antennae scratch sky (scratch scratch)

Translated from Fuglar (Birds, Forlagið 1990) and Loftnet klóra himin (Antennae Scratch Sky, JPV, 2008), along with a few unprinted  poems,  by Thórunn and her sister Vala Sigurlaug.  Martin Regal read proofs.

Copyright Lifandi Saga, 2010.


A fishy business named Centaur

is now my landlord.

They just bought my office

from descendants

of owners of the old company

Jupiter and Mars

that used the building

for running businesses

in fishy oceans.

Some centaurs are wise and gracious

friends of the Greek heroes,

such as Chiron and Pholus,

the other, wild, lawless, overspirited

who Hercules and Lapithe love to kill.

I was born in the year of the horse

a human mare …

a centaur-esse I guess

with Jupiter in ocean deep Cancer

opposite Capricornian Mars of the heights.

Now, at the time of latter-day Greece

centaurs tend to befriend

Eros and Dionysos.

Seeking balance after religious


that has made our culture sick.

I have tamed, beaten and wound

my deepest veins

taking the evils

of civilization

to my heart.

Here I´m safe,

my fellow centaurs

will steer me, keep me

teach me, protect me

caress me and ride with me

through thrilling woods

of cognizance.

We jump out of paintings

with wondrous joy

canvass has never

been torn with such

a graciously greedy sound

as now when we become flesh.


Love old fashioned


with no work allowed

the grinding quern

takes relentless control.

Lay my feet

in Happiness’s bosom

eyes fixed in the hearth.

A sigh of relief

makes the log


for its own heat.

The air’s so still.

No wiring, sprouting


In my reptile brain

cotton starts snowing

into ancient wounds.


stretching roots.


under a blanket of snow

sweet world of colour

in deep coma.

Unwritten snowy paper

in the homedrive

makes a marring sound.

An arabic snowpoem

written by tires.

Calligraphic mysteries

close up

grace for all seasons.

Raven flapping wings

lands in his home drive

writing the order of the day

on his sheet of snow.

Time to go out with gloves!

Stand on hands,


the centre of ones tree.

Hey, apple- and peartrees!

I offer you truce

if I can stand hands down

a sweet while.

A new point of view

is the question.

The flakes snow upwards.

My world´s ascending!

In my cortex

life flows

in new key.

The grin



my lips.

Nipples of bitterness

no longer a threat.

I go no more a hanging

in thin thongs of desire

gold moon shining bright.

Black weighty truce

my dark world of snow

clear as moon gold

and zealed with wings.


Without sorrow

our hearts are just a cup

conveying blood.

The Infinite Notch

The dash on the tombstone

makes all the difference.

If I get lucky and 84

like Kurt Vonnegut

my dash will point

east west

and say:


The dance

on this line in me

is neither a prologue

nor an epilogue.

It´s a hot dog

with all works.

Beyond the Line

The woman selling fruit

fills her table every morning.

Throws overripe

past post remnants

into the scrap heap.

The old ones take flight

landing on runway compost

where forms slowly


no pollutive pyre

or costly graveyard.

It would serve humans best

to be stewed into compost

reviving dead forests and deserts.

By that covenant

we would not die.

Would go earth-tree



The root of an appletree

visits my coffin

and makes me an apple.

Maggot eats me too.

I become worm.

Worm me eats apple me.

A wagtail flying

eats worm

and I am bird.

Lovely to put my beak

into an apple

that is me.


time fills its vessel.



plays poker

with Death.

In Creation’s chest

every cell is unique.


is as sensitive

as the eyes

of a broken in mare.





