SELECTED WORKS: FICTION

Oddfríður Marni Rasmussen: IKKI FYRR ENN TÁ Oddfríður Marni Rasmussen (1969) grew up in the village of Sandur on , the . He is a primary school teacher. He has authored 19 poetry collections, of which the first was published in 1994 and one is being published this year. Between 1998 and 2000, he attended ”Forfatterskolen”, a Writers’ Academy in Copenhagen. Oddfríður Marni Rasmussen is also one of two editors of the contemporary literary periodical ”Vencil”

He has been awarded the Faroese story of the one left behind which is so national M.A. Jacobsen’s Award for skillfully described. Not only is this a Title: Ikki fyrr enn tá fiction twice, and last year he won the frightening and heartfelt story, it is Pages: 288 Faroese Book Shop Association’s novel equally important to have such a story Publisher: Sprotin competition with the novel ”Ikki fyrr in . The story has all Year of publication: 2019 enn tá” (Not Until Then). In the motiva- the right ingredients and they all work English sample available tion the Committée says: ”With this well together to make up a fully new novel Faroese literature welcomes composed novel which leaves you with a new voice. It is a convincing novel a wish to read it again. The story is written by a convincing author about exceptionally moving, shocking, sad, an important subject which needs to honest, realistic, optimistic and be expressed”. The story is about losing relevant. The novel was published 22 a spouse to brain cancer, and it’s the February 2019 by Sprotin.

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: IKKI FYRR ENN TÁ

NOT UNTIL THEN

Translated by Marita Thomsen

4. on Elsa’s face showed obvious signs of stress and Not until all the tests were taken could they see for bewilderment. A blonde lock caressed her cheek. certain that there was a tumour in the brain. Not Her eyes looked empty. Her mouth crimped. The until then did Elsa really start changing. Then teeth dry behind the lips. And a dark blush circled there was proof beyond refute. both eyes. Not until then. Almost crimson. Her body was strapped to a stretcher slowly sliding into the scanner. Elsa breathed heavily. The only A battery of tests followed. Scanners. Back and audible sounds came from the motor conveying forth between departments and doctors, between the stretcher into the scanner and Elsa’s slow doctors and departments. Flights to for breathing. The sterile hospital smell reeked of further tests at the central hospital in Copenhagen death rather than life. A pungent emanation from for shorter and longer periods of time, and time warm equipment and patient fluids assaulting still hadn’t come. Just illness. the nostrils. Sometimes my thoughts skipped from And no time. the sound of the scanner to the hospital stench. It Time grew more and more alien. It had not fixed felt as if all my senses had been separated and now beat. Sprinted when it felt like it, crawled when existed independently. it felt like it, and all we could do was follow the “Where are you?” time we had at any given time. “I’m here, love.” One thing was that we didn’t manage to keep up “Where?” with time, but in the wake of time came all these “Here,” I said turning away from the apparatus strange words. that had eaten Elsa in order to shine through her Metastases, body and find the tumour and then spit her out glia, again like a prune pit. The machine was supposed meninges, to take images of the tumour, so the doctors could oligodendroglioma, see precisely where the growth was and how big it glioplastoma multiforme, was and, not least, what the prospects were. fourth grade, The future. Prednisolone, “Lie still. Don’t speak,” said a loudspeaker. adrenal gland cortex, All the tests were drawn-out. It felt like abuse, chemotherapy, violent abuse. Attacks. Time became alien. neurone, Neither Elsa nor I could recognise time. It always astrocytomas. passed too quickly, and though we tried to stretch Like a shopping list, so long. The words frothed it, use it sparingly, it ran away from us faster than in the mouth every time I had to say them. These we knew how to run. were all words I couldn’t relate to human beings, We had a barrage of terms thrown in our faces, and certainly not Elsa. There was nothing tried or as if the words were a Sunday dinner shopping true about them. Elsa had always been anything list. Elsa sat beside me holding my hand. I could but those words. She didn’t understand the words see it in her face, I could visualize it, and I could either. In her head there was only death, and see that she didn’t understand a word of what how he would get her, and when he would come was being said, and I tried to write down all the and lead her into heaven. And how he would be words, so that I could look them up online when dressed when he arrived to hold her heart in his we got home. The uncomprehending expression cold hand. The black cloak and that curled hand

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: FICTION

Carl Jóhan Jensen: SÆR – EIN FUGLABÓK AV GLOYMSK Carl Jóhan Jensen, born in Tórshavn in 1957, is one of the most original and provocative writers on the Faroese literary scene. Poet and novelist, Carl Jóhan Jensen is also a prominent figure in the public debate on culture and politics in the Faroe Islands

Since his publishing début in the work has appeared in literary early eighties, he has produced eight journals and anthologies in Denmark, volumes of poetry, five novels, a , , the Netherlands, collectionof essays, as well as Germany and the USA. Title: satirical rhymes, and he is a regular In 2017, a collection of his poems was Sær – ein fuglabók av gloymsku and respected reviewer of the latest translated to Portugese and pub- Pages: 388 in Faroese arts. lished in Brazil, and a chapter from Publisher: Sprotin Carl Jóhan Jensen has been awarded his 2005 novel, ”Tales of Devilry” was Year of publication: 2017 the Faroese M.A. Jacobsen Literature featured in the Nordic anthology ”The Prize three times, and is a five time Dark Blue Winter Overcoat”. English sample available nominee for the prestigious Nordic Carl Jóhan Jensen celebrated his Council Literature Prize, most 60th birthday in December 2017 by recently in 2016 for his novel ”Eg síggi publishing his fifth novel: teg betur í myrkri” (2014). Jensen’s ”Sær – Ein fuglabók av gloymsku”.

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: SÆR – EIN FUGLABÓK AV GLOYMSKU

AN ORNITHOLOGY OF OBLIVION

Translated by Marita Thomsen

1. no luggage into the hazy greenness gleaming off Sweat clings to my body. I could turn down the the walls. heat, but instead I’m lying here on top of a pale There is no legible way out, though. Tonight. Fog grey quilt. Huddled against the slats of a gilded chokes the town. footboard. One foot off the bed, sole pressed Inside I see myself etched, as I mentioned, in a against the side of the mattress. My bent leg draws windowpane, because a flush ceiling light shines a gently sloping convex bow along the footboard, its sallow light on me. Over this corpse of mine its weight tugs at the mound so the slit peeks with its mottled pallid hide, its hideous thickset through a tuft of dark hair, ajar. I have curled appearance. the right leg up under me. My left hand rests on And in the gloom where the rays don’t quite the calf right below the knee joint, fingers splayed stretch, it is as if a silhouette emerges behind me across the shin. The wrist on my other arm is and slips out the door in the background. wedged between thigh and torso, and the hand is To my relief. clenched, as if it were hiding something in its fist But then there is that other thing, whether I dare while concealing the lower breast, but the other to know what the heart wants to tell me now, or one, the upper breast, sags a little with its large if my brain shies too far from the silence inside. irregular pale-red nipple. From all the things unsaid by the others also I observe myself like this, etched in the window- resting here tonight. At the hotel. pane, and I do it now without any sensation And there is no need to tell you, returned to this that another me is haunting me from in there. It shrouded town that the thing with me is, firstly, I strikes me that you can’t see how lame I am like never found the strength for release in anything if this. That one leg is shorter than the other and it didn’t give me the space to deny it, at least once how misshapen the foot really is. On the other and preferably repeatedly. Loving for example. Or hand, the skin is oddly pale to behold on the body, believing for that matter. Otherwise they both feel like bird skin. I might just as well never have left so oppressive and definitive. this place. Not been away all these years. Or for Secondly, I haven’t been much for thinking. Not that matter I could as easily be staring at a corpse that I am dim or anything. I have just mostly re- in that windowpane. That is how clear the full lied on what I sensed in the moment, rather than frontal of myself is, cheek resting on a spray of on thoughts that last. Trusted that intelligence. Or black hair. The eyes are grey, almost like polished maybe I was, all things considered, what Álvhild mirrors, under long and, towards the nose bridge, thought of me, she whose name was aunt when fairly bushy brows. The face has a vulnerable look she moved herself in with us back then, in Brek- of meditation, of something pent up. But you can’t kugøta, under the pretext of keeping house for me read anything else from it. It was always like that and the old man. But in my young mind she was with me. What couldn’t be read, didn’t exist. And a crow. I still shudder at the whiff of loneliness I don’t have the imagination to conjure up mental that clung to her. images either, even of what I know. Say, for She said to me on the very first day she came, example, the area around the hotel, the harbour “You are an angel. Neither cold nor hot.” and warehouses below the lighthouse, well, it’s all It was that spring in the early 1950s, when the there of course, hidden somewhere. Right where other one took to the attic chamber. The one it was the night before last. Clearly legible in the whose name was mum then, but who was a dove, windowpane when I came to Tórshavn from the and week after week was busy fading into the airport and here to the hotel. Bringing practically heavens bristling with resentful cooing.

