Peace of mind
comes with
a open heart
in hands of Angel.
7
To enter my world
you have to bow
and say: All my lifetime.
Repeat it
everytime
you come in.
One day
you will know
what it means.
But say it
with your sharp joy
so will I bow.
8
He said: You only have to be here,
and laid his hand on my stomach.
There it was, the heart-beating.
9
My war is in the brain,
but his war is in the air,
so the heart is bleeding,
and Earth is gone.
10
I am singing,
I must be happy.
11
The lonlyness kills,
but the tears doesn’t
unless I don’t bring the messages.
12
Somebody is playing
a one string instrument,
nothing else is heard.
13
We are just sitting there,
thinking nothing special,
surrounded by the desert.
14
I like sitting here,
watching nothing,
nothing comes to me,
until after I am gone.
15
Perhaps this tune,
it seems to live life
of its own,
da la la ra ra ra.
[translated by EKJ]
Dikter ur
Svängdörren
1
När jag tänker på dig får jag fjärilar i
magen,
jag vill så gärna visa dig en av dem.
5
När jag rör vid mig, tänker jag på dig
och det är nåt himmelskt fånigt.
6
Om du skulle kunna lägga båda händerna om mina bröst,
så ja, och hugga tänderna i min hals. Tack.
8
Jag lovar att inte älska dig men visa dig
grym lycka.
17
Om du kramar min midja tänds ett ljus
i nacken. Överhövanljuset
18
Du ser mig se på dig.
Så guddomligt! Det är så fysiskt.
19
Ska jag visa dig hur mycket jag vill ha dig,
jag blir våt, mjuk, alldeles stjärngalen.
26
Innan jag skrev de här dikterna ville jag ha blått kakel
i badrummet,
men nu gärna rosa med blommor, jag är inte klok.
30
Den här dikten är en bön, för att tala om för
dig att du är livet,
för jag begriper mig inte på dig men längtar alltid
efter dig.
34
Du är så ung men rymmer nåt gammalt,
kanske elden som man fann i tidernas begynnelse.
38
Svindel och tårar som sprutar, det är kärleken
gömd i universum.
43
Jag ska be på mina bara knän längst inne i en mörk
grotta,
vänligen visa dig då med en brinnande fackla.
44
Om mitt mörker möter ditt mörker,
och mitt ljus ditt ljus.
45
Jag ska ge efter i din famn,
men då måste du vara i skälvande extas.
52
Det är som om jag hade glömt jorden ända tills
jag ser dina spår i snön och de leder fram mot mig.
54
När du nu har kommit så här nära, var snäll
och
stryk mig på magen så börjar jag prata.
58
Får jag lägga dig i mossan, så ska jag komma ur forsen
eller daggdropparna, vilket du vill.
68
Min kropp som inte verkar veta nåt blir allvetande,
när den ser din kropp och börjar tänka.
81
När jag först träffade dig tappade jag kontrollen på
ögonen,
annars hade du sett allt.
101
Var snäll och bestäm över mig, så att jag förlorar
min kropp
och känner att nåt bestämmer över kroppen.
103
Du är som Islands ödemark, vild och känslig,
så jag ska ha klänning på mig.
108
Visste du att när du ser fladdrande fjärilar,
då drömmer de.
[translated by Ylva Hellerud]
Laufey
Nobody can love me. It needs a miracle like in the Bible stories for
someone
to love me. I am waiting for a miracle. When will it happen? When the
pastor
has done with the words and his voice, and it has ebbed away until only
one
word is left, he has pictures of Jesus handed out. His favourites get
to
hand the pictures out. On my way home I screw the pictures up in my
hand and
go down to the seashore. There, I tear them into tiny scraps and spit
on
every single scrap, the biggest gob I can manage. I throw them into
the sea
and watch them sink. A little later I don’t feel quite so ashamed
of myself.
Next day seahorses drift ashore, one for each scrap. And I eat the seahorses
alive. I stick them into my mouth so they wriggle in my tummy, or I
crush
them first between my fingers and munch them. I come home, munching,
and the
woman says: What is this? I’m only munching the seahorses. So
she says
there’s no such thing as seahorses. There isn’t anything,
she says, like she
does when she talks about the food. I don’t care about time. I
remember
everything. Everybody except me forgets. Because I don’t care
about time. Be
quiet. Shame on you. The orders rain down on me, I can’t stand
up to them.