That´s how




handle with care

this feeling of belonging together

it’s been clinched, bungled, kneaded

through hell and back

sticking its red obstinate head up again

face in my hands

your face my face

flesh music – bone comfort

keeping the devils

at bay


cherries are never lonlely

they come in pairs

two and two and two

preaching monogamy

red sweet edible

nipples wanting to be suckled

vampires sweet blood

running from the mouth

no fruit loves more

than cherries

red eyes after endless nights of love

totally lovesick

looking down on us cold members

of the frigid species

as if we know nothing of love

so let us get red eyed

become wolfe with antenna

our nerves the tree

our hearts the cherries


two and one

happily rotting away

in the wastebasket

down to the core

Maria’s Annunciation

25th of March

king of pain became flesh

day of Annunciation

nine months before Christmas

spirit of gods descending into womb again

cosmogenic evolution hidden

in the womb

a womb-mans womb

spirit flashing across that endless plain

tiny fishlike

hairy monkey kicking

33 really got to you creatively

we got quite something

to measure our pain with

and love

ready to die heroes everyone born

ready to live sugar and salt

god swimming oozing through it all

beneath the breastbone

out through the high backbone

winged feeling

this tiny protuberance

on the plain of creation

inside me

Old Churchyard

inside the entrance there´s a map:

“the red dot is where you are”

so this is what I am! when mapped out

a red dot – photosensitive

moving across a chessboard

above unsaid vaults

maggot eaten dots beneath the names

branches of trees these hosts

of dead

nerve branches touching me

fish-tail of Fate has done it´s flapping

offices gone and the smile

of a twelve-year-old

passing through this yard of death

a dot on a screen

almost swallowed by decay

when I find an exit of relief

a gate

another map

red dot still where I am

beating red dot

rhythmic flamingo

on through the gate

off the map

into the living storm

about to do some living

Worn World

Life saturates air, earth, water

electrifies, evaporates






leaving obscure trails

of stuff


oxygen, carbon

invisible paths


endless missions.







Better stuff

A male’s rib is lousy material.

Since God made me from mud

I´m infinitely better.

No fall.

Just brainy delicious

upright innocence.

Music of the Spheres

Each day a heart beat

one year a slow yawn

stretching her long arms

around mother sun

with a fixed syncopic

change of rythm

every fourth year.

Heavens feet ticklish

she scratches with antennae

mountains and skyscrapers

ceaselessly feeling

her furrow.

Provoking planets

Earth with her antennae

sticking her fingers up

waking up lazily

opening eyelids

suckling the light.

Daisies each house topping

electric receiving

earth and air attracking

light of far distances

deep into ireses

fencing in

heaven and earth.

Antennas sure are

a key puzzle

in earths scenography:

zebra, crocodile

Himalaya’s honeydew

Hollywood, Roma

whales and zeppelins

sneak through their tiny eye.

Cyperspace lightdancing

touch antirub linking

dimensions presenting

through tiny antennas

welcoming everything.

Still she turns

heaven’s huge swinger

well greased

no moaning or squealing

never failing or slowing

her supermodel ride

on her invisible

yet so perfectly precise


In her wake

deep sighs

gone years

used dreams

ragged time

lie in wait

till the next round

comes to plough

tease and stir.

Eternal ball

with your moony head

rolling around your body.

Keep going

lovely old devil.


we are all mothersuckers – on the eternal rebound

girls and boys just the same

mothersucker trauma this painful need for love

eternal vulnerable suckling years

desperately needing quality time with mamma

does fathersucker have a weaker meaning?

unless you visualize him as animal enough to let you suck him

it’s great big holy mamma that counts in decent fleshholds

mouth to milk and milk to mouth

can I ask why motherfucker’s such a terrible insult

to say someone’s fucked their mother?

hey, boy and girl, you know you mustn’t get mamma pregnant with your egg or sperm

“you fatherfucker you!”

“yes, and proud of it”

“please release me!”

“dad, do you mind?”

worse than what?

worse than wearing a uniform and killing civilians?

worse than almost anything – unless it’s customary

motherfuckers are brutes if they fuck their mammas against their will

but if the mammas enjoy it it’s just a familiar feeling?

like with other animals

but hold on, why does a mamma lion drive out her son so soon?

so her next lover who’s the king of the jungle

doesn’t finish him off

“you motherfucker!”

said to cause anger, get even, humiliate

is the stigma because they’re a) bastards or

b) wimps who can reach no further than their mammas with their

pathetic dicks and so get dangerously close with their sperm, passing diseases down to posterity?