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: FICTION

Photo: Kdm-foto

Marjun S. Kjelnæs: ÓENDALIGA VERA Marjun S. Kjelnæs, born in 1974, is a trained nurse, but has been working as a full-time writer for some years. With a number of 1st place wins in short story competitions, Marjun S. Kjelnæs was awarded a 3-year grant from the Faroese cultural fund in 2009

Predominantly known for her works in a film manuscript, lyrics for singer- children’s and Young Adults literature, song­writer Eivør, published a poetry Kjelnæs is also an author of a number collection ”Opna” and in July this year of poetry collections and short stories ”Óendaliga vera” – her first novel for and published her first play ”Tóm adults – was published for which rúm” (Empty rooms) in 2014, which she has won a novel competition. A garnered many positive remarks from number of Kjelnæs’ stories have been Title: Óendaliga vera audience and critics alike. She is very translated into other languages such Pages: 310 versatile and productive, and during as French, Norwegian, Danish, and Publisher: BFL the last two years she has written Icelandic. Year of publication: 2016 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: ÓENDALIGA VERA

“I know nothing of the role I play I only know that it’s mine. I can’t exchange it.“ Wisłava Szymborska (Life while-you-wait)

Translated by Marita Thomsen

(leon) words for every occasion and every feeling, I also The Postman learnt that early on: “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” Well, somewhere along In the beginning I wrote my name in small letters: the way mine went out. Somewhere I veered off leon. And then I just kept on doing it. It was track. In my internal desert I take no notice of easier for everyone, I think. Easier to distinguish paths, be they broad or narrow. “…Their deeds me from Him: Leon the good, the mild, the fair. amount to nothing; their images are but wind He, who was my grandfather, whom I loved the and confusion.” way so many others loved Him. For a long time. The way one tends to love heroes and saints. A lot It is Saturday today and I am off work. I drive could be said about my grandfather, and still is, north on black asphalt. It is supposedly summer, but by others, not me. I remember granddad with but the cold is not minded to let go. A hail shower my childhood feelings, I sense him all the way woke me this morning, but once I had gulped my back to before I had words to express what I felt. half-stirred cup of instant and ready for the road Later I tried both not to be like him and to be stepped out on the flagstones in the yard, like him. But I failed miserably at both tests, astonishingly, the sun had broken through the shamed and failed myself and others. clouds, still, hail crunched under my soles. Now I am nothing, not really. I am a I accelerate on the long slope down to postman, who carries messages to people. I take Hvítanes and don’t slow down again, I speed unopened letters and parcels to them, without through the villages: Kollafjørður, Hósvík, knowing what is inside, stuff dragged all the way Hvalvík, Streymnes. I am not in a hurry, but here from every corner of the world: China, USA, I can’t be bothered to slow down. There is never Europe. The weight in my hands tells me a little. anyone on the road at this time in the morning at Books, yes, but what about? Gadgets, sure, but the weekends. Heavy-laden family cars streaming what for? And then all the things you have no clue out of Tórshavn to visit grannies and granddads about. I don’t even guess, just trudge on in the in the villages will not be loaded for another few dark, I don’t really feel anything anymore, I don’t hours, not until late morning, when children and want to know anything either. What difference is adults slowly start to wake up. And youths fleeing it to man whether he conquers or renounces the the lifeless provinces to party in the barely entire world, and whether he looses or keeps his animated capital will not be piling into their cars soul? None. So I have let go of both, and that is until late afternoon. I pull my earbuds out, this how come I don’t hang on to anything, worldly or mercury morning stillness is all mine. There is, of spiritual. I no longer make any efforts, neither to course, the possibility that I might run over some change anything, nor come to terms with animal, a suicidal sheep or a lost hare, but I still anything. Everything that I thought mattered let the hand in the speedometer quiver between slipped through my fingers. I am leon with small one hundred and one hundred and ten km/h. letters, a 52-year-old postman. One day after the The bridge across Streymurin appears other takes me by my limp hand and leads me in the horizon, I will be driving across the Atlantic sluggishly towards evening. Ocean in a minute, though I will only actually I have unearthed a song I used to listen be moving from one minute island to another. to when I was younger. I didn’t actually look for The petrol station on the other side of the sea it, for me that would have meant making a welcomes me with crimson arms – I need a pack decision about stepping back in time, and good of King’s. rarely comes of such decisions. But when I, by “Smoking kills” adorns the pack in chance, saw that somebody had posted the song to thick black letters. My dad never quit either. their profile, I accepted that the decision had been I light up and smoke one hunched on the made for me. Now I listen to it on my phone, a stonewall encircling the station, staring straight tune from times gone by. I remember the lyrics. ahead. They are planning to plant a forest here The melody is dreadful, but I have always paid somewhere, have also gotten their hands on some more attention to lyrics than to music. Have money for it. I try to imagine thick trunks and rarely ever taken any notice of the whole picture the quiet between trees. I always enjoyed of anything. Of course a passage from scripture wandering deep into some forest when I was would pop into my head right now: “… Now living in Denmark. Go off track. Stand still. All I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as ordinary sounds were suddenly gone, replaced by I am fully known.” Leon the first still drones on delicate rustling and birdsong. The light changed like voice-over to my thoughts. The scripture has colour too. farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: CRIME

Bjørk Maria : IKKI FYRR ENN TÁ Bjørk Maria Kunoy is born in 1991 and raised in Danmark and the Faroe Islands. She has studied law at the university in Copenhagen, but has for the past couple of years lived and worked in the Faroe Islands. ”Vit, Føroya fólk” is her debut novel

”Vit, Føroya fólk” is a political crime are not met by the Danish government. novel.The governmental coalition Thus, the Faroese people are indiffer- presided by Magnus Tindholm has ent to the case, and disputes within prepared a bill establishing a consti- the parties threaten the foundation tution for the Faroe Islands, requiring of the referendum of the Faroese Title: Vit, Føroya fólk a referendum the following spring. The Constitution, Føroya grundlóg. Several Pages: 286 Danish government is displeased and characters take the reader through Publisher: Forlagið Norðan cannot accept the bill as it provides the plot including the heads of the Year of publication: 2019 the Faroese parliament, Løgtingið, parties that form the Faroese govern- English sample available with the highest authority in the Faroe ment, the vessel owner of the arrested Islands. The four Faroese govern- fishing vessels and a young female mental parties are seeking to chal- civil servant. The novel goes through lenge the framework of the collision their political, emotional and personal between Faroe Islands and Denmark development throughout the story and in order to exploit self-interests that challenges these on various accounts.

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: VIT, FØROYA FÓLK

WE, THE FAROESE PEOPLE

Translated by Lena Anderssen

“The Prime Minister has a press conference Mon- smaller rooms upstairs. The recent media emphasis day morning,” Anna said to Jákup, who sat next on the ship scandal and Denmark’s role had to her staring at something on his phone. Anna caused the public to show concern and take part looked out the window. As they drove by, she in the discussion regarding the Faroese Constitu- noticed the waterfalls as they cheerfully ran down tion. Djóni and Janus Havnará were sitting at into the pasture east of Kaldbaksvegur. They were opposite ends of the panel and between them sat on a charter bus on their way back to Tórshavn. a professor of social science at the university, and They, Vision Bank, had organized an informative an economist. The four of them were to discuss meeting in Vágar that afternoon. They had called the Constitution for the next hour and a half. the events Constitution Conferences, which were Kári had also arranged for a Danish expert in to take place in various parts of the country over Supreme Court affairs to come to the Faroes and the next three weeks prior to the referendum. To- explain how the Danish Constitution could be night the meeting was to be held at “The Cottage” loosely interpreted to the advantage point of an in Tórshavn. independent Faroe Islands, within the framework “A last attempt to stop the votes, I imagine.” of the Danish Kingdom. Kári was pleased to see Jákup sounded indifferent and continued to stare that nearly all of the news media had shown up, into his phone. including a journalist from the Jutland News as “Is everything alright?” A brief moment passed well as a Danish radio journalist. before he answered. “Sólrun is pregnant.” “So what did you think of the Danish opinion Startled, Anna felt her pulse throb in her chest. poll this morning? They’re probably quite fond She also felt disappointed, even though she of us after all.” Laura smiled as she read the poll didn’t have the right to be nor did she expect this results from her phone. Nearly seventy percent reaction. were against the Faroe Islands leaving the Danish “We were together one night. It was just the one Kingdom. time. I felt lonely. It was shortly before that first “The Danes can hardly tell you where the Faroe Vision Bank conference, when we…” He paused, Islands are located or whether or not we ride horse because what could he say? Nothing had happened carriages to work, but still they don’t want to get between the two of them, even though every cell in rid of us.” Kári laughed peevishly, pulled his long their bodies was telling them otherwise. bangs behind his ear and took a sip of his beer. “And what are you going to do?” Anna tried to “I think you’re too hard on the Danes. It’s only sound as if she didn’t care what the answer would natural for them to tend to their own interests be. first and foremost. We’re the only ones doing other “I don’t know…” Jákup sighed and looked at things instead of tending to our interests.” Anna Anna. smiled, but Kári didn’t seem to like this much. “Maybe I won’t get another chance to become a “It’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about father.” Anna nodded understandingly but could the Faroes and the Faroese people as we and us.” hardly speak. Jákup saw she was upset. Anna was taken aback by Jákup’s words. “True, perhaps I haven’t felt at home here until “On the other hand, we couldn’t stand each other now,” she answered after a moment of thought. these past few years. We did and said things that “Cheers! And welcome back to the backwater.” are hard to put behind us.” Jákup stared again Kári laughed and pushed the beer towards the at his phone and Anna felt ashamed for being centre of the coffee table. Anna, Djóni and Laura pleased with his ambiguity. Jákup gently placed clinked their bottles together and made a toast. his hand on top of hers, which rested on the seat Everyone drew back their bottles to drink, except between them. Anna stroked his palm with her for Jákup who continued to hold his up while fingers as her eyes turned again to the waterfalls he contemplatively looked around at the people outside the window. sitting with him. When his gaze stopped at Anna, he stared straight into her eyes. He was silent for a The Cottage had a large dugout basement where a brief moment but then got up and began to ad-lib panel stood at one end and café chairs and tables right then and there, his beer in the air. With a throughout the rest of the area. The venue was strong and clear voice, the words chimed out of already full of people a good ten minutes before him. It was hard to believe that he was making the event had started and many were sitting in the it up on the spot.

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: CRIME

Jógvan Isaksen: ANATHEMA Jógvan Isaksen, born in 1950, holds an MA in Nordic Literature and has taught Faroese literature and language at the Uni- versity of Copenhagen since 1986. He has published a range of books about Faroese literature and painting, and is pri- marily know for his crime novels set in the Faroe Islands

Isaksen’s first crime novel, ”Blíð er novels in the series about investigating summarnátt á Føroyalandi” published journalist Hannis Martinsson, and his in 1990, made him a household name. latest novel ”Heljarportur” is his fourth Since then he has written crime novels in the series about detective William for adults and children, and his works Hammer. A TV series based on the have been translated into Danish, crime novels about investigating German, Icelandic, English, Norwegian, journalist Hannis Martinsson is also and a translation into French is in in the pipeline. Title: Anathema process. He has written 10 crime Pages: 293 Publisher: Marselius Year of publication: 2018 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: ANATHEMA

ANATHEMA

Translated by Lena Anderssen

One Friday night William is at a bar on the main street when an unruly man from Mykines spills a beer on his lap. William knocks the man down and from that moment on incidents begin to occur. A Russian Mafioso tries to kill William and it’s revealed that the incidents are connected to the Faroese fish exports to Russia. Gradually, disputes between the Ukraine and Russia come into play and it’s discovered that a Fabergé egg is in the Faroe Islands, namely in Mykines.“

Friday, July 13 good he was at getting women in the sack. It was no fun having to listen to this kind of talk, but The first time he jostled me, I ignored it. A short he was so vociferous that you didn’t have a choice. while later he did it again and this time I got a Gunnleyg had gone to the bathroom and now here splash of beer down my shoulder. I turned around I sat staring into the eyes of someone who mostly in my chair and told him to watch what he was reminded me of an angry bull. doing. He was in the process of shouting some- “You’re not to decide what I should or shouldn’t thing to the man standing next to him in the bar. do,” he stressed. But he heard me nevertheless, turned his head and He bent forward and glared straight into my eyes. stared down at me with his red eyes. His face was so close that the stench of old beer “Did you say something?” flooded down towards me. I waved my right hand He was both big and hefty, around forty and in front of my nose to get the smell away. wearing a black leather jacket, light blue shirt “Are you trying to shoo me away?” His voice was and jeans. His dark hair was trimmed down to lower now but it made him seem even more dan- a millimetre in length. gerous. “Is an office rat from Tórshavn going to tell “You spilled beer on me. Next time be more care- me what to do? A spoiled coward like you who’s ful,” I said calmly. never been in the fishing industry is in no position “Are you trying to teach me how to behave? You to tell us fishermen what’s what. We are the ones probably don’t think I have any manners, eh?” carrying this society on our shoulders.” He scowled at me as he took a sip of his beer. Some of the words had a tendency to curl up “I just asked you to stop jostling me and spilling in his mouth and his speech was incoherent. beer on me,” I said, still keeping my calm. “Leave it be, Arngrímur,” his friend said putting his hand on the angry man’s shoulder. “It isn’t It was Friday night and Gunnleyg and I had worth it.” been to the cinema and seen Mission Impossible You could tell by his throaty pronunciation that featuring Tom Cruise. It was Gunnleyg who had English wasn’t his mother tongue. I suspected he insisted. I myself didn’t care too much for movies knew some Faroese; otherwise this Arngrímur was like that, but for Gunnleyg it couldn’t get any drunker than I thought. better. After the film we decided to go have a beer The angry man didn’t seem to be listening much before heading home. So we had gone to Blábar to what was being said. He jerked his shoulder, on the main street because there was usually good causing his friend’s hand to slide away, all while music there. And the music was quite alright keeping his eyes steadfast on me. – blues and jazz, but there were quite a lot of “No arrogant arse from Tórshavn is going to tell people and when we arrived there were only seats me what to do.” available right next to the packed bar. Already “Calm down,” I said. “I only asked you to stop when I walked in I had noticed the big man, spilling beer on me.” who was clearly not subdued or sober. The person “So, you want me to calm down? Not spill beer he was talking to seemed more even-tempered on you?” He suddenly seemed to be all smiles. But but he was chubby and didn’t have an ounce then the next thing I knew he knocked the rest of of hair on his head, which made me think he his beer onto my lap and broke out in laughter. didn’t look Faroese. He was wearing a long black A second after that I thrust the fingers of my right leather coat, which wasn’t typical attire here on hand into his diaphragm and when he bent over the islands. However, the big man was speaking like a pocket knife, I punched him under the to him in Faroese, and so loudly that you could chin. He made a couple of stifling noises as he let barely hear the music. He bragged mostly about go of his beer glass, clasping his throat with both trips to Greenland and Newfoundland and how hands before dropping to the floor.

