Address:
Bræðraborgarstíg 7, Reykjavík, Islande
Phone No.:
+354 575 5600
Organisation:
Mál og menning
Website:
Poète et écrivain, Ofeigur Sigurdsson est né à Reykjavik le 2 Novembre 1975. Il a publié six livres de poésie et deux romans. Ofeigur a essayé un peu de tout : il a travaillé comme veilleur de nuit dans un hôtel, dans une unité de pré-emaballage de jambon et viande en usine, fait de la musculation en tant que manœuvre portuaire avant d’enfin exercer son cerveau comme étudiant au Département de Philosophie à l’Université d’Islande ou il a passé sa maîtrise de philosophie en 2007 avec une thèse sur le tabou et la transgression dans les œuvres de Georges Bataille. Ofeigur est aussi le représentant d’un mouvement poétique de jeunes créateurs dynamiques qui ont récemment redonné forme et vie à la poésie islandaise. Il est également traducteur littéraire et a écrit pour la radio sur différents auteurs, dont Louis-Ferdinand Céline et Michel Houllebecq entre autres.
Bræðraborgarstíg 7, Reykjavík, Islande
Translated by Philip Roughton
“In the morning I went off to cut a tumor from a man.”
(Autobiography of Jón Steingrímsson)
God’s dearest gift & precious wife
It is only by God’s ample mercy that we brothers have reached the cave safely following our trip south over the highlands and hither into the darkness. That we should have survived is a blessing and a miracle; in the mountains we were caught in the most violent of storms. Beloved Þórunn, I will soon place these scribbled words of mine in the hands of a man who stopped here in Hellar; he says that he will be going to Skagafjörður sooner or later. The man is large and wears an enormous red woolen cassock, he carries an infant on his shoulders, sells books but is illiterate himself. These are his traits. His name is Kristófer and he promised to bring these pages to you. I gave him a rixdollar for his trouble. In other words, if you receive these trifles, it is proof that we survived the murderous snowstorm on Kjölur; we brothers have made it to Hellar.
The land is a single living creature. A body. And Þórunn, how painful it is to have had to part from you, with our blessed little one in your own body; may our good Lord be with you and the good midwife when the child wishes to come forth into our dreary earthly habitation. We must content ourselves with written messages for the time being and trust to those who travel the country despite the perilousness and cold of the weather and the harsh conditions in the North. Did not Sheriff Skúli mention some bearers / couriers / postmen / letter carriers?… It may be that no one wishes to be a postman here in this country but for certain eccentrics and vagrants. It would be most pleasing if this were rectified, and I understand that Skúli is working on this matter somewhat with the counts in Copenhagen. There the postmen enjoy great respect and wear uniforms provided by the king’s tailor, with brass buttons and silk ribbons / stiff caps / a horse and a trumpet! These individuals are paid a good shilling for their journeys. And then there are the Taxis in Hamburg, who rush all over Germany!
