In 2021, while still in the midst of the pandemic, a new volcano erupted in Iceland at Fagradallsfjall. Fortunately, this location was relatively out of the way, so it would not pose any immediate threat to people, property, or animals, but still close enough that it was easy to get to from the capital region. As a result, the volcano became quite a tourist attraction, at first among Icelanders, because travel hadn’t fully reopened yet. This made a great many people happy, as we all needed something fun and exciting in spring/summer 2021. I got out to see the volcano twice, and on my second trip, was fortunate to see its fire-geyser form relatively close, an opportunity that would not last, as the lava flows would eventually cut off that access point. Naturally, I wrote a poem about the volcano. It is simply titled “Volcano.” Please pardon the asterisks on certain words—I’m trying to keep the posts here relatively clean.

Volcano

Twas an empty land, only for grazing
and the occasional hike by a curious wander,
a beautiful valley of the barest acclaim.
But tremors abounded when the time was at hand,
as the hidden might of heat underground
steadily streamed, struggling to surface.
From far below this fire had surged:
mantle magma, unmixed with crust.
At last it erupts, and the lava flows.
In the arctic air, it inevitably cools
to a stream of stone, steel-gray in hue.
The steaming edges stand like a wall,
both heaped-up high and hastily jumbled,
yet slowly advancing, the sulfurous version
of glacier ice, greatly inexorable:
it creeps through the field, covering the valley.
But changes come in the chambers below,
and a second form soon emerges,
a fire geyser of frequent eruptions.
It’s a mighty sight: the mountain’s hot c**
vigorously spurts, a violent or***m
of liquid fire and the land’s baptism
for new growth and numberless possibilities.
But this too, shall pass, and in time enough,
the flow subsides, the fire diminishes,
the crater cools, and the cone is silent.
The new land sits, naked on earth,
in the endless cycle of seasons and weather
that gradually erode the rocks of gray,
taking an eternity to taper down
what formed so furiously in a fast eye-blink.

Fagradalsfjall Volcano in Fire-Geyser Mode on May 13, 2021

Copyright © 2023 Eirik Westcoat

Hwæt! This poem first appeared on my Patreon in November 2022. If you’d like to see great poems like this one much earlier than the rest of the public—plus lots more exclusive material that will never appear on this blog—just subscribe to my Patreon site.