• TABLE OF CONTENT
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 16
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 15
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 14
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 13
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 12
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 11
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 10
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 9
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 8
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 7
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 6
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 5
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 4
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 3
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 2
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 1
  • THE DREAMING MACHINE
    • The dreaming machine n 16
    • The dreaming machine n 15
    • The dreaming machine n 14
    • The dreaming machine n 13
    • The dreaming machine n 12
    • The dreaming machine n 11
    • The dreaming machine n 10
    • The dreaming machine n 9
    • The dreaming machine n 8
    • The dreaming machine n 7
    • The dreaming machine n 6
    • The dreaming machine n 5
    • The dreaming machine n 4
    • The dreaming machine n 3
    • The dreaming machine n 2
    • The dreaming machine n 1
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The Dreaming Machine
  • Home
  • Poetry
    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems –  Yuliya Musakovska

    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems – Yuliya Musakovska

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Hence, the walruses will keep our memories – Poems from Ikaro Valderrama’s Tengri: The Book of Mysteries

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    “When Crimea Was Not a Grief”: Six Poems by Lyudmyla Khersonska, from 21st Century Ukraine

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Ratko Lalić’s painting, a little Noah’s ark –  Božidar Stanišić  

    The region suddenly turned into a deciduous forest. Poems by Paulami Sengupta

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A False Dimension: regarding the empty walls – Aritra Sanyal

  • Fiction
    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Importance of Being Imperfect – Haroonuzzaman

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A Mirage of a Dream – Kazi Rafi

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    Between Two Lives – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    The Amatory Rainy Night – Kazi Rafi

    Chapter 1 of “Come What May”, a detective story set in Gaza, by Ahmed Masoud

    Come What May, chpt. 11 – Ahmed Masoud

  • Non Fiction
    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    That is the Face – Appadurai Muttulingam

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Understanding the Quintessential Divinity: Binding the Two Geographies – Haroonuzzaman

  • Interviews & reviews
    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as  Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism.  Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism. Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

  • Out of bounds
    • All
    • Fiction
    • Intersections
    • Interviews and reviews
    • Non fiction
    • Poetry
    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Area Sacra at Torre di Largo Argentina —or, Calpurnia’s Dream – Laura Hinton

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    From The Stony Guests, Part IV: SIRAN BAKIRCI and SAIT B. KARAKAYA – Neil P. Doherty

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Chaos Theory – Michele Carenini

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Once the veil of artifice falls away: Poems by Haroonuzzaman

  • News
    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

  • Home
  • Poetry
    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems –  Yuliya Musakovska

    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems – Yuliya Musakovska

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Hence, the walruses will keep our memories – Poems from Ikaro Valderrama’s Tengri: The Book of Mysteries

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    “When Crimea Was Not a Grief”: Six Poems by Lyudmyla Khersonska, from 21st Century Ukraine

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Ratko Lalić’s painting, a little Noah’s ark –  Božidar Stanišić  

    The region suddenly turned into a deciduous forest. Poems by Paulami Sengupta

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A False Dimension: regarding the empty walls – Aritra Sanyal

  • Fiction
    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Importance of Being Imperfect – Haroonuzzaman

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A Mirage of a Dream – Kazi Rafi

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    Between Two Lives – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    The Amatory Rainy Night – Kazi Rafi

    Chapter 1 of “Come What May”, a detective story set in Gaza, by Ahmed Masoud

    Come What May, chpt. 11 – Ahmed Masoud

  • Non Fiction
    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    That is the Face – Appadurai Muttulingam

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Understanding the Quintessential Divinity: Binding the Two Geographies – Haroonuzzaman

  • Interviews & reviews
    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as  Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism.  Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism. Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

  • Out of bounds
    • All
    • Fiction
    • Intersections
    • Interviews and reviews
    • Non fiction
    • Poetry
    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Area Sacra at Torre di Largo Argentina —or, Calpurnia’s Dream – Laura Hinton

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    From The Stony Guests, Part IV: SIRAN BAKIRCI and SAIT B. KARAKAYA – Neil P. Doherty

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Chaos Theory – Michele Carenini

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Once the veil of artifice falls away: Poems by Haroonuzzaman

  • News
    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

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Home Out of bounds

Poetic bridges and conversations: Icelandic, Kiswahili and English through three poems by Hlín Leifsdóttir

December 5, 2023
in Out of bounds, Poetry, The dreaming machine n 12
Camilla Boemio interviews Malaysian artist Kim Ng
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Translated by Peter Ngila Njeri, Meg Matich and the author

Cover art: Compressed reality (detail) by Kim Ng.