They sound like when a storm is coming, the first gust of wind slams
the
window shut and the next moment rain hammers on the roof of the Nissen
hut
so hard it’s as if it is going to hammer right through any minute
and the
hut will collapse like a house of cards. The huts are always damp and
on the
rare days when the sun shines for a while and dries the place a sour,
dank
smell seeps out. And mixes with the smell of fish that clings to every
wall.
I lick the walls. I deliver newspapers. That woman, who starts off at
me if
I don’t do as I’m told, she makes me do it. But she’s
the one that feeds me.
She gets me out of bed and starts moaning. She is so feeble, she has
to lean
against the wall. Aren’t you going to get up, Laufey? She repeats.
Here,
everything has to be repeated, as if nobody is any good. I crawl out
of bed,
confused as usual. But it gets a bit better as soon as I’m up.
I breathe
evil thoughts into every newspaper. I breathe: Die, die. And the people
wither away; I can see it when they come to the door to pay me. There’s
hardly any life left in them, they are so worn out; my thoughts are
sucking
out all their energy, hanging over them and making them clutch their
throats. Life is just a lump on your left arm. Don’t listen to
anybody
except me. Don’t listen to T. He loves me. Do you know how long
I’ve waited?
You listen to me. Or else I’ll wreck everything. I’ve got
all the magic of
the people inside me. The people of this country have been casting spells,
chanting, muttering and moaning. I am Laufey and the stories flow through
me. Terrible tales of woe, never written down, that happened on every
farm,
throughout the centuries. These tales I can tell. Yes. I am Laufey and
in
the evening I scrape away my freckles. T. loves me. He sees what I could
be.
The rosy lips, the shining eyes, the glistening long hair, the milky
white
skin, the exquisite legs, the desirable bum and the slender, lissom
waist.
He sees the wings. I am fighting with devils. They come sometimes. Then
I
think of the wings. He can see where I should be living. I defend everything
and everybody. T. can see it. He is going to make me into a film star.
We
will go to Hollywood together, where all the people are good and wake
up
early in the mornings to do their rehearsals and shoot their little
scenes.
And they haven’t got caught up in something they can’t get
out of. What I
call the Dreadnet. Some people can see really well. Like T. T. has dark
hair
and brown eyes, he looks foreign. He’s got stars in his eyes.
Yes. No one
needs to do anything for me. T. is going to do everything for me. Go
away.
Today I caught a glimpse of Laufey. She is pathetic. I think I might
rape
her. She doesn’t deserve any better. I’m not telling her
my name. But the
first letter in my name is T. She is an idiot. I watched her today.
I saw
that she noticed it. Half-wit. Fucking wretch and half-wit. Idiot. And
she
really thinks she is something. Imagine that. From where inside that
idiot
head of hers do such thoughts spring? Just look at her, thrusting out
those
tits she’s just starting to grow, jerking her hips, with that
clumsy,
stooping walk and the shoulder blades sticking out of her back like
wings. I
have known ever since I was born that I would do something great. Something
that I am destined to do. When I was small this idea was like a pimple
in my
brain and gradually this pimple has grown bigger and in the fullness
of time
it will force its way into every part of my brain and explode it and
set it
ablaze with light. And then, there will be a flash, a bright white light
that will take me into a new dimension of thought. It will be my world,
which nobody except me knows and nobody can enter. After that I’ll
only have
to look into peoples’ eyes to gain power over them so they’ll
bow to my will
no matter what. My hands tingle and shake when I think about it. I am
already in command. Those two do everything I tell them. They sit there
every evening and he talks about the import business and reminisces
about
when there was nothing to be had and lists all the things that can be
imported. I can get everything I want, everything there is on this
godforsaken island. Laufey. Yes, well. I’ll be the first one to
rape her.
Before long everybody in the huts will have done it. She’ll be
a fucked-out
half-wit. Give me a white shirt!
Flickan som hade en säl
Det var en gång en flicka som hade en säl. Hon bodde ensam
i en stuga vid havet, för hennes
mamma och pappa hade försvunnit under kriget. Den lilla flickan
slutade tala och började
drömma. När hon träffade sälen visste hon inte om
det var på riktigt eller på låtsas. Sälen blev
den lilla flickans vän. Så dog hon och sälen grät
och drog ner henne på havets botten och
begravde henne där.
Systrarna
Lilla systern följde med stora systern på kafé. De
satt vid ett runt bord och runtomkring satt
andra och tittade på. Plötsligt sa storasyster: Jag tycker
så mycket om dig. Då kände sig
lillasyster mycket bättre till mods och sneglade på blängpellarna
och såg att det bara var
vanliga troll vars hetaste önskan var att nån skulle tycka
om dem.
