Student Paper Poetry Contest

The Student Paper held a poetry contest in honor of the first issue of the school year. The only requirement was that the poems relate to the word flow in some way; otherwise, contestants had full creative freedom. Out of 46 entries, the poem “Hvítflæði” (e. “Whiteweight”) by Hlín Leifsdóttir was selected as the winner. Hlín has won a copy of the poetry book Vökukonan í Hólavallagarði, a Háma coffee card, and a gift card for the Student Cellar. The contest was judged by poets Steinunn Sigurðardóttir, Magnús Sigurðsson and Jóna Kristjana Hólmgeirsdóttir. The Student Paper would like to congratulate Hlín Leifsdóttir!

Whiteweight

Translated from 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.