Jonas Hallgrimsson Poems

Over scarp, over fen,
over gully and glen
I have gone on the feet of the breeze,
ever meaning to find
...

Shadow Baldur, by my tent,
bursts with reeking juices.
Thor throws in his increment,
opening heaven's sluices.
...

Dandelions, a dazzling mass!
Dimpled berries in the meadow!
Ditches deep in cotton grass!
Dandelions, a golden mass!
...

Light is the source of all things,
luminous Nothingness,
the fountain of life
limpid and undefiled.
...

If mother had known that a foreign land
holds thrills both pleasant and horrid!
-- He hurled the golden ball from his hand
...

Hillocks steep and stately
stride across the valley.
Dimly and sedately
dawn begins to rally:
...

Swishing, stripping, slashing,
slowly he goes mowing,
scythe-blade lashing lithely,
...

Goddess of drizzle,
driving your big
cartloads of mist
across my fields!
...

No poet I. Yet here is Hulda calling,
hailing me gently, urging me to sing,
to share my song with shadows gently falling
...

Out in the fields, one autumn,
when easy southern breezes1
blew, I blew into straw-blades,
blissfully making whistles.
...