Stenen
Det var en gång en sten. En becksvart sten som det droppade röda
sega droppar ur och som
det stelnade glittrande diamanter på. Det var vassa glänsande
diamanter som stenen hade som
lockdiamanter och de röda dropparna var gift, dödsgiftigt
gift. Denna sten fanns i halsen på
ett elva år gammalt flickebarn.
Flickan som kramade träd
Det var en gång en flicka som alltid kramade träd. Ingen
visste vad det skulle vara bra för
men alla visste att hon aldrig kramade människor. På kvällarna
såg man henne i
trädgårdarna där hon häftigt omfamnade träden,
la kinden mot den skrovliga barken och sakta
rörde på läpparna. Hon klappade träden till avsked
och skyndade över till nästa trädgård eller
gathörn. En kväll la ett träd sina grenar om flickan
och det
har inte lyckats än att få loss henne och hon har ett ansiktsuttryck
som hade hon erövrat hela
världen. Detta träd står på hörnet av Södergatan
och Vånegatan och är nu fridlyst.
Den lilla flickan som levde på fiskhjärtan
En liten flicka som jag kände levde bara på fiskhjärtan.
Hon hade guldfiskar i en skål och var
ensam hemma på dagarna med sina fiskar. Hennes mamma och pappa
köpte ständigt nya
fiskar till henne, för när de kom hem från jobbet på
kvällarna sa hon att den här fisken hade
dött idag och tre igår. När de frågade flickan
vad hon hade gjort med de döda fiskarna sa hon
att hon begravt dem i en grop i trädgården eller slängt
dem i soporna. Så de köpte jämt nya
fiskar eftersom hon var så mycket ensam hemma. En gång när
hennes mamma planterade om
alla krukväxterna hittade hon fisklik i varenda kruka. Efter stränga
förhör kom det fram att
flickan hade dödat fiskarna genom att skära hjärtana
ur dem och så åt hon ett fiskhjärta om
dagen. Och när de frågade varför i hela friden hon gjorde
så, visste hon inte varför hon i hela
friden åt fiskhjärtan. Då satte de henne på barnpsyket
bara därför att hon inte hade
nån förklaring.
Kvinnan som inte visste någonting
Kvinnan som inte visste nånting, tog till rådet att katalogisera
allt. Hon räknade sina tänder,
vartenda ben, sina porer, tår och fingrar, rynkor, hår och
naglar, linjer i handflatorna, känslor
och tankar som hon blev varse. Hon var mycket noga med att inte göra
uppehåll. När
inventeringen var färdig och kvinnan hade fyllt ut kolumnerna samvetsgrant,
upptäckte hon
att gästerna lämnat festen och att ännu en morgon var
på väg. Men vem hade lämnat kvar en
takt ur en schlager som svävade runt i lägenheten som en liten
fågel?
Bedrift
Det var en gång en flicka som klöv sig mitt itu, och< den
ena halvan gled ut i rymden och
svävar omkring där, men den andra halvan grävde ner sig
i marken och krälar omkring där.
Sofforna i staden
Det var en gång en flicka som hade sovit på de flesta soffor
i staden därför att hon inte hade
nån koll på vad som hände i huvet.
Ögonflickan
Det var en gång en flicka som tittade folk så mycket i ögonen
att hon blev besatt av att titta i
ögon och till slut började hon undra hur ögon smakade
och tänkte att det säkert skulle
kittla skönt att ha en massa såna runda och mjuka ögon
i magen och när hon till sist brändes
på bål ropade hon ut till det församlade folket och
sa att hon varit på jakt efter själar och
inte ångrade nåt alls och så stirrade hon på
alla medan hon brann.
Cigarettflickan
Saga till Linda Vilhjálmsdóttir
Den här sagan handlar om en cigarettflicka. Alltid när hon
fick pilar i ögat, gevärsskott i
bröstet eller spjut i magen, drog hon fram ett knyckligt cigarettpaket
ur bakfickan, valde
omsorgsfullt ut en cigarett och tände den. Så stod hon där
i ett hörn med cigarett i mungipan,
pil i ögat, gevärsskott i bröstet och spjut i magen och
rökte med en äckligt knipslug
min. Till slut fastnade minen på henne därför att hon
jämt rökte.
Honungsburken
En man som plötsligt övergav sin kvinna, lämnade kvar
sin honungsburk. Hon visste inte om
det var av ren tanklöshet eller med vilja. Kvinnan grät i
högan sky när mannen gick.
Till slut märkte hon att himlen över henne hade höjt
sig avsevärt. Efter ett år hade kvinnan
ätit upp all honungen, och då kom mannen tillbaka och bad
henne knäfallande att bli hans
hustru men då hade hon blivit för söt för honom.
De sju pojkarna
Pojkflickan var kär i många pojkar samtidigt. En hade så
vacker röst att hon ville sova hos
honom, en annan hade axlar som hon längtade efter att få
dra fingrarna över, den tredje
agerade så fint på scenen att hon började tro på
livet, den fjärde dyrkade och avgudade henne
så att hon började titta sig i spegeln, den femte hade ögon
som stjärnor så att hon ville följa
med honom på havsfiske, den sjätte var mycket yngre än
hon och då ändrade tiden form, men
den sjunde var bäst för då kunde hon inte hålla
sig i styr, kände bara hur alla strängar
vibrerade i hjärtat och allt började snurra. Och om hon försökte
ringa honom tog
det jämt eld i telefonen.
Rymdvarelserna och barnet
En gång kom några rymdvarelser flygande från en okänd
stjärna till jorden och stal där ett
barn som hade gått hemifrån därför att föräldrarna
inte la märke till det. När barnet
återlämnades till jorden många ljusår senare
var det inte en dag äldre än när det försvann men
föräldrarna satt vid brasvärmen och var urgamla. När
de såg barnet tulta omkring i rummet
frågade de varann vad det där kunde vara för ett barn
och kom slutligen fram till att detta
måste vara ett av de förbannade barnbarnen.
Förklädesflickan
En flicka som jag kände hade ett förkläde. Det var ett
broderat förkläde och hon hade hittat
det i en skyttegrav. Kriget var slut i den utsträckning som krig
tar slut. Men flickan gick varje
dag och rotade i förkolnade ruiner och stinkande skyttegravar på
jakt efter souvenirer. Dem
tänkte hon sälja till livströtta turister som kom om
våren för att fälla en tår över
befolkningens elände. Flickan kom på att det fanns krafter
dolda i förklädet. Hon hängde ut
det på vädring i vackert väder och månsken och
då doftade det syre om förklädet. Så gjorde
flickan en säck av förklädet genom att knyta ihop hörnen
och så gick hon runt om nätterna
och samlade stjärnor. Stjärnorna föll ned i förklädet
och syntes i flickans ögon. En kväll
bestämde hon sig för att åter vädra förklädet
för att stärka kraften. Det var en mörkmulen natt
och när flickan vaknade på morgonen var förklädet
stulet. Då visste flickan att det var nån
som spionerade på henne.
Förbjudet att vara glad
Saga till Sigfús Daðason
Det var en gång en liten flicka och hon fick inte lov att vara
glad så hon var jämt förskräckligt
allvarlig. Som tiden led började folk säga på släktkalasen:
Det här måste vara ett fantastiskt
begåvat barn. Men ibland när den lilla flickan promenerade
ensam längs stranden i
vargaväder hördes hon ge upp krampaktiga skrattsalvor vilket
är vanligt bland hästar med
hemlängtan.
Mormorsbarnet
Det var en gång en liten flicka som hade en mormor. Det går
inte att fästa på papper vad
denna mormor gjorde med sitt barnbarn, men om din fantasi är så
sjuk att du börjar misstänka
vad denna mormor gjorde med den lilla flickan skulle du utan tvekan
föreslå att mormodern
ställdes framför en avrättningspatrull.
Flicka med känslor
Det var en gång en flicka som alltid hade känslor. Hon höll
på att spricka av känslor,
skickade dem åt alla håll och använde dem mest till
att bli förälskad i pojkar och således
blossade hon av kärlek och åtrå. Flickan höll
på att brinna upp som ett nyårsbål och saknade
den kontroll, ödmjukhet och trygghet som behövdes för
att kanalisera dessa känslor. Hennes
hjärta och hennes själ höll på att försmäkta
och i detta tillstånd gick hon den smala stigen upp
mot gömmefjällen. Försynen sände henne då
två änglar med budskap, änglarna hjälpte
flickan och visade henne sanningen. När hon steg upp ur havet brann
jorden och hon förstod
att gud hade skapat världen av känslor och att känslor
är bränsle för idéer. Hon drömde om
att skapa en värld på en teater och döpa verket barn
äger en värld, för barnen berättade jämt
för henne varför himlen var blå, vad strömmar och
drömmar var, lite om elektricitet och frukter och
så bad de henne att inte glömma magin.
[translated by Ylva Hellerud]
