
Cold Moons
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Magnús Sigurdsson spare poems pay rare attention to the minute revelations of nature rather than allowing the crudeness of machinery to bulldoze our sentiments. Through intricate wordplay and a titanic understanding of his native Icelandic, rendered with perfect tone by award‐winning translator Meg Matich, Sigurdsson creates tiny but arresting artifactsfragments that scale an instant to an aeon, and a thousand millennia to a second. Whether describing the dwarf wasp's one‐millimeter wingspan or the roots of a bonsai, he is a cosmologist of language, and Cold Moons is an intimate map of hi...
Magnús Sigurdsson spare poems pay rare attention to the minute revelations of nature rather than allowing the crudeness of machinery to bulldoze our sentiments. Through intricate wordplay and a titanic understanding of his native Icelandic, rendered with perfect tone by award‐winning translator Meg Matich, Sigurdsson creates tiny but arresting artifactsfragments that scale an instant to an aeon, and a thousand millennia to a second. Whether describing the dwarf wasp's one‐millimeter wingspan or the roots of a bonsai, he is a cosmologist of language, and Cold Moons is an intimate map of his distinctive universe.