Melkorka Ólafsdóttir – Flautist

Melkorka Ólafsdóttir is a flautist in the Iceland Symphony Orchestra and takes her name from the Melkorka of the Icelandic Sagas. She traces her lineage back to that Melkorka, who is said to have been an Irish Princess taken into slave and bought by an Icelandic chieftain and brought to Iceland.

Melkorka is a poet, as well as a flautist, and she has written a poem for her name sake and she shares it with us in Icelandic and English.

In this episode producer Helen Shaw and composer Linda Buckley sit down with Melkorka and talk music, Bjork and motherhood.

Melkorka

She did not belong here. So she kept silent.

She kept silent through noise, she kept silent through silence. She kept silent amongst the historical tales, the chiefs, their gatherings, the houses made of mud, the jealous wives. She kept silent through love, through lust, through missing, through humiliation, through pride.

Through glances, the blood and the sun that never rose above the mountains. Through the never ending darkness. She kept silent through comparison and ageing, through uncertainty, transformation.

Through solitude amongst other tongues, other people, in another country. The ocean which looked different from the other side, the ground that smelled of foreign plants. She kept silent, that was hers.

But that day the creek was babbling. The sun opened her head so her ears were raised, and her eyes. And the child, it babbled too.

So she could not resist, she could not but join in their song.

Ambátt

Hún átti ekki heima hér. Svo hún þagði.

Hún þagði í gegnum æsinginn, hún þagði í gegnum þögnina. Hún þagði í gegnum fornfrægar sögurnar, höfðingjana, þingin, moldarkofana og öfundsjúkar eiginkonur. Hún þagði í gegnum ástina, gegnum girndina, gegnum söknuðinn, gegnum niðurlæginguna, gegnum stoltið.

Gegnum augnatillit, blóðið og sólina sem aldrei komst yfir fjöllin. Gegnum myrkrið endalausa. Hún þagði í gegnum samanburðinn og ellina, gegnum óvissuna, umbreytinguna.

Gegnum einveruna innan um aðrar tungur, annað fólk, í öðru landi. Hafið sem leit öðruvísi út hinum meginn, grasbalann ilmandi af ókunnugum jurtum. Hún þagði, það var hennar.

En þennan dag hjalaði lækurinn. Sólin opnaði höfuðið svo eyrun lyftust, og augun. Og barnið, það hjalaði líka.

Svo hún gat ekki annað, hún gat ekki annað en tekið undir.