recording of the performance Translucent Matter on 5 April 25

 

poems, Critique and Humanism Publishing, 2023

 

Born of Tear and Snow

 

In winter, things get snug

the roads narrow and converge

people are hiding in their clothes, showing

only the bare necessities, now an ear, now an eye,

to find their way north and south

In the gardens the snails have slept a 100 year sleep

only here and there the snowdrops gathered in groups laugh

yellow and green tinkle-clang shyly

the petals of their calyxes have the shape of

of snow crystals, of snow

flowers on the windows.

 

When I was born, my grandmother

gave my mother

a bunch of snowdrops –

grandma standing on the first floor,

looking up at mother, who carries me

in her arms, clutching the bouquet,

as if to keep it.

 

When Eve was expelled from paradise,

and wanders without hope across the snowy plain,

an angel comes and creates a flower of snow,

and the flower speaks to Eve:

Anything past

returns again. 

Т. Lessing

 

 

 

Self-portrait with wind

 

rough

the wind is a whirl

of dusty leaves grasses

and midges

a woman

sitting under a tree

motionless

body fluttering

her hands want to

express something

but the fingers are

curled inward in the palm like

a bird that cannot yet fly

in the tree

crown with sharp thin leaves thickly

side by side

sparrows blue and rustling

the woman’s head is transparent

the thoughts are seen

standing on little chairs

grey- blue and whispering

the sparrows above are a world of

feathers and glory

the midges sometimes call

with a voice which the wind amplifies and

envelops like hair

her head

where the eyes are there are

little purple shadows, paws of

memories

suddenly her body sings

(without voice) this is a song

(without words)

how does

her body know this song?

the wind says

sure where it comes from

too, but no one asks

the wind

where it comes from

 

 

 

 

Waiting for the North

 

 

People walk along the streets

as if they were gliding boats in a

winter sea

sometimes they wave their hands

it’s the usual greeting

it means “Here’s the winter sea sheltering us!”

sometimes they touch

their noses with a glove, it’s a sign “Good day,

how’s life!”

My friend, born in

Ventspils, says that very rarely

but it happens, the boats collide

then they get philosophical and

get engaged, or they invite

each other for smoked fish and beer in

their warm houses, which look

like cabins, and they all have slippers with thick soles

to forget the swaying on the deck

(their language too – it’s like stomping with slippers)

I can’t judge (hence, from afar)

how they smile

men have moustaches no doubt

and find it easier

but women and children

have more smiles in store

the eyes of the northern people

are most likely clear blue

their eyelids are anchor-shaped

and when they say “Yes” the anchors drop slightly

and for a moment the boats

stop

and their sea hearts

gurgle with a strange

rhythm

the northern people

call the gurgle

RIN “Saga” and tell, each

differently,

how they were

born in

sea storms

in boats of

black yew…

I think the drinking of coffee

and tea suits them

so well to

gain equilibrium

in this sea-life

in which the imagination is

the very beating heart of the sea

(their clocks measure not

minutes, seconds, but beats)

I arrive

at 3 o’clock north time

called

“the hour of the arrival of

the guest of sea foam and whispers”

a.k.a. friend who I don’t know yet

but have dreamed of as

a glowing fish

 

 

 

Dream Grammar

 

2.5 by 4 sq. meters

full of night sleep

in the corner the bag which

I rarely take when

walking, it holds

many dreams because it is

the first thing I see

every morning, left

on the handle of the wardrobe

its door is half closed

and dreams can enter

into it, some sneak in through the

blinds, I open the window, but

I still hope that

most of them like my room

and stay at least a few hours

(that dream about the glowing fish

is still lurking somewhere

in the corners)

even in the radiator, in the

backs of the old armchair

there are a few that feel comfortable

and safe (that dream with my grandmother

when she was young)

a whiff of some dreams stays

forever, it seems to me that it is lingering

in the corners of the objects, so

more and more often I touch them gently

without touching the corners

the objects still need

dreams, otherwise

they will feel

cheated

the dreams change them –

have you noticed? –

dream = corner, where the E of dream shifts