Fótatraðk
Friday 6 November in the Lord’s year two thousand and nine and for all eternity (or at least until Christmas) the poet or un-poet Carl Jóhan Jensen summons the old and un-old, low and un-low, knowing and unknowing, the harmonious ones and unharmonious ones, mischievous ones and unmischievous ones, sick ones and unsick ones, treasured and untreasured, illumintated and unilluminated, equal and unequal, holy and unholy, the loyalists and unloyalists, students and unstudents, the crass ones and uncrass ones - in short, all the over-earth-Faroese to a poetry assembly.
The assembly will be held under the name Fótatraðk - an opening of the poetry assembly. There are 89 appendices and a CD with comments and recitations.
Someone curious asks:
Well, what the H*** is a poetry assembly?
It’s an assembly where poetry is delivered.
But what poetry?
New poetry, of course.
And what sort of poetry might that be?
It’s actually just poetry grounded in old, traditional poetry but still it is different; quite different in terms of subjects. In short it is poetry with contemporary themes, shamelessly political, full of misunderstood nationalism, unloyalist, unbraidable, confounded, uncompliant and utterly un-fawning of the taxpayer. Additionally it is not listener friendly, it is without welfare chatter and above all it is the opposite of a morning devotion; it is so devoid of impartiality that no unposessed Faroese should lend it an ear. So curses upon you who, enticed by your curiosity, will go and buy these poems, will read them and listen to them. Shameless you are and un-islander-like, here and there, now and forever.
It is the publisher Sprotin and the record company Tutl who yet again give room to such sin and indecency on paper, print and compact discs. Shame on them.
This filth is available in all book stores and in the music store Káta Hornið.