The Translation Process

Translating these poems written originally in the Icelandic language by Hlín Leifsdóttir has been a fulfilling exercise. As a writer who primarily writes in English and doesn’t speak the cleanest of Kiswahili, I look at translating Hlín’s poems as a way of getting out of my comfort zone; while at the same time adding to global literature through translation. Above everything, as a lover of languages, translating Hlín’s work further opened my world to the intricacies of language and linguistic context. That the poems were originally written in the Icelandic language and then translated to English, I was in constant communication with Hlín during the translation process. My desire was to try and stay true to the English version, while trying not to lose the original Icelandic context. Linguistically speaking, one of the most fascinating challenges I encountered was putting the English pronouns (he/she) in place and in line with age. Because the Kiswahili language is less gendered, I had to present certain characters as men or women or children of the most fitting age. It felt fascinating to work across languages. More power to translation! – Peter Ngila Njeri

Mtiririko Mweupe

Na Hlín Leifsdóttir  

(Hili shahiri limetafsriwa kutoka kwenye lugha ya Kizungu hadi Kiswahili na Peter Ngila Njeri, na kutoka kwenye Kiaislandi hadi Kizungu na Meg Matich)

Anga linapoangukia miti yenye haina majani

usiku unaning’inia kwenye matawi 

kwenye mabega ya mwanadada mdogo

anapoelekea nyumbani

akiwa na mfuko wa plastiki, usiokuwa na chochote      

                                                                        kwa sasa hivi, hatutamtaja yule kiumbe wa kiume

kijana mdogo mwenye tiara iliyoraruka

anapofagia anga na mpigo wa mabawa  

                                                            kwa sasa hivi, hatutasema hata neno moja kumhusu

Wakati yule mwanadada anapouinua uso wake

na kuona ya kuwa miti imefagia anga hadi damu

na kijana anautazama kwa mshangao

mti usiokuwa na majani, na kwa sasa hivi unaorefusha matawi yake

kuelekea kwenye marudio  

ya majani mekundu yaliyopotea

                                                                                                hatutaweza

                                                                                                hasa kwa sasa

                                                                                                kusema lolote kuhusu yule kijana    

Na baadaye,

baada ya tushazurura  kichakani

na ndege wametawanyika

na badala yake kuacha weupe kwenye kimya cha hayo matawi

sauti za miguu, zilizo chini              

alama za miguu zetu, zilizofichwa

njia ya nyuma hatimaye kapotea

wakati anga linapopinduka rangi ya waridi.

                                                                                                kwa hivyo hatutawahi kuongea tena

                                                                                                hata neno moja

                                                                     kumhusu yule kijana

Badala yake, tutakumbuka

kwenye kimya cheupe

kuhusu chembechembe za theluji zilizosahau kuyeyuka kwenye mvua

katika kibaridi joto kuelekea ardhini  

Na si inafaa

ya kuwa tunapozipoteza sauti zetu

tukumbuke hawatawahi kuwa na sauti?

Hata kupiga kwenye mabati

na madirisha

ya kile chumba kidogo

wanapombembeleza mtoto alale

Hapana, si mbele ya  sisi

wenye hatuwezi konong’oneza

tunapewa nguvu ya kuimba

Tunawakumbuka

kama kinjia kipoteacho

na mwatawi yanayoinama kwa minajili ya kimya

                                                                                    Na tunatumai yule kijana amelala unono

                                                                                    Tunatumai anaota vitamu

                                                                                    Hatutawahi kumtaja tena.