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: POETRY

Jóanes Nielsen: GUDAHØVD Jóanes Nielsen, born in 1953, made his debut in 1978 with the poetry collection ”Trettandi mánaðin” . Since then he has written several plays, short stories, poetry collections and novels, many of which have been translated into other Nordic languages

Nielsen’s works deal with political and Nordic Council Literature Prize in existential issues, with alternating use 2013. The sequel ”Bommhjarta” was of irony and sarcasm to scrutinise the published by MS in 2016. ”Gudahøvd” is construct of society. Jóanes Nielsen Nielsen’s most recent poetry collec- has been awarded the tion and has awarded him with another M.A. Jacobsen’s Award in literature on nomination for the Nordic Council two occasions, lastly for his novel from Literature Prize. Rights are sold to Title: Gudahøvd 2011 ”Brahmadellarnir” for which he Denmark and Norway. Pages: 84 was also nominated the Publisher: MS Year of publication: 2017 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: GUDAHØVD

GUDAHØVD

Translated by Matthew Landrum

GLASS HOUSES BRUISED POEM WAITING ROOM I’m thinking about the Price brothers –– He’s waiting for a liver October 14, 2012 yes them –– the distinguished celebrity chefs, now he’s pickled his own. the pair of them the dignified embodiment of On the outskirts of existence A common chiffchaff hit a kitchen window in distinguished cooking. he dreams that someone who’s a DNA match Norðdepil. Firmaments of whipped cream, will be hit by a car Three days before, the same bird had been banded babbling brooks of gravy, or choke on a fishbone. at Lista Bird Observatory just south of Stavanger. heartstrings sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. The crash was barely audible Maybe the sibling chefs provision the royal family and maybe the chiffchaff was already dead on holidays, ANOTHER WAITING ROOM when rough northern hands cautiously picked him listen patiently as her majesty the queen spins yarns The night lost its keys up perhaps about the Knud, the hereditary prince of an emtpy pram is waiting for Jesus with a glove and carried him into the kitchen. Denmark, empty vessels are waiting for all of us. There was no first aid equipment up there in the or how her grandfather once attempted a coup Along the milky way leaky taps drip north –– d’etat madness. no cervical collar for the bird’s twisted neck, and didn’t even lose his succession rights over it. They sold the stars not even an oxygen mask to fit over a tiny beak. I mean, if I got eighty million krona a year from slandered the rain For three days his nine-gram body drifted along on the state, disrupted the night’s system of light. the wind all I would do is regurgitate old tales and piss and Heaven’s a nursing home for the gods approximately 850 kilometers from Stavanger to moan. nevermind Norðdepil. but the angels Then he hit the kitchen window. Didn’t he know At the bar last night, the flautists of our shining dreams that humans live in glass houses? a stranger got in my face. I demand to know the names of their killers! He called me a poetaster and a damned prole. Lucky for me, a woman intervened. DOORPOST She said she had a thing for poetasters and the THE BRIDGE When my children were still growing proletariat I would carve their height into the doorpost, but hated idiots. What is a village? with their name Two houses measurements and date Oh, what a rotten world. One on each side of the river beneath the mark. Oh, what a pinched life scraping by as a proletar- Spanned by a bridge Now that they are full-fledged and gone, iat, The rest is details. I ask myself always having to worry, But the bridge is a town’s hope. which doorpost I should carve my loneliness into. to be sneered at, to scrimp and save each penny, to have people shove in my face the idea that the THE HEART individual has the right to choose. The heart trusty bodyguard of the body There comes a day when your kids get the taste for its four chambers alcohol. registering joy and torment Sometimes you hear them crying as it pumps out calendarless days. and ask what’s wrong? The heart will not lay down in the straw Their answer: to take in the scent of loam in the aorta. you wouldn’t understand, you fucking prole. The heart doesn’t have a babysitter to take over on Saturday nights. I know that too much anxiety can break a poem, Everytime the ear hears a Keith Richard riff that it should be undaunted, able to throw itself or sees eyes sees pubic hair bristling from the edges from a cliff, of panties, trusting the angels of heaven to bear it up. it grows clamorous and grips the chest’s rim with all And should the angels fail to show, its might. the bruised poem may yet find shelter Every second where theirinjuries can get patched up the whole life through, while somewhere the Price brothers season the royal its bloody chambers are filled and squeezed out. sauce to taste. Just one missed beat would be one too many and death would wall up its entrances and exits.

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: POETRY

Katarina Nolsøe: LEITANIN EFTIR AT VERA Katarina Nolsøe is born in 1964 and is an actress by profession. In 2006 she had a depression and was admitted to the phychiatric ward several times

In her debut book ”Leitanin eftir credibly happy to be part of the people at vera” she describes her journey who understand Faroese: everything through depression, fear and anxiety. In can be said and written in Faroese”. a literary blog, editor Marna Jacobsen Katarina Nolsøe gives an account of writes: ”the book is exceptionally good, how she slowly returns to her normal everything is a coherent whole; brilliant self and learns to live with the scars of illustrations, brilliant poems and they depression. The Book is published by are so well written that it makes me in- Sprotin Title: Leitanin eftir at vera Pages: 52 Publisher: Sprotin Year of publication: 2019 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: LEITANIN EFTIR AT VERA

THE SEARCH FOR BEING

Translated by Lena Anderssen

4: THE MOTHER CREATURE Tries to make decisions in the tiny pieces of gravel disappear into the night. that sift through the fingers. Become more and more beside yourself with terror. A constantly tired person. Tries, but gets lost in the ruins. Your heartbeat wants to choke you. A disconnected mother. The nightmare is alive, black and endless. You are there, but you don’t know how. The face freezes in a mask of numb anxiety. It’s hard not to be in the present moment. The mask is glued on tight and creates an uneasy It’s hard not being able to reach them. atmosphere. 5: SLEEP HAS POWER Sorrow. The mother creature knows it. They are somewhere else then when their mother Her patience has almost run out. Sleep has power. came to a standstill. She knows it all too well. Heard him laugh at night, when the body was a Their words are disjointed. jail, the ribs the bars of the prison cell, and the You only understand bits. Wishes it knew how to laugh out loud again. painful shadow was ever so present. The mood is not heavy. Wishes it knew how to hug back with its long Accepts. feminine arms. Sleep, like the all-encompassing ocean, lives a life Understands. Wishes it knew how to be something in itself. of its own. Has no words to speak with. Blow thousands of colourful balloons in thousands Is like the ebb and flow of the tide. A stabbing pain cuts deep into the bone. of shapes up into the air. Is a wave that gushes forth with rest and relief and “Daddy, look at this drawing.” Just be a little poop and fart on everything. recedes so hard that it dries the ocean floor. Not mommy. Forget everything about trying to control it all. Dries the sleepless brain and the heartbeat remains. But you understand. Forget everything about “should’ve” and “could’ve” Twisted tension remains. A budding feeling of love awakens. and guilt. Twisted thoughts: a little devil sits on your shoulder Tears. Just jump right in, swim out to its desires and suck and whispers: in food for growth. “Tonight you will not sleep. Tonight you will not sleep.” You’re crying! But the strength isn’t there. You see the stones of the labyrinth walls slowly begin Can’t see beyond the ruins. You want peace and wait for the tide to rise. to loosen and the light begin to peek in. Constantly tired. The dark hindrances come tumbling down. And afraid. Wait for the giant wave that seeps through the You see at that very moment where you are: see the house walls. fallen rocks around you and a fog-filled abyss below Shaking, takes the pills necessary to create some Out into the street, where people are. you. peace. It tickles out through the ribs. You sit down at the edge. Disappears under the blankets, becomes invisible. Words awaken. Let the misty drops of fog wet your tongue. Good words. The maternal instinct is in the water. Even though the intestines feel like vomiting all the But they are never spoken, because the fear is A mother creature sits at the edge. numbing pills into the toilet. always close. Rivotril You do not know when the tide is high or when the The house: breathes. Aripiprazol tide is low. Becomes more and more a home. Mirtazapin. The mother creature tries to recover the ruins. A foul-smelling squirt into the sewage. Recover the little everyday tasks as if they were like the big, fallen rocks. Rivotril Aripiprazol The former female omniscient and all-encompassing Mirtazapin. face knocks on the door, wants to be everywhere at But you don’t do it, because you know that in the the same time. intestines is an interaction between the strange Wants to give everything at the same time. chemicals in these pills, the good intentions and the Wants to know who is coming and who is going. good, unspoken words. Wants to know what they are doing and when. You don’t do it because you continuously swallow Wants to live through knowing how they are doing. smaller amounts. Wants so much. The sandpaper in your mouth diminishes. Tries to make decisions in the midst of all the You lie in darkness and are invisible. tumbled rocks. You fear closing your eyes and not being able to

