#8 Ingibjörg Haraldsdóttir (1942-)
The Head of a Woman by Ingibjörg Haraldsdóttir ... »
#7 Sigfús Bjartmarsson (1955 – )
From Zombie 58 The blood does not taste any longer only this resounding colour ill tempered all over town drunk on sweat and nails and the aftertaste of past cheap tricks and so pink-lucid in the city-bone yet the porcelain-eyes keep theirs rolling the rim of a glass and the hand jerks and wassails... »
#6 Kristín Ómarsdóttir (1962 – )
Icelandic National Poem This is my room, we call it Iceland. It’s chained to Europe with a marine cable and to and from here airplanes fly with their ink-cartridges full of people. Here I dwell in a matchbox that I care for so dearly since I painted the inner walls last winter. Life goes... »
#5 Böðvar Guðmundsson (1939 – )
double-knots in gordion (excerpt) and we thought the morality of men had been changed by the great battles waged by the conquerors of the great battles against the conquerors of the great battles in the century passed since there’d be no despairing had the morality of men changed in the century that is passing... »
#4 Elísabet Jökulsdóttir (1958 – )
the poetry who ran the poet was feeling doubtful about the state of poetry and attended a meeting and then the poetry was in a meeting many poetries together and the poetry was in sentences and questions and the poetry rose from the dead without ever having died or is this some sort of... »
#3 Sigfús Daðason (1928 – 1996)
Cities and beaches XIV (excerpt) 1 What lies what dishonesty what historical disasters. And despite this the morning still amazes us like before resembles bright and wide mornings south wind ocean storm in a city mostly made up of dreams. Dreams: at their bottom we sensed the merciless attack of reality. How distant they... »
#2 Þórunn Erlu- Valdimarsdóttir (1954 – )
Bookflood Words are gathered. Impelled to presses black, white and peatred. In a banker’s waiting room funds drip down aged tender. Funds spawned by funds. Rinsing raincoats, pouring from boots into bathtub turning black from the letters, bleating black sheep. Found funds, my hound a showerhead drives them into the hole. Þórunn Erlu-Valdimarsdóttir Translation:... »
#1 Anton Helgi Jónsson (1955 – )
Confessions of a Lucrative Dreamer I dream of shit. It’s no secret. I dream of shit. I can fearlessly spend my anticipated lottery-winnings during the day. Most nights I dream tons upon tons of shit. Exactly how much shit I dream is nobody’s business. The curious ask if I have any to spare. Please... »