***                           

Whiteweight

By Hlín Leifsdóttir  

(This poem was translated from the Icelandic by Meg Matich)

When the sky strains bare trees

night dangles from their branches

onto the shoulders of a slight woman

on the walk home

with a plastic bag, overfull with its own emptiness           

                                                                                              now, we won’t bring him up                    

When a little boy with a torn kite  

Sweeps the sky with the beating of frayed wings         ´

                                                                                  now, we won’t say one word about him      

When the woman looks up  

and sees the treetops have scraped the sky to blood

and the boy gapes in wonder

at the leafless trees, now stretching their branches

toward a return 

of the red leaves they‘ve lost                                    

                                                                                                       we will not

                                                                                                        least of all now

                                                                                                        speak of him

And later

when we’ve long wandered into the woods

and the birds have flown off

leaving in their stead white quiet on the branches

the sound of footsteps, muffled

our footprints, covered

the path back finally lost

as the sky pinkens                                                                     

                                                                                                   Then we will never again speak

                                                                                                    not a single word

                                                                                                    of him

Instead, we‘ll remember

in the midst of the white silence

of grains of snow that forgot to melt into rain

in the warming air on the way to earth

And isn’t it fitting

that just as we lose our voices

we remember they‘ll never have a voice?

Much less beat against the iron roof 

and the window panes

of the little attic room

lulling the child to sleep

No, no more than we

who can no longer whisper

are made able to sing

We remember them

as the path back vanishes  

and branches bend under the heft of silence                    

                                                                                       And we hope he’s sound asleep

                                                                                          We hope he’s dreaming sweetly

                                                                                          We will never mention him again.  

 

Bahari na Bandari

Na Hlín Leifsdóttir

(Limetafsriwa na Peter Ngila Njeri)

Walizidi kusema ya kuwa kulikuwa na samaki wengi baharini
Hawakuelewa
Ya kuwa yule mwanadada hakutaka kuvua samaki

Alitamani kuivua bahari yenyewe

Walisema hakuna aliyeweza kulifanya

Lakini siku moja yule mwanadada mwishowe alimpata  
Ilitokea ya kuwa hakuwa samaki kamwe
Alikuwa mnyama wa baharani anayeitwa kombe
Ndiyo maana pumzi yake ilitokea kama bahari

“Naweza pia!” yule mwanada alisema
“Eeh, naweza kuvua bahari!”

***

Hakuwa kama wanaume wengine
Kwa sababu kamwe hakuwahi kuwa nchi ya kigeni
Ama ladha ya kigeni   

Yule mwanadada alipomkumbatia yule mwanaume
Alijihisi kama samaki
Aliyeachiliwa baharini
Baada ya kupigania maisha kwa muda mrefu
Kwenye yule mchanga mweusi
Alihisi ni kama amesahau
Inavyohisi kuwa nyumbani 

Na yule mwanadada alipogundua
Ya kwamba yule samaki hakupaswa kumvua
Lakini kuwa bahari kwa yule mwanadada
Alizidiwa na faraja
Yenye kina kikubwa kushinda furaha

***

Yule mwanadada amekilaza kichwa kifuani mwa yule samaki
Harakati kama mawimbi

“Hii ni kama tu kuwa kwa dau,” yule mwanadada anasema
“Eeh, mpenzi wangu,” yule samaki anajibu
“Nitakusafirisha kwa meli kwenye bandari salama.”

Na mpigo wa moyo wa yule samaki ukiwa kwenye masikio ya mpenzi wake
Anajua ya kuwa kwa sasa hivi bahari na bandari
Zimekuwa kitu kimoja

***

The Seas and the Harbour

(Translated into English by Hlín Leifsdóttir)

They kept saying that there were many fish in the sea
not understanding
that she didn’t want to catch fishes

She longed to catch the ocean itself

They said no one could do it

But one day she finally found him
and it turned out that he wasn’t a fish at all
He was a conch
That’s why his breath sounded like the sea.

“Can too!” she said
“Yes, I could catch the ocean!”

***

He was not like other men
For he was never a foreign country
or an exotic taste

When she hugged him
she felt like a fish
being released into the ocean
after having fought so long for its life
in the black sand
that it has forgotten
what it means to be home

And when she realized
that he never meant to catch her
but to be the ocean to her

she was overcome with relief
deeper than joy

***

She is lying with her head on his chest
the movement like waves

“This is just like being out on a boat,” she says
“Yes, my love,” he replies
“I will sail you to a safe harbour.”