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: POETRY

Pixelera

Anna Malan Jógvansdóttir: KORALBRUNI Anna Malan Jógvansdóttir, born 1995, has just finished her two year course at Forfatterskolen (Authors’ Academy) in Denmark

She made her debut in 2015 with herself out of human nature and into the poetry collection ”Undirfloyma”. nature and let nature take control. In 2016 Anna Malan was awarded With this poetry collection Anna Malan the National Culture Prize for young wants to remind us that we need to talents. Her second poetry collection reconsider our place on Earth, and ”Korallbruni” was released in 2017 that earthly matter is not just dead by Forlagið Eksil. The poet says that and idle but a part of everything, not ”Korallbruni” is an attempt to write least ourselves. Title: Koralbruni Pages: 48 Publisher: Forlagið Eksil Year of publication: 2018 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: KORALBRUNI

CORAL FEVER

Translated by Lena Anderssen

petrified I swim towards land the digging my nails into the rocky ocean shore I the ocean: the stones cut my fingers am “I hope your calcium is strong the blood runs crimson a storm is coming” slowly down the obscure darkness the sea snail heart: as I lose my grip “I can hear it sing through the spiral shape” green-brown crabs gather fix their claws the ocean: into the cold meat peace waits in the deep-sea sand sinking gash open the ribcage “Undulating I bury myself mercilessly under further feel the graininess and stick against the slime further throb quietly in the sand” away the sea snails catch my scent from crawl through the ribcage the fattening themselves on the blue sunbeam muscle the sea snail heart: “dig myself up I feel the new current am wash fondly white lying at the bottom skin ice white a slimy snail I blood wounds underneath am eyes stare the heart’s shell yellow empty blue I lay my roe I am deep in the seaweed forest am white crimson I my heart am my carries yellow” blood the skeleton and on the outside

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: POETRY

Tóroddur Poulsen: TAKRENNUTÓNAR Tóroddur Poulsen, born in 1957 in Tórshavn, is a poet, musi- cian and graphic artist. He made his debut in 1984 and has since then been very prolific and a characteristic voice in Nordic literature

Poulsen’s works are provocative and been living for several years. humorous in character, which he car- His works have been translated into ries out with an acute awareness of Danish, Swedish, German and English expression. His multi-pronged and have appeared in a number of approach to the arts bears mark on literary journals. his poetic work, which in turn is His latest poetry collection characteristic in its audio-visual ”Takrennutónar” was published earlier expression. this year by Sprotin, and in a review it Title: Takrennutónar Tóroddur Poulsen has been awarded was said stated that ”the poems are Pages: 104 the Faroese Culture Prize in 2012 and so light and elegant that they almost Publisher: Sprotin the M.A. Jacobsen’s Award twice. He evaporate as you are reading them. Year of publication: 2019 has also been nominated for the What trickers the reader’s imagination English sample available Nordic Council Literature Prize on is when something unexpected is being several occasions and has received introduced”. awards in Denmark where he has

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: TAKRENNUTÓNAR

TAKRENNUTÓNAR

Translated by Matthew Lamdrum

10. 31. 88. in through a haze come sharp memories he ate those of days you weren’t allowed outside his wife’s days and were fed with the gods favorite plant every you’d learned by heart and died oarstroke who do you belong to tonight the very same made there’s no song you want to hear plant sprouted history your one naked wish from his grave of which you are ashamed a year later is for one square acre of sleep his widow 11. the angels wear spotless clothing ate it a thought the day can only conceive of itself and lived or a as something that looks like tomorrow a happy snowball we used to eat ships for breakfast life until startled and bombers for dinner she reached 105 the cold on sundays they served us icebergs at which point out of me topped with aircraft carriers for dessert she regurgitated and i moon rockets and starships were fattening the plant warmed up so we only had those at christmastime back but on easter we boiled hellfire and eggs into her diary and rolled them out to the latest front lines 13. i’ve seen 100. birds 63. with sleek fly past it isn’t hard speed my window for the bright souled lowering and wondered to walk in darkness thunderheads if they had this isn’t some kind keep pace a message of contradiction above for me it’s just that the hearse that i just the bright souled as it makes its way couldn’t understand have good eyesight to the valley but maybe that was so do the unenlightened where the the message for that matter gaping but only in fair weather grave and they don’t constantly feel awaits 24. the need to reassure themselves even after words that they are unenlightened it’s filled drift not like those winsome few the clouds down who always have to remind us wait to open from the sky just how bright souled they are they’ll need like their rain epiphanies 83. to cast but before i read a pall over i can some words the mourners grasp about me as they make them on a wall their way i get the same words back home all wet i’d once written about someone i didn’t like

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: CHILDREN & YOUNG ADULTS

NORDIC COUNCIL CHILDREN & YOUNG PEOPLE LITERATURE PRIZE NOMINEE

Photo: Amy Hansen

Rakel Helmsdal: MILJULØTUR Rakel Helmsdal (b. 1966) made her literary debut in 1995 and for almost 25 years has written books that have become part of the upbringing of many Faroese children

Most – including Miljuløtur (”Milja’s ælaboganum (”She Rowed Towards Moments”) – take place in the fictional the Rainbow”), and in 2018, together town of Port Janua, which has become with Áslaug Jónsdóttir and Kalle a well-known universe for many Güettler, she was awarded the Icelandic readers. Rakel has also become a Literature Prize in the children’s and well-known name in Nordic literature young people’s literature category for for children and young people. In 2016, Skrímsli í vanda (”Monsters in Trouble”). she entered the IBBY Honour List and Earlier this year, her musical fairy tale received the West Nordic Council’s ”Veiða Vind” from 2011 was performed Children’s and Youth Literature Prize and narrated by the Title: Miljuløtur for the book Hon, sum róði eftir London Symphony Orchestra. Pages: 142 Publisher: BFL Year of publication: 2018

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: MILJULØTUR

MILJULØTUR

Text from norden.org

With her stories about Milja, Rakel Helmsdal so fundamental that both children and adults enters the core of the child’s mind with a credible, can recognise Milja’s emotional roller-coaster trips beautiful and stylish depiction of Milja’s life. The caused by the small things in everyday life. book is made up of twelve stories in which twelve- Between the individual stories are small breathing year-old Milja talks about her experiences over the spaces where time stands still, while space is past five years. The reader is introduced to Milja’s provided for orientation in the dramatis personae emotional states, provoked by everyday events such and the world of the book, which are presented for as a scout camp, tobogganing on a winter’s day, or reflection. In these breathing spaces, the illustra- a visit to her grandmother – events in which the tor Kathrina Skarðsá augments Milja’s role as a reader, together with Milja, is given an opportu- narrator by adding small, quite childish drawings nity to feel loss, joy, fellowship, guilt, loneliness, that serve as guides for the reader. The more etc. nuanced drawings, which are found both on the book cover and as elements in the various narra- The child is given a voice in these stories, which tives, are on the other hand obviously created by show confidence in the child as a thinking and an adult, and add emotional depth to the stories. reflecting being. Milja is a girl who is sensitive The narratives, in text and pictures, are beautiful, and conscientious, yet robust and energetic. She integrated stories, but they are given a boost when sees people, and has empathy with those closest they are linked with each other with a thread of to her, and sympathy with those who do not fit in, small remarks and small things that are repeated for example due to psychological problems – and and create a whole. she also manages to act on these impulses. The portrayal of human beings in the book is

