by Ingunn Snædal

mynd af stofu
picture of a living room

here
I think about you

Translated by Meg Matich.

by Ingunn Snædal

sagan um mig
the story of me

the title of my biography
won’t be sweeping beaches or
I didn’t drink today or
anything clever and funny that
strangers, short of breath and sweaty,
might recite to pass the time
on a mountain hike

My story would be called
what I should have said next  

it’s rather a dull read
desperation isn’t delightful

Meanwhile, I remember
what I intended to say next:
stop calling
i’m not this reusable
emotional rag
I’ve been playing at

Translated by Meg Matich. 

by Kristín Svava Tómasdóttir

Gamlárskvöld
New Year’s Eve

Gray carpet and gray chairs and
gray walls and gray tables and
gray cocktail glasses
and gray fax machine and gray
door frame and gray neighbors
and gray staircase and gray street and
the gray sky and our pale running
feet and the nylon beard we turn
upwards, the slippery ice and fireworks
and all this lifethreatening open space
for us

Translated by K.B. Thors.

by Kristín Svava Tómasdóttir

Passé 3: Rómantískt Ljóð um Kapítalista Fortíðarinnar
Passé 3: Romantic Poem about Capitalists of the Past

Artistically inclined spectators broker the products of authors
countesses spoonfeed performance artists with diamond dust
but where are the drunk wholesalers
supporting us even more drunk poets
for company and cultural capital?

absent wholesaler!
I would be satisfied
with the custom suit
a drive to Þingvellir
and sips of scotch
that I roll in my mouth
considering the limits
of my artistic integrity

Translated by K.B. Thors.