“silence this woman!”

(big mamma is tough when she gets physical)

surely you shouldn’t be a bastard or a wimp

just stick to a happy medium and never play it too strong or too weak – according to Western notions of chivalry after berserkers went out of fashion

hold tight onto the prevailing mood

never let the bluebird out of your heart

no cocaine needed – stimulant of Western death

if there’s plenty of time

nor opium – tranquillizer of sunrise

if no one’s desperate

just be nicely middle-of-the-road

an ordinary boy has average prowess

no problems in the pants department

an ordinary girl a non-toxic Icelandic poppy

why do I find ordinary people so fucking boring?

me sick devil me – must be

the human animal thinks so much

that it put safety cordons round everything

banned keeping dogs ’cos of tapeworm

the tapeworm’s gone – dogs still banned

old commandments made to minimize pain

still in force though the precondition for the pain has gone

and the commandment itself causes pain, in this instance:

a dire shortage of free-and-easy dogs

we know it’s better to find new love than cling to one that’s worn out

there’s still enough to eat for kids of the old love

yet the commandment remains in force with all its condemnation

who splits just because he splits? splits what?

adultery is evil, cheating

even though animals need it

the cookie is crumbled by its nature but must be held together

in the knowledge that images will be tarnished

the big-mouthed bitches will condemn you as an evil lech and her as a poor cuckold

and the other woman as a whore, which they do unmercifully

after all she was born on the accursed Sunday after Holy Trinity

and her text of the day the scarlet woman

women will happily serve the crew of a four-man boat

make love to the whole ship, and everybody’s happy

every last thwart

does anyone doubt the goddess?

happily have your cake and another on the side

nibbling both only makes them bigger

if bigamy wasn’t banned

making up for their misery at not being allowed to practise forbidden proclivity with the thought of another worse – even more forbidden

now let the word motherfucker glide over the sensory fields of your imagination

the next person to say “it could be worse”

will be beaten over the head

don’t settle for less than total well-being

after a fine invention like the condom

the reason for not being allowed to fuck mamma and dad

no longer exists

but it’s still strictly forbidden to fuck them

the ugliest insult even to mention it

I’m not saying everyone should fuck their parents

out of gratitude

but that it should sound good to hear you say motherfucker

since they say it all the time in every other fucking Hollywood movie

big mamma is constantly offended, because motherfucker is a negative concept

making it seem bad to service her

let’s make it beautiful, and being a bitch too

a bitch in heat is beautiful

a bitch with her puppies beautiful

goddess mamma sexual being

who can fuck again at last without shame like other animals

paternity can be proved genetically

many centuries of sick ownership of women obsolete

her animals the bitch – the vixen – the queen

beautiful in season and in mating

relaxation of a whole load of tension

sisters and brothers soon can get married

if they promise not to have children

the only sin left is to feel bad

and still into eternity you feel bad if you hurt someone

mother of all sins dissolves

enjoy suffering and make it creative

use the difficulty:

if I wasn’t so sick of watching

the social tedium of monogamy

this text wouldn’t exist

back to my beloved mamma

my substitute because loving her is allowed:

being a baby in her arms was oh so hot

she tangled me in deepest sense-debauch

happy sense-land her embrace

in Spanish the worst insult is an incitement

which I find even stranger than motherfucker:

“chinga te madre” or “fuck your mother”

sounds nice if you don’t understand it

my mind’s afraid to go there

but banish every fearful thought and ride right into the forest

with Robin Hood and his cheerful mates:

“chinga te madre”

ugly to incite you to something that’s forbidden?

your father would thrash you out of jealousy if you fancied yourself your mamma’s lover, whether you’re boy or girl

as you’re younger than him, unconditionally loved and lower in the pecking order than – el padre

“chinga me madre – sure I will”

like a dog, I do as I’m told

but the inner blow of the insult is like a storm

why is it so hurtful to tell someone to fuck their mother?