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: CHILDREN & YOUNG ADULTS Bárður Oskarsson BÁRÐUR OSKARSSON

Bárður Oskarsson: Hilbert og Bob eru vinir. TRÆIÐ Men Hilbert er ein snedigur snigil, og Bob veit ikki ordiliga, TRÆIÐ um hann skal trúgva øllum, Bárður Oskarsson, born in 1972, is asum Faroese Hilbert sigur author ... and TRÆIÐ illustrator. He started out as an illustrator for the Faroese Children’s Magazine and the first book he illustrated was one of his grandfather’s in 1992: ”Undir tussafjøllum”. Since then he has illustrated books by several Faroese authors

In 2004 he published his first book, minute movement. both written and illustrated by him- In 2006 he received The Children and BFL self: ”Ein hundur, ein ketta og ein mús” Youth Literature978-99972-0-167-6 Award from The West BFL 2017 (A Dog, a Cat and a Mouse). The book Nordic Council and is nominated for enjoyed great success and was the Panprize 2016 ny IBBY – Sweden. designated as a White Raven in 2006 Bárður received the Faroese Children’s by the International Youth Library (IYL) Literature Award in 2007. His book Title: Træið in Munich, Germany, for being ”Stríði um tað góða grasið” (The Battle Pages: 32 especially noteworthy. for the Good Grass) was designaed as Publisher: BFL Bárður Oskarsson’s illustrations a White Raven in 2013 by The Inter- Year of publication: 2017 are unique; they resemble cartoon national Youth Library in Munich, English sample available illustrations and clearly convey moods Germany. and atmospheres in a tiny wink or a

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: TRÆIÐ

THE TREE

Translated by Marita Thomsen

One day on his way home from the shop Bob “Well, it is a little strange, but I can fly, and then stopped and thought… “I wonder what is on the it doesn’t take that long.” other side of that tree over there?” “FLY!?” shouted Bob and nearly hopped. It sound- He had been all the way over to the tree once, but ed totally wild that Hilbert could fly. he couldn’t see what was on the other side. And “I have never seen you fly,” said Bob cautiously, then a dog came along, and then Bob had to run “how do you do it? away. “Like this! Can you see?” “I have always known how to fly. I run and then As Bob was thinking, Hilbert came walking I just jump into the air… And then I fly,” said towards him. Hilbert. “You haven’t seen me, because I fly pretty fast. When Hilbert reached Bob he asked him why he And also I fly very high in the sky. was just standing there. Bob picked up his carrot. He was a little doubtful Bob said, “I have never been to the other side of and asked, “but can’t you show me then?” that tree, and I would like to see what is there.” No, I have just flown, and I’m a little tired now, “Oh, there are just more trees, dogs and other because I have to lie flat in the air for so long,” animals. Nothing special really,” Hilbert replied, Hilbert excused himself. and was about to talk about something else. “But just a little bit,” said Bob “Just right up in the air and down again?” “WHAT? YOU HAVE BEEN THERE?” Bob “No, no, but maybe some other time… not now,” asked amazed. Hilbert replied and looked up towards the sky “Oh yes, several times, and much further than first for a moment and then over at the tree for that, because there is nothing interesting there.” a moment and then back up to the sky again. “Further away than the tree?” asked Bob and dropped his carrot. He couldn’t quite imagine “Ok…” said Bob. what could be further away than the tree. And then they stood there a little while longer “Oh yes, I have travelled around the whole without saying anything. world,” said Hilbert. “Right,” said Hilbert, “I have to go to the shop.” “AROUND THE WHOLE WORLD?” Bob And then he left. thought he had heard wrong. It sounded just a Walking. little incredible and he hesitated, because Hilbert had never been gone for long. And it takes a long Bob spent quite a long time looking at the tree time to travel around the whole world… over there before he went home. “But how can you have been around the world, when you are always here?” asked Bob.

farlit.fo SELECTED WORKS: CLASSICS

William & Jørgen-Frantz: VINALIGA Letters between Jørgen-Frantz Jacobsen and

They had humour, were philosophical, write each other about their thoughts, politically conscious and were their dreams, their plans and how life exceptionally good writers. in general treats them. It’s all on paper, They were visionary and everything heartfelt, honest, humourous and well but narrow-minded. thought out. They were fond of their fellow 345 letters between the two friends, countrymen, however they were easily relatives and authors, William Hei- amused by their shortcomings. We can nesen and Jørgen-Frantz Jacobsen, read all this in their letters. are included in this unique book which In the letters from 1920 to 1938 they Sprotin has published. Title: Vinaliga Pages: 1,232 Publisher: Sprotin Year of publication: 2019 English sample available

farlit.fo EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK: VINALIGA

VINALIGA

Translated by Lindy Falk van Rooyen

To William Vejlefjord Sanatorium, 7th February 1930

My dear friend, Well, enough of that. I have fought I trust that Koh-i-noor has found its way into and lost, albeit hopeful that my defeat might be your hands and been read by now. Then you will judged a relatively dignified one. Besides, I have understand perfectly that this extraordinary opus given up agonizing over the whole affair – in so must be handled with the utmost of delicacy, far as it has pertained to me, personally. For what properly embalmed and stored in the securest harm have I suffered? None. Nay, I have gained a vault imaginable. Indeed, one might procure a gem of lived life instead. safety deposit box in the bank, but you could just I fear my Ekelundian mind conspires as well put it in a sealed envelope. Over and against me; it seems to have a pernicious bent. above the said opus I am loath to entertain you Naturally the stance we take is a question of with the trivial everyday life at the sanatorium – temperament. But I will note in passing that my it is a near to caricature existence, my friend, and rebellious mind holds little promise of some kind I am quite aware how fundamentally frivolous of existence. our lives must seem to an outsider, as it surely will Now wholly relieved of life’s little appear to me once I get the hell out of here. excitements, boredom is setting in. You will have Nevertheless, I believe that the letter’s theme has to prepare yourself for a great many letters in the a universal relevance, and is classic in its time ahead, my friend, for I should hardly succeed simplicity, for I have chosen to depict events in casting myself into a new affair within the exactly as I have understood them, without any remaining months of my residence here. attempts at some literary effect or artistic Indeed, I ought to rejoice in life. intention. It is a self-deliverance of the highest I have, as the ‘glibrian’ observed of the cat, eitt order. But perhaps it will tire you to read such fittligt liv: Good health, a vigorous appetite, a an entirely unedited draft of my writing. I trust cosy room, many books to read, the leisure to however, that this work, once polished, will have ponder and philosophize, beautiful natural terrific potency. This much cannot be denied: for surroundings and a warm bed; as well as the me it has been the most shocking experience ever elegant Miss James to sweeten my peaceful to grace my little life. Never before have I been so existence. Not to mention access to exquisite passionately caught up in events, never before music. Spring is upon us, too, and the Tønnehaven have I felt so keenly the real , the true gardens are beckoning. drama that is human existence. I fear that, before Once it was completed, (the Koh-i- now – with the exception of one of the dramatic noor, that is) my life felt strangely empty. And no dialogues – I have not been able to express how sooner had I wrapped it in ‘Tingakrossur’, than critically I view my environment, not to mention Jean arrived, and he helped me to complete its myself, nor could outsiders have had any notion to emballage, oblivious to his picture on the front, what extent I have constantly questioned the as well as his role in the matter. Miss Fabricious veracity of my own feelings. Everything was departed on her journey today, after a farewell witnessed with La Rochefoucauld close to hand, party that filled a slim volume that has all but become my bible.

