Magnus 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 artifacts--fragments 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.
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