The Mouth and The Mountain of Souls by Jaan Oks
This belongs only to humans—to the only earthly god—the human alone, set apart and blessed for those who, within their sexes, are male and female. All else is blasphemy against nature—those proud to their very hair, those exceedingly beautiful and lustful devils, that swollen, desireless, castrated god—who feel shame for the deficiencies in the structure…
dr. lu-ming and fate and other poems by Andres Ehin
in the morning i put on my skis and ski along your traces for hundreds and hundreds of kilometres sniffing each one of your toe-holes in the snow without food nor drink skiing and sniffing until the midnight sun sets
The Diary of Vaino Vahing by Rainer Sarnet
Vaino Vahing was interested in borderline situations, the shedding of masks, disoriented playfulness, and crossing limits that might reveal something essential or unguarded.
Live Freely or Die and the End of the Anchor Chain by Ilmar Laaban
Listen to the fountain of blood speaking in the herb garden, know the worth of stars and nothingness, live freely or die. Remember, the decayed eyes of traitors shall become the flesh of hopeful fish, the howl of ferns and iron— live freely or die.
My Body Is the Dream of My Ancestors and other poems by Hasso Krull
Bone and skin, hair and fat: they saw it long ago, but so little time has passed that no one believes it. My ass isn’t bulbous and springy just because: someone sat upon it for thousands of years, then lent me the cheeks – don’t just wear them down; when you sit, then sit with…
Sterne by Margit Lõhmus
I’d been living a poor, lonely life in Berlin for almost a year. I only hung out with chumps, people who had zero interest in me, who were only interested in themselves, heh, no, they weren’t interested in themselves, either. I’d gotten in the habit of making out everywhere: cafés, the metro, parties, the sidewalk.…
The Night of Souls by Karl Ristikivi
Along with midsummer celebrations, New Year’s Eve has always been one of the toughest. Yet it isn’t just the melancholy of spring turning to summer; it does not gust through open windows. It resides within you even before then, an iron-cold lump in the middle of the room. Its icy breath creeps outward from within.…
Around a Point by Meelis Friedenthal
Verdi hopes to reach Estonia, a place with familial roots, but even this small country is a periphery, an intermediate area, the ancient historical-mythological Hyperborea, a border country. And borders are largely arbitrary, drawn throughout history by maniacs with too much power. So where exactly is home? Perhaps not a place at all, but an…
The Autumn Ball by Mati Unt
This year, as with every other, there were many signs and predictions that convinced those who were ready for it. The autumn was extraordinarily rich in mushrooms; that many boleti had not been seen for a long time. An over-abundance of apples had grown, too: they dropped to the ground at night, and the canning…