farlit.fo BOOK PUBLICATIONS: 2014–2019

PUBLICATIONS 2014-2019

FICTION Seyður í søgn og veðri (2017) Anathema (2018) Helgi i Brekkunum Heljarportur (2017) Ikki fyrr enn tá (2019) Sprotin Drotningaringurin (2016) Oddfriður Marni Rasmussen Hitt blinda liðið (2015) Sprotin Føroyska Rokksøgan (2016) Vølundarhús (2014) Hans Egholm, Kartin L. Hansen et. al Jogvan Isaksen Oendaliga vera (2016) BFL Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins / Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs Marselius BFL Seyðabókin (2016) Robert Joensen Zapatista (2014) Bommhjarta (2016) Sprotin Durita Holm Joanes Nielsen Freyja Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins Seyður og seyðahald (2016) Olav Schneider Sær - ein fuglabók av gloymsku (2017) BFL ART BOOKS Bókin um tað góða (2015) Eg síggi teg betur í myrkri Vágamentan (2016) Frits (2019) – Forspæl til ein gleðileik (2014) Nina Reinert Sprotin Carl Johan Jensen Sprotin Sprotin Boðskapurin í trænum (2017) Bót og biti (2015) Nils Ohrt Joan Pauli Joensen Sprotin NON-FICTION Froðskapur William Heinesen, listamaðurin (2016) Góða systir - ein dagbók til Arnvør (2019) Føroya ljóð / Sounds of the Faroes (2014) Barður Jakupsson Margit M. Baadsager Marianna Clausen Sprotin Sprotin Stiðin

Vinaliga (2019) Brævaskiftið millum William Heinesen og CRIME Jørgen-Frantz Jacobsen 1920-1938 Sprotin Vit, Føroya fólk (2019) Bjørk Maria Kunoy Buy online: Heimurin, ið hvarv (2019) Egið forlag ritograk.fo - útlagna sangtónaskaldið Regin Dahl og føroyska tjóðin Horvna rósan (2018) bokhandil.fo Knút Háberg Eysturstein Hevndin úr havsins dýpi (2017) Sprotin Deyðin fer í bindiklubb (2016) Steintor Rasmussen Míni leikapetti (2018) Sprotin Eyðun Johannessen Sprotin BOOK PUBLICATIONS: 2014–2019

POETRY Úrvalssavn (2019) Marin fær ein lítlabeiggja (2019) Úrtíð (2016) Ingun Christensen Leitanin eftir at vera (2019) Gandakendu Føroyar (2016) BFL Katarina Nolsøe Av heilum hjarta (2015) Sprotin Oktoberbløð í fallandi sól (2014) Eg eri ein prinsessa (2018) Oddfriður Marni Rasmussen Elin a Rogvi Sólsmakkur (2018) Sprotin BFL Rannva Holm Mortensen Sprotin Messa fyri ein film (2015) Haruungin Nelus (2018) Katrin Ottarsdottir Jogvan Edvard i Geilini Korallbruni (2018) Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins BFL Anna Malan Jogvansdottir Eksil AH OH - Mánin (2018) SHORT STORIES AH OH (2015) Gudahøvd (2017) Jenny Kjærbo Joanes Nielsen Í løtuni (2019) BFL Mentanargrunnur Studentafelagsins Turid Thomsen Sprotin Julia og omman (2018) Tann lítli drongurin og beinagrindin Morgunfrúa (2017) Tá skrubban fekk heilaskjálvta (2017) (2017) Solrun Michelsen Julia og bjargingavesturin (2016) Beinir Bergsson Sprotin Drongurin í grønum gummistivlum Sprotin (2015) 43 bagatellir (2017) Elsubeth M. Fossadal Takrennutónar (2019) Aftanáðrenn (2016) BFL Himnahyljar (2018) Katrin Ottarsdottir Ferðamaður í egnum landi (2017) Sprotin Træið (2017) Skriftstøð (2016) Wilbert (2016) Glopramjólk (2015) Nýtt flog (2016) Barður Oskarsson Rustur sum viður og vindur (2014) Rakel Helmsdal, editor BFL Toroddur Poulsen Sprotin Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins / Stjørnan (2016) Sprotin So hon starir inn í veggin (2015) Heine Hestoy Arnbjørn O Dalsgarð BFL Djúpini (2017) BFL Vonbjørt Vang Kópakonan (2015) Eksil Glasbúrið (2015) Simmsalabimm (2014) Samal Soll Edward Fuglø Opna (2016) Sprotin BFL Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs Sprotin Skuggamynd (2015) Karlo og Luddi (2014) Ingun Christensen Niclas Heri Jakupsson Ein farri av fráferð (2016) BFL BFL Solrun Michelsen Sprotin Svanirnir syngja (2015) Oddvør Johansen Darkening / Myrking (2017) Mentanargrunnur Stundentafelagsins Sunnudagsland (2016) Hyasinttíð (2014) Sissal Kampmann YOUNG ADULT Buy online: Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins ritograk.fo Miljuløtur (2018) bokhandil.fo Tað orðið (2015) Hon, sum róði eftir ælaboganum (2014) Heðin M. Klein Rakel Helmsdal Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins BFL

Desembermorgun (2015) Kim Simonsen CHILDREN Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins Luddi og Lundisa spegla sær (2019) Opus 6 – ein symfoni fyri æðrar (2014) Luddi og Lundisa (2018) Petur Polson Var Berghamar Jacobsen Sprotin BFL farlit.fo RECENTLY SOLD

TRÆIÐ GUDAHØVD ”Træið” – The winner of the Nordic Council ”Gudahøvd” is Jóanes Nielsen’s 10th Children and Young People’s Literature poetry collection and was released by Prize 2018 – by Bárður Oskarsson has Mentunargrunnur Studentafelagsins in been in great demand ever since it was 2017. ”Gudahøvd” is the Faroese nominee announced as the winner. for the Nordic Council Literature Prize The story about Bob the rabbit and 2018. There are 38 poems in the book, and Hilbert is a classic, perpetually relevant the cover and illustrations are made by tale of trying to become worldly wise. The Faroese artist Rannvá Holm Mortensen. book was published in 2017 by BFL and Rights sold to Denmark and Norway. rights have been sold to Slovenia, the UK, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Bulgaria, , and Macedonia.

FRACTURA NASI The best selling novel in the Faroe Islands in 2017 was ”Fractura nasi” – a narra- tive non-fiction road-trip story by Høgni Mohr. The author goes on a bike trip to all the towns in the Faroe Islands in his search for answers to grief, deception and BLÍÐ ER SUMMARNÁTT Á FØROYALANDI nonsense traditions. The novel is full of ”Blíð er summarnátt á Føroyalandi” from humour, criticism and agony; Høgni cries, 1990 is a significant book in the Faroe laughs and hits hard, but does not get lost Islands as it is the first crime novel in a in artistic imprudence. Rights have been series of ten crime novels about Hannis Martinsson by author Jógvan Isaksen. The story features the freelance journalist, Hannis Martinsson, who’s been abroad for many years, and is now going back to the Faroe Islands, because his friend, Sonja Pætursdóttir, has been found dead on a mountain. The police regard it as an BOMMHJARTA accident, but Hannis feels there’s some- ”Bommhjarta” (Candy Heart) is a novel by thing else going on. And soon, he himself Jóanes Nielsen and is a sequel to his has been involved, and must risk his life novel ”Brahmadellarnir” (2010). ”Bomm- to find the truth. Rights have been sold to hjarta” is a continuation of the story about Denmark, Norway and Canada. Tóvó who has been released from prison for crimes he committed in the previous TEMA VIÐ SLANKUM novel. The story moves back and fort in The novel ”Tema við slankum” by Sólrún time but spins around Tóvó and his home- Michelsen is her first novel for adults, and town Sumba in the Faroe Islands. Rights earned her the M.A. Jacobsen’s Award in have been sold to Denmark and Germany. literature 2008. Rights have been sold to sold to Denmark. Denmark, Germany and Norway. BRAHMADELLARNIR The novel ”Brahmadellarnir” (2011) by HINUMEGIN ER MARS Á FERÐ Í SIBIRIU Jóanes Nielsen is the first novel in this ”Hinumegin er mars” by Sólrún Michelsen Sigert O. Patursson, born in 1869, was epic family story series. The novel is filled is a gripping novel about a woman caring a Faroese explorer. In 1889, at the age with colorful characters and various fami- for her elderly mother with dementia. of 20, Sigert traveled to western Siberia ly intrigues, and incorporates a number of The novel was nominated for the Nordic and the Kara Sea. The journey lasted six genres and styles as it shifts from individ- Council Literature Prize in 2015. Rights years, and when he returned to the Faroe ual stories to larger world issues. Rights have been sold to Norway, Denmark and Islands he wrote the book ”Sibirien i vore have been sold to Denmark, Germany and the UK. Dage” (Siberia Today). The book was pub- the US. lished in 12 fascicles from 1900 to 1901, and then combined into a single book PRÆDIKARIN with the same title in 1901. In addition to ”Prædikarin” is the second novel in the the journey itself, the book focuses on the crime series by Jógvan Isaksen about culture that he discovered there. Among William Hammer who is the director of the other things, he described a local peasant police unit ”Skansadeildin” in Torshavn. wedding. Rights have been sold to Russia. The crime novel was published in 2013 and Isaksen has since published a third novel in the series. Rights have now been sold to Denmark. farlit.fo RECENTLY SOLD

ÓENDALIGA VERA TAÐ ORÐIÐ ÁH ÓH – MÁNIN Marjun Syderbø Kjelnæs’ new novel ”Tað orðið” is Heðin M. Klein’s seventh This is Jenny Kjærbo’s second book for ”Óendaliga vera” is about old Vera who is poetry collection and gives an account of toddlers about the pufflings, Big chick suffering from aphasia and young Leon the author’s lifelong pursuit of the right and Little chick. They are playing by the who is struggling with his past. Vera is word for the right moment to suit the seashore when they spot the moon for the full of words but cannot speak due to her connotation or sentiment that the author first time. Rights are sold to Denmark. illness but Leon finds great comfort in her. wants to convey. This long lasting search Rights have been sold to Denmark. is somehow also symbolised in the fact ÁH ÓH that the collection consists of one con- ”Áh Óh” is a picture book for toddlers by tinuous poem – in fact the longest poem Jenny Kjærbo and was published in 2015 ever written in Faroese. Rights have been by BFL. The book is about a young puffin sold to Denmark. who is asked to look after an egg. But the puffin gets annoyed because it doesn’t SKUGGAMYNDIR understand why this particular egg needs The short story collection ”Skuggamyndir” such special care and attention. Jenny by Ingun Christensen which was released Kjærbo has written and illustrated the by BFL in 2015 will be released, under the book and is currently working on the title ”Skuggbilder” in Sweden shortly by sequel about the puffins. Published in Fri Press Förlag, and ready to pre-order Denmark and Chile, rights sold to the US. from the beginning of September. It is Joakim Lilljegren who has translated the book from Faroese to Swedish, and the publication has been supported by the Nordic Translation & Production Grant

AFTANÁÐRENN The short stories in the collection ”Aftanáðrenn” by Katrin Ottarsdóttir are oddly fascinating, and are different from HER SKAL DANSES anything else written in Faroese. The ”Her skal danses” by William Heinesen whole atmosphere is scizofrenic, and (1900–1991) is a collection of six short all relations between the characters are stories published in 1980 by Danish Gyl- disorted, divided and perverted and this dendal. Rights have been sold to Germany is what makes the stories so intriguing. and the Berlin-based Guggolz Verlag has Rights have been sold to Denmark. BÁRÐUR OSKARSSON just released the short story collection Author and illustrator Bárður Oskarsson’s with the title ”Hier Wird Getanzt”. It has most successful children’s book is ”Flata been translated from Danish by Inga kaninin” ( The Flat Rabbit) which has been Meincke, and Verena Stössinger has writ- published in Denmark, Germany, Norway, ten an epilogue. Canada, Czech Republic, Sweden, Iceland, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Hungary, and Great WILLIAM HEINESEN – LISTAMAÐURIN Britain. Rights have been sold to Korea, The beautiful and unique coffee table Macedonia, and South Americas book ”William Heinesen – listamaðurin” (Spanish speaking). featuring Faroese author William Hei- nesen’s visual art works was released in 2016 by Sprotin with text in Faroese and English by Bárður Jákupsson, artist and former head of the National Art Museum. Rights have been sold to Denmark and Forlaget Torgard has published the book in Danish.

SUNNUDAGSLAND HON SUM RÓÐI EFTIR ÆLABOGANUM The poetry collection ”Sunnudags­land” by Falling in love, friendship and betrayal are Faroese author Sissal Kampmann is the some of the themes in this fast-paced Faroese nominee for the Nordic Council coming-of-age fiction novel about the Literature Prize 2017 and is set in the young girl Argantael. The novel is writ- village of Vestmanna, where Sissal Kamp- ten by Rakel Helmsdal and won her the mann was born (in 1974) and raised. West Nordic Literature Price in 2016 and Rights have been sold to Denmark. was nominated for The Nordic Council Children´s and Young People´s Literature Prize in 2017. Published in Denmark and Norway. farlit.fo AWARDS: THE M.A. JACOBSEN AWARD

Fiction: Culture: Children: Rannvá Holm Mortensen for the book Edward Fuglø for the book Vár Berghamar Jacobsen for the book ”Sólsmakkur” ”As Told in Wood” ”Luddi og Lundisa”

AWARDS: THE EBBA AWARD

Trygvi Danielsen: for the poetry collection ”Silvurbók”

AWARDS: NORDIC COUNCIL LITERATURE PRIZES

Rakel Helmsdal: Nominated for the Children and Young People Prize for ”Miljuløtur”

farlit.fo GRANTS: NORDIC TRANSLATION GRANT

PURPOSE The Nordic Council of Ministers’ culture Nordic and arts programme has taken over the administration of the scheme to Application form and further support the translation of litera- information is available at ture and drama from one Nordic www.farlit.fo. translation language to another. Grants are available for prose, poetry and Any further questions can be drama, non-fiction of general directed to the grant interest (including essays and Literary Coordinator at biographies), comic books and [email protected] The grant supports Nordic publishing children’s books. Grants are also awarded to special issues of maga- houses in translating literature from zines with a Nordic focus. one Nordic country to another. In order to receive funding, you need to Special consideration is given to applications for grants for the trans- Application apply for the grant in the country in lation of poetry and drama; and works dead-lines: which the work was originally that have been awarded the Nordic published. For the Faroe Islands, Council Prize for Literature will be 1 April and accorded top priority for up to three 1 October this means applying through FarLit years after winning the prize. Priority is also given to the minority language areas in the Nordic countries.

GRANTS: INTERNATIONAL TRANSLATION AND PRODUCTION GRANT

International Translation and Production Grant The Faroese Cultural Fund, Mentanargrunnur Landsins, grants subsidy for translation and production of works formerly published in Faroese or by a Faroese publisher. The application must come from a foreign publisher or translator

To process the application the National The application form is Mentanargrunnur Landsins, Cultural Fond needs a copy of the contract available at www.farlit.fo Lützenstrø 4, with the Faroese right’s holder and a copy P.O.Box 3198 of the contract with the translator (unless The application deadline varies and FO-110 Torshavn the work has already been translated into your application, once received, will be The Faroe Islands the language in question). A translator processed at the next meeting of the needs to enclose a presentation of the Faroese Cultural Fund. The application or by email: [email protected] qualifications and previously translated should be sent either by snail mail to the and published titles. A budget has to be following address: If you need further information you are enclosed too. welcome to contact FarLit at [email protected]

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