who says that sexual love is less holy than mothers love?

it hurts because it’s forbidden and you’d be a bastard to force her

– she who taught you the limits – to do what’s forbidden

and a bastard to entice her willingly to do what’s forbidden

and a wimp not to try it on with a woman who loves you less

you never know, other embraces may turn out good

from the world of poetry and faith

to love your mamma

kiss your own elbow

and eat blueberries with the soles of your feet

will never stop wanting you mamma

in the physical certainty that you’re long dead

a heap in Shakespeare’s play of worm-eaten creation

love you all the more and myself

along with recent fleshholds

fall into the great embrace

the lost piece that completes the puzzle

become a single-cell organism again and wait for the shot

the software programmed for birth

no conception is ordinary

the world’s full of them

between the mountains the shore and the deep blue sea

pure theology

there’s a suspicion that old suns sense life slower

therefore more and better and sharper

and the same applies to jellyfish

die down into warm earth

fall into your arms mamma

the interwoven mantle of life

all-life, ever-life, forever-life

ever life and never life in the same breath

to go to the goddess

is to have a date with your joy

die in summer

buried in soft earth

in nothing but woollen socks

kiss me on the breastbone

on the green sward

and promise to live as well as you can

if I have a say

have a say!

I just had a say

thank you

Islands of Galapagos

dry Earth pulling so hard

skinny erect and vertical

we are with

water gurgling our 77% liquid so happily:

want to swim with giant soup-turtles

love their nonchalant sensitive eyes

their sensual cold blood

we are the same, just an illusion of form

millions of years do that to us

soup-turtles ewoke each others lust

so gently when they fuck

veneral lust illuminating

the water around and my timely

longing to hold another form

like the first sea lizard

drifting to the Galapagos

million years it took him

to yield to the form

the far away islands

out in the Pacific



million years stuck out here in the Atlantic

my species yielding to the will of this harsh land

radioactive with horns, tail and scales

for a reason

devouring fish

drinking sea

no escape

sputtering salt bad tempered

through a whole in the nape of the neck

fucking every season in and out

on the shore

while young sealions

bite our tails

for fun

the beauty of hexagonal eyes

the fly draws a knot around the flower

fastening it peremptorily onto life

our relative really

loves the smell of a flower´s sexual organ

as humans do

flies wrap various things up along their air-route

excrement and fish-recrement

also attracts you dark winged tiny beasts

real Beauty I guess is what you eat

I greet you fat bee

truely like yours some of my inner core

meet you in the dandelion

the keenest sunworshipper of all

see you with my millenarian dandelion eyes

love is relevant

as is seeing

and the centre of affection

a prayer

Auðhumla blessed cow!

mighty four legs

at Earth’s cardinal points

four giant dragons flapping their wings

sending forth winds east west north south

your sweet rivers of milk

flowing every day

nourishing Ými = earth

horned Auðhumla in heaven!

send some architypal milk

into this human skull

replenishing me

with strength and faith

make us strong and resilient

you’re a good poet

I can see it in your face

earth’s crust

keeps emailing messages

through my skin and insides

now it’s the aftermath

of a wondrous triple feast:

chocolate from Ghana

New Guinea and Equador

crust and skin

grow hair and cocoa plants

zinc in the African chocolate

from earth’s crust at that very place in Ghana

is entering the roots of my hair

now as we speak

crust and skin

got holes and openings

of interconnection

as does every boarder every surface

no real boarders on earths crust

except rivers, precipieces, swamps and coastlines

boarders across water

are ridiculous

as lines through air

all crisscrossed by fish and birds

no straight lines in nature

no distinct directions

given by sun, moon and planets

though they cross the same invisible

bridge in the sky every day

no borders – no set directions

just this constant soothing pull of Earth

and this sweet upward longing

of growth and fertility

called heliocentricity

religions, counters, rulers, clocks

and other measuring devices

definitions and classifications

like the Linnéan and Darwinian

give vision

in a floating poetic way

when you get sick of it all just

close your eyes and dissolve:

left & right

inside & outside

front & back

east & west

time & memory

along with all other boarders and limitations

massively attacking

our capacity for happiness

civilization isn´t doomed

just stuck inside its old cubic sense

of regulating being

rules, timers, rulers

serving our collective greed

and need for revenge

love, glory, power

my godess, to find release

takes an inner earthquake

readjusting our senses

onto pure empathy

setting right

weather, water, wars

hunger, diseases

it’s time to throw

overfed gift-crazy father Christmas

off the cliff

along with statues of Stalin

uncle Sam, John the Bully

and the statue of false liberty

time to return stolen treasures

starting with the statues of Panthenon

and never again

depict the enemy as evil

hoardes called enemy

are no Tolkien monsters

just excellent average specimens

like each and every most of us

evil scary eye of Mordor

resembling a horrid bloody cunt

is your much needed lover

if she scares you

go see a healer

politics are down to every beating heart

body of every being and earth itself

recognizing our inate familiarity:

an ancient evolutionary flip gene

made our left-sides identical to our right-sides

mine, yours, the swan’s, the banana-fly’s

we’re identical to solarsystems

radiating like a sun

when our sinister side feels ready

to melt into your right side

solarplexus exploding

life turning incessantly around our middle

cooling down

becoming a snowball at the far side of the solarsystem

rolling out of rule and measure

north becomes south becomes east becomes west

dissolving directions you throw away the map

and eat the key

calmer than a floating cloud now

lying down on mount Esja

belly down

for good


detatched like a planet

dreaming of

mega-trillion beings

magnificent emotive centres

all over earth

stuffing themselves and ejecting

dreaming of

mega-trillion beings

magnificent emotive centres

inside my body

stuffing themselves and ejecting

incessantly contracting and releasing

your heart and your lungs

you’ve become your old self again

feeling the hair on your head

naming your toes

fix your world so that it has 777 directions

with colour, tone

then it dawns on you

that affection, love and appreciation

are thickly spread and evenly

where there is harmony

while innate to life are occasional

pangs of painful disharmony

that you have to endure

to know the real taste

of happiness

even the kingdom of stones

disregarding time

is endowed with sentiment

as the stone will eventually

lend itself

to a living being

red chile hot feeling

deep in the mantle of lava

every particle in us

was inside earth

eons ago

baked in her huge oven

thus our hearts are her core

and her core our heart

disregarding time

same old garment

our mess­iah-dracula-mohamed-buddha heart

drifted apart eons ago

about to reconnect

moonshining sunshining

old earthly snake

biting his mega scrillion tails

while organisms mix and heal

even inside the eye of the hurricane

our planet soars at the heart

the trip is unlimited

Unchain my Heart

Kind ideas, please take me.

No opposition.

I dangle loose here

by the intersection of change.

Free of fetters that clutched me

with frostbite knots

entering my front shoulders

through lungs and heart

settling on ribs and spinal cord

where roses grew

with a special Icelandic

everlasting fragrance

of spicy, sad debauchery.

It is known

when thorn tea drips from nipples

within six hours

mares shake off their sorrows.

No one to blame for your thoughts

mythology, religion

location of motherland


sad history

ugly eyes

or tiny cunt.

From fetters to beauty

in spite of perilous

painful longing

to live


belong to

sip a breast

release a woman

suck God’s mother

sense big boom …


Status quo is best.

Sunshine hurts.

Seeking far fetched joy

is poignant.

Happinesse bides her own time.

A Bag Lady

Rough seas I have swum,

stretching bones, flesh and soul,

around me and mine.

A wolf with antenna

to survive

and stay intact.

Wolf with antenna

my constellation.

Feet stuck in a trap

gnawed them off

flew away

pained my heart out

electrifying nerves.

Sensing splendour.

L’amour dans le jardin

or a fantasy about edible pulpy plants

Sweet love of two cherries!

in pairs, infinitely

stalking it out together

and dying united.

Soft bananas

brown spots of ageing

reminders of man’s maturity.

Sensuality increases

sweetness arrives late.

