Poem by Sjón
an attempt to resuscitate du’a khalil aswad
the human hand looks like an outstretched wing
whether it is throwing
a heap of small stones
or a rock the size of a fist
the pebbles
skim across the water –
pause for a moment
in their flight before they fall
the big stone knows no rest until it
lands on the body of a 17-year-old girl in love
(one is a recent newspaper report
the other the memory of a summer’s night)
*
the mind will not let go
either of memories or of news reports
it never looks like an outstretched wing
*
to the god of those who were stoned to death
I offer this poem in exchange for her life
translated from Icelandic by David McDuff
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