And with his heartbeat in her ears
she knows that now the seas and the harbor
have become one

Mwanzoni palikuwa na maneno

Na Hlín Leifsdóttir

(Limetafsriwa na Peter Ngila Njeri)

Uso wako ni barakoa yangu
Naubeba badala ya yangu barakoa
Ulinibusu
Na uso wako ukazama kwenye wangu
Na nimekuwa mtu hajulikani
Kama maji
Yenye yametiwa rangi na mvinyo
Natembea kama nimelewa na wewe
Kama nimejitoa kutoka kwangu mwenyewe

Wakati mwingine natafuta uso wangu viooni
Lakini umepotea
Busu zako zimeufanya uyeyuke
Kama busu za wachamungu  
Karne hadi karne
Zilivyofanya nyuso za picha takatifu kwenye makanisa mzee ziyeyuke
Hadi Mtakatifu Maria, Yusufu, Nicholas, George na Irene
Walivyozipoteza nyuso zao  
Kama Mungu
Usikose kunielewa
Ila tu wakati mwingine huwa naukosa

Uso wangu umekuwa barakoa yako
Unaibeba badala ya yako
Na ninapokutazama
Naupata tena uso wangu uliopotea
Lakini sisherehekei kurudi kwake
Kwa sababu nakutamani

Uko wapi?
Uko wapi kwa saa hivi?
Ulienda wapi?

Nyuso zetu zinatazamana  
Zinaunda ukungu katikati
Ni kama ni upande wa juu wa glasi linaloona
Zinayeyuka
Zinashikana kwa pamoja
Zinaunda uso tofauti
Kama mtazamo mbaya wa mtoto wetu

Uso wangu wanifanana kushinda nilipokuwa mchanga
Kabla uliponibusu
Na nikapakwa rangi na wewe kama maji kwa mvinyo
Unakufanana zaidi ya chochote
Kabla uliponipenda

Ni upendo
Wenye utaendelea kuishi baada ya sisi wawili kufariki

Haijalishi ya kuwa utawahi kuwa mtoto

Kama huu huzuni utakuwa mtoto wetu wa kipekee
Nitaupa chakula
Nitaulea

Nitauvalisha kwa maneno

Sitawahi tupa mtoto wetu wa kike nje
Sitawahi mkataa
Sitawahi mwacha peke yake afe uwanjani

Badala yako nayaacha haya maneno nyuma
Lakini unafaa kuzaliwa
Mtoto wangu
Tafadhali yasome haya maneno  
Maneno yaliyozaliwa kabla yako
Na uelewe ya kuwa

Mwanzoni palikuwa na neno
Wakati ulikuwa umesonga
Na baadhi ya watu wakasema ya kuwa wakati ulikuwa umesonga
Kwa wewe kuja

Mwanzoni palikuwa na maneno fulani
Maneno yatima yaliyochoma
Yaliyojaa tamaa

Mwanzoni palikuwa na maneno fulani
Maneno yaliyoguguma, yaliyosita

Yasiyojua bado
Kama ulikuwa uje kuzaliwa

Mwanzoni palikuwa na neno fulani
Kelele zilizonyamazishwa
Yenye yalikuwa na maneno yote

Mwanzoni palikuwa na kimya 
Lakini ndani yako neno liliishi
Yenye mwishowe ilitoa mpasuko mkubwa
Na ikawa nyota, jua
Na wewe mtoto wangu
Kwa sababu ulikuwa kila kitu kwangu
Anga yote lililojaa nyota
Na mengine mengi mno

Nyuso zetu zimeja pamoja
Na kuunda uso wa mtoto wetu

Uso wangu wanifanana kushinda ninavyojifanana
Na kushinda zaidi ya unavyojifanana

Nakutazama wewe, mtoto wangu,
Najiona mimi mwenyewe na kipenzi changu

Na sina tamaa yetu tena

Hii safari yanakaribia mwisho
Mimi na baba yako tunaenda safarini
Lakini upendo wetu umeandikwa nyotani

