With their vital signs more Icelandic at heart
Whooper swans are headed-for the west coast of Ireland
Where a handful of lucky folks locals
Watches their arrival yearly, jubilant.
Such beauty is transformative
Like Icelandic music, the place they-normally lives.
Their homeland I would also love to one day visit.
Simply put I too like Icelandic music;
How it eerily reflects its landscape,
Somehow alien yet always commonplace as a heartbeat
Or the arrival of a whopper swan that has crossed an ocean
With a bill more yellow than black.
Whooper swans they aren't a bit musically blessed
But I love Icelandic music; bands like Seabear,
Male vocalists such as Kaleo,
Singing - Way down we go
I love voices like Sóley and Björk, how they've
Got these empathetic dreamy-voices like
A haunted house with angel-birds echoing words-divine.
I love Icelandic music; it's a gift they've given the world.
Volcanic eruptions that-are carved out of ice and fire,
Snow and ice, ice and stone, like them Viking fords.
Music that's got harmonic-riffs a real sense of identity,
Like whooper swans serenading somewhat noisily home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem