Kristján Einarsson lived here in Djupalæk.
It’s a bit more exposed than a North American or Continental poet’s house. Here’s the kind of poem you write in a place like this:
Stones are strings.
The water makes them roar. Its a delight to know What lives in the mind of water… Kristján
Mind you, water is tight these days:
Lots in the Atlantic, but for fresh water for the sheep, it has to be brought in in plastic tanks. Even though it falls, almost daily, from the sky. Isn’t this the real poverty and isolation?
Most dragons in Iceland are in the West, but here’s one in the Northeast.
Nice looking wyrm! From the north side, in the mist, she looks like this:
The dragon of many faces! What does she have her eyes on? Ah, not you or I, but Gatastapi herself.
This is an old whaling station where you can look through things to the other side.
Those are the rules. The application is individual.
Just watching the show at the Buðahraun.
Or directing it? In that haunted place, one never knows!
The goal is not to find shelter.
For shelter, sit on the ground and use humps of heather to break the wind. The table is only to make you think of stopping and taking a break from the Ring Road. Do.
Many do, but, really, there’s no need. The chair has its own life.
North of Höfn
What an intriguingly-evolved human it is: so friendly, so proud, so redly communist, and so rickety, too.
Siðu-Hollar settled the farm Þvolté on the East Coast around the year 1000. He was unpopular, as he was a Christian. Check out his farm:
Trolls and ogres everywhere! What a flock!
Throwing stuff at you all the time, and everything.
Quite endearing, really. So, this exclusion is really attractive to humans. We can really identify with it. So what do we do? Build a road so we can dump two piles of gravel at the end of it, just to say hello.
Well, in mountain language, that is.
Welcome to the East.
Well, Icelanders have been working at this for 1100 years.
It got to them long ago. They’re over it.