We pity unripe youths

with full respect

in spite of their firm skin.

Unripe bananas, yuck!

Alas, strawberries

fading before our eyes.

As do people

who grow mouldy


For only a day

heaven fantastic

leaving lust so soon.

Melons, mangos and that family of fruit

are like us common folk – recilient when ripe.

Sweetness takes time

the longer the better.

Multi taste orgasm

when time is ripe

and sheath allows full sweetness.

Hovering discord

of rot creeping near

makes absolute taste like

monosodium glutamate.

Admiring youth is a compensation

for its horrors and disasters.

Unripe, tasteless melons

do not hit the taste buds.

One of our best hidden secrets

is that ageing is good.

We admire youth to lessen its pain.

Poor creatures.

But never dispair.

There is always someone

as unseemly as you

to chance upon

for comfort

on the way of all pulp.

Folk and Felines

So impressed when four legged creatures

stroll a long way to greet me.

Egyptian Gods accept me as a friend!

The first dog, fed by man,


“She feeds me delicious food,

she must be God!”

The first cat, fed by man,

accepted this treat differently:

“Mmm, she brings me such good food,

I must be God.”

A dog is prose

but a cat is poetry

someone said.

The ecco can be flat

though the day joins in properly

so it is superb

to have divine poems with tails

amongst friends.

My heart and that of the striped

sag bellied cat

down on the corner


when there is resonance

in the harp of our heaven.

Life is music.

It´s as simple as that.

Mutual friendship

flows between species.

Makes it easier to hold our hearts

when bullied with drivelled nonsense

of vicious human clans.

Thus it is necessary for the lovesick,

musicsick  or sociosick

(or whatever …

everything has a disease label


to have cats for the dear game

of feeling with all senses

sharing glances

grimaces, gestures

babbling, mewing

speaking cat language

complaining, stroking, touching

having a bite.

Making pure music

when time is ripe

the set of drums rejoices:

two heads

two behinds and eight feet.

Four eyed Odin

on the eight legged Sleipnir

one tail and eight

different seized legs

four toed and fingered

and four furry paws.

Health is mainly at risk

in the presence of monsters

that have practised

stiffness and depression

and fed themselves

on poisonous ancient misery

meticulously through the ages.



out of zink

with nature.

through the looking glass

in Gotland flowers change shape easily

turn out to be butterflies …

flowers taking to flight

are a common sight

and butterflies turned flowers

seals turn out to be rocks

but only occationally

rocks change into seals

such an event was recorded

in July 2006

our flower takes on wings and flies away

our butterfly on the other hand

feels deeply rooted

the rock waits patiently

for the right sunset

to turn seal again

inkfish blood

have retreated deep into oceanic forests
nameless creatures swimming so softly
crazy-bright animal-vegetation
another planet under the ocean skin
meeting our own wet deep oceanic depths
where fishy feelings make out and eat each other
an octopuss wrenching a heart loose in a bed of seaweed
… awe is all we got …

oceans in our screens

to be or not to be – is not the question
to be and have to be – is the thing

In the Swimming Pool

In the pool one is ageless

as if in formalin

not belonging to ones own species

let alone ones sex.

I read the signs

skin and fatigue

further swum than mine.

We swim together

same old route.

There is no other.

Sunbathed, floating

in a light blue drink.

As honorable

as can be.

We swim counter clockwise

provoking everything

against the rush of the sun

in order to slow down time.

We swim anticlockwise

while the water

is being sucked


down the drain


into the throat of time.


we say

and swim our circle.


does not let us down

that is the gospel.


say the snails

crawling their route.


says God

as someone dips

a shabby snail

in boiling oil.


say the worms

and eat the dove.


says time

the guillemots

away and dead.

Snow melts in unmapped roads.

Hostages of time

fondle sunbeams

breaking on the surface

forming angels in water

while the giantess drills her way

through the mountain

with a Checks’ drill

till the air of two districts


in a kiss.

The swimmer


through water.

The giantess

stretches herself

through the mountain.



in poetry.