* * *
what more do I want, knowing
it won’t be fulfilled?
autumn’s dark-red rust when
overtaking, will not let go;
autumn’s dark-red rust like howling stroke
flashes within the tired skull –
what more to want – night indifferent and glacial;
darkness full of rough shards of bottles;
stand beside me a moment –
in autumn’s dark-red rust, giving me over to vanishing,
extinguishing me,
the way of a dead man’s violin bowing.
x x x
ko man vēlēties vēl, zinot, ka
nepiepildīsies?
rudens tumšrudā rūsa kā
pārņems, tā neatlaidīsies;
rudens tumšrudā rūsa kā kaucoša svēdra
uzzibsnī gurdajā galvas kausā – –
ko vēlēties vēl – nakts vienaldzīga un dzedra,
tumsa pilna sām pudeļu lauskām;
pastāvi minūti blakus man –
rudens tumšrudā rūsa, zudībai atdodot,
izdzēšot mani,
kā mirušā vijole skan.
* * *
Climbing Mountains
is there snow? or is it lacerated
doves’ down? snowing over
the near-drowsing cliffs’
steep tracks; once you came
here with me, now both sides
are an abyss;
on one side the waning moon sets,
one the other thickening one rises;
in one – medals spilled out,
in the other splash hungering spirits;
snow like down glues round elbows,
do blood-thirsty eagles clatter beaks there or
is Time with ticks of the clock sewing together
the shirt of wakefulness with dream.
KALNUP
vai sniegs? vai saplosītu
dūju dūnas? snieg pāri
pirmsmiega klinšu
stāvajām takām; reiz te nāci
man līdzās, tagad abās pusēs
pa bezdibenim;
vienā bezdibenī riet briedolis,
otrā – aust diļģis;
vienā – izlijis medalus,
otrā – plunčājas iļģi;
sniegs kā dūnas aplīp ap elkoņiem,
vai tur ērgļi klabina asinskārīgos knābjus vai
Laiks ar pulksteņa tikšķiem šuj kopā
nomoda kreklu ar sapni.
* * *
night steel-blue blaze in the trees;
hollow sound of water pumps
that side of the wall;
you have a roll of unpainted linen in your hand,
I have – a crocus unopened, pressed in palm;
are we lost? or driven out? what we are,
is unknown, even if you went and hanged yourself –
night, fall, steel-blue blaze
the blind of rain crackles through bare boughs of maple;
morning will find us snowed in
and will unwind the roll, undo the fist –
black cock with steel-blue eyes will slither down the wall,
something golden will fly high . . .
until it hides again around the Black Corner . . .
x x x
nakts kokos tēraudzila blāzma;
dobjšs ūdenssīkņu troksnis
viņpus mūrim;
tev rokā linaudekla rullis neapgleznots,
man – neatskaņots krokuss, iežņaugts dūrē;
vai nomaldījušies? vai izdzīti? mēs esam,
nav zināms, kaut vai karies,-
nakts, rudens, tēraudzila blāzma
caur lietus priekškaru sprkšķ kailos kļavu zaros;
rīts atradīs mūs aizsnigušus
un attīs rulli, atvērs plaukstu,-
melns gailis tēraudzilām acīm nopilēs no mūra,
kāds zeltains lidināsies augstu…
līdz atkal paslēpsies aiz Melnā Stūra…
* * *
Undertaking
to get to know all birds,
to learn all bird names in Latvian, Latinum hetu
and in all other languages,
to learn also the extinct birds, pterodactyls too,
study fossils
and, if there’s time left,
to learn to whistle
at least a thousand bird melodies;
maybe then –
well, what if then! –
I won’t die,
but lift off?…
UZDEVUMS
iepazīt visus putnus,
iemācīties visu putnu vārdus latviešu, latīņum hetu
un visās pārējās valodās,
iemācīties arī izmirušos putnus, arī pterodaktilus,
studēt fosilijas
un, ja atliks laika,
iemācīties izsvilpot
vismaz tūkstoš putnu meldiņus;
varbūt tad –
un ja nu tad! –
nevis miršu,
bet aizlidošu?…
* * *
one night a gentle tiger comes in to me and says
greetings I’m Henri Rousseau come to visit and still further
the gentle tiger tells me it’s boring in those chambers of Hades’
Pirosmani lives too far away to visit there’s a shortage
of subway transportation tickets Gaugin has again
gone to the head Vincent hides in sunflowers oh, Pete, do show me
clay figures later let us strut to Immerman’s, you have here such
a composer, let’s drink a glass of absinthe wormwood
is dream-inviting
o what rainbow stripes you have Henri (please eat up this
caraway bun), let’s go Henri let us stray in the jungle of
my sleeping-chamber let us tease the incandescent
bulb fish I’m rented my toiletry cabinet by two romantic
lions but between the windowpanes young giraffes play heartball
oompah rumpah Henri you take the fiddle I’ll take the harp let us hum
colorful scaly feathered eelpout alias bat vacuum flask
or even madame whoknowswhyshehasnooneanddoesntwanteither
like a hyena morning steels in and day like
a shark flapping jaws centipede restlessness pulls by
the hem the factory whistles leaden foreheads and the milk
of tenderness runs into gutters tooth against tooth eye for an eye how
flinty the eyes we are suffering dire lack of a gentle tiger
whose name for instance is Rousseau
x x x
kādunakt maigs tīģeris ienāk pie manis un saka
sveiks es esmu Anrī Ruso atnācu ciemos un vēl
maigais tīģeris saka garlaicīgi tais Aīda kambaros
Pirosmani mīt pārāk tālu lai apciemotu trūkst
pazemes transporta talonu Gogēnam atkal sakāpis
galvā Vinsents noslēpies saulpuļēs ak Pič parādi
māles pēcāk aizkātosim pie Imermaņa esot jums
tāds komponists iedzersim glāzīti absenta vērmeles ai-
cina sapņot
o cik tev varavīkšņainas strīpas Anrī (lūdzu apēd šo
ķimeņbulciņu) iesim Anrī pamaldīsimies mana guļam-
kambara džungļos pakacēsimies ar degošajām spul-
džu zivīm tualetes skapīti man īrē divi romantiski
lauvas bet starp loga rūtīm žirafēni spēlē sirdsbumbu
umpā rumpā ņem Anrī pijoli es ņemšu arfu dungāsim
krāsainu zvīņspārni vēdzeli alias sikspārni termosu
vai arī madāmu kastozimunkāpēctainevienanavunne-
vajaga
kā niniķelēta hiēna piezogas rīts un diena kā
haizivs vārsta žokļus simtkājains nemiers rausta aiz
stērbelēm fabriku svilpes nosvina pieres un maiguma
piens iztek renstelēs zobs pret zobu ace pet aci cik
kaulainas acis cik ļoti mums pietrūkst maiga tīģera
piemēram vārdā Ruso
Latvian poet Pēters Brūveris was born in Riga in 1957, and was considered the best poet of his generation. He died in 2011.
Inara Cedrins is an artist, writer and translator from Latvian to English. Her Baltic anthology, including Contemporary Latvian Poetry, Contemporary Lithuanian Poetry, and Contemporary Estonian poetry, were published in 2013 by the University of New Orleans Press, with her prints on the covers.