Kwa kuwa nyota zitaendelea kung’aa machoni mwako
Kwa muda mrefu baada tumeenda
Na utakuwa na macho ya baba yako
Lakini nyusi zangu

Nauosha uso wako kwenye busu
Nauosha kwa machozi
Kama wachamungu wanavyoziosha picha zao takatifu makanisani

Lakini ni uso wangu unaopotea
Sio wako
Hivyo ndivyo yafaa

______

In the beginning were the words

(English translation by Hlín Leifsdóttir)

Your face is my mask
I carry it instead of my own
You kissed me
and your face sank into mine
and I have become unrecognizable
like water
that has been colored by wine
I walk around drunk by you
estranged from myself

Sometimes I search for my face in mirrors
but it has disappeared
Your kisses made it fade away
like the kisses of the pious
century after century
made the faces of the icons in the old churches fade
until St. Mary, Joseph, Nicholas, George and Irene
became faceless
like God

Don’t misunderstand me
but sometimes I miss it

My face has become your mask
You carry it instead of your own
And when I look at you
I find my lost face again
But I do not celebrate its return
For I miss you

Where are you?
Where are you now?
Where did you go?

Our faces reflect each other
They form a mist between them
as though on the surface of a looking glass
They dissolve
melt into one another
merge into a different face
like a premonition of our child

It looks more like myself than I did when I was a child
before you kissed me
and I became coloured by you like water by wine
It looks more like you
before you loved me

It is the love
that will continue to live after both of us are gone

whether or not it will ever become a child

If this sorrow becomes our only child
I will still feed it
nurture it
dress it in words

I will never disown her
never deny her
never abandon her and leave her to die in the field

Instead I leave behind these words

But should you be born anyway
my child
please read these words
the words that came before you
and understand that

In the beginning there was the word
It was late
And some said that it was too late
for you to ever come

In the beginning there were the words
the piercing lonely words
full of longing

In the beginning there were the words
the stammering, hesitant words

That didn’t yet know
whether you would ever really come to be

In the beginning there was the word
a muffled scream
that contained all the words

In the beginning there was silencing
but within it dwelled the word
which finally broke forth in a big bang
and it became stars, suns
and you my child
For you were everything to me
the entire starry sky
and so much more

Our faces have merged together
into the face of our child

It looks more like me than I do
and more like you than you do

I look at you, my child,
see myself and my beloved one
and I miss us no more

This journey is about to end
Your father and I are going away from here
but our love is written in the stars

For they will continue to shine in your eyes
long after we are gone

And you will have his eyes
but my brows

I bathe your face in kisses
water it with tears
like the pious their icons in the churches

But it is my face that disappears
not yours

That’s how it’s supposed to be

______

Here is an example of the collaboration of Hlín Leifsdóttir and Morton and the author reciting her own poem “Vinur” (Friend) in Icelandic.

Hlín Leifsdóttir is an international soprano and writer from Iceland. She has received several awards and recognitions for her poetry and short stories. Hlin is also a member of the spoken-poetry duet “Hlín Leifsdóttir & Morton”, together with award-winning Greek composer “Morton” (Vasilis Chountas, also known as Whodoes). All three poems featured here can be listened to in their original language, Icelandic, together with Morton’s music on the album Andrými, published by the Institute for Experimental Arts. https://hlinleifsdottir-morton.bandcamp.com/album/andr-mi

Peter Ngila Njeri, the translator of Hlín Leifsdóttir’s poems from English to Kiswahili, is an award-winning Kenyan writer based in Nairobi.

Meg Matich is the translator of Hlín Leifsdóttir’s poem “Whiteweight”, which received a first prize in the Student Paper’s poetry competition in 2019. She is a poet and literary translator from Icelandic, Danish and German. “Oprah Daily” named her one of the best translators of the year in 2021.

Tags: EnglishestrangementHlín LeifsdóttirIcelandicidentityKiswahililanguage contextlinguistic contextlongingloveMeg Matichmerging and differentiatingnatureoriginparents and childrenPeter Ngila NjeriPoetrysafe harborsilencingtranslationvoiceWhiteweight
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