LITHUANIA
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1. Jonas Aistis
ST.FRANCIS
The image of the evening is so ascetic. It is sad but good, my Lord! Around the sun St.Francis' wounds, The lilac trees smell of "l'Origan". I stand up, a fierce man, paleolithic, A string of flying cranes in autumn... Beyond the sea, beyond evening, far away, Francis' wounds smell of jasmine. Why is my suffering wooden? Christ, You taught me a lunatic love! With dove in hand, unrecognized I'll slip away, mocked by the earth and by love. Oh, pain festers in my feet, hands, and in my wounded chest, Black drops of blood under the thorns on my head... Oh, love - the painful lines of evening, Oh the dizzying smells of lilacs in the May night!
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2. Eugenijus Alishauskas
ALIEN HOME
in the shapes of night I see your gaze, obscure as a waning moon, from the sunset, from the rising continent your beauty summoned: a shynix's hour, and word's hang over the ravine, soft dampness, death keeps getting tangled in the uncombed hair, an answer keeps coming in a mad lava like snow, between the seductive shores a ship with lowered sails is saved, white fins of a swordfish, shadows of fir trees, an alien home so near, while I live in you, between your shut eyelashes, an inspired blind man, a dreamer, I have no home, only brackets of love in the desperate silence of dictionaries
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3. Leonardas Andriekus
AMBER
I cannot weep I cannot wail, My spirit is empty like a dried-up inlet. Weep for me Wail for me, Little Baltic amber Cast out by the sea in darkness. Now only God - With wind, wave, fishermen asleep - Can hear you. The sea does not love me, Mourn, mourn, little amber, For the fate that is ours.
another poem by this author
BLESSING
You guide the old man's hand Lest it falter Gravely lifted Before death For the last time to bless His kneeling children, The hour come For life's tough regrowth In still another springtime. The testament's completed, To each - his due; But can the loving heart Be silenced? Alone, they'll plod to furrow fields, Sow fallowland with crops, In springtime harvest wheat, Their father in the silent hill Restless with pinetrees. Unless he's blessed his children, He will not rest, He will hear their weary footfalls Hard on paths to planting; Upon his coffin, drop by drop, Through sultry harvesttime Their sweat will fall. Nohow, from the grave, will he contrive To summon them to noon's siesta. You guide the old man's hand, So sensitive a hand, Before the sowing, it blessed fields, And even clouds before the storm - That it might ultimately bless Man's weary footfalls, Man's harsh days, Perennial springtimes Destined for another greenness.
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4. Vytautas Bakaitis
SONG 6 A.M.
What house did you stay in, when you were alive? The same place I lived, when I was a child Which way did you go, when it was time to leave? The compass was broken, and I dragged my feet And what did you say, in saying good-bye? The wind said it for me, I didn't have time Those you left, where are they now? Still saying prayers, way before sundown When you make your comeback, what will you find? The devil lives there, but he doesn't mind What do you see, when you look back? Cracks in a mirror, the sun hot on my track And what do you see, when you lift your head? The same dream I had, before going to bed
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5. Ona Buliokonyte
PRESERVE US
Preserve us, preserve us, Earth! As you preserve burned grass Or a lightning-scorched, bleeding tree Falling quietly where people pass. Preserve us, preserve us, Sea, Whether we swim out or not. Light as a gull-feather be To the child asleep in its cot. Preserve us, preserve us, Love, Lead us again back home, When we are going, searching for light, Bare, to each other unknown. Preserve us, preserve us, Time, Teach us to forget all we've known When the sun arises, when we return Having crossed into the Unknown.
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6. Algimantas Baltaakis
I'LL CUT OUT A STICK
I'll cut out a stick, A hazelwood wand, And set off to roam Through my native land. Every inch of soil I'll lovingly kiss. In every cottage I'll be a guest. With everyone else A scythe I'll wield, With everyone wait For the morning meal. I'll find out the thoughts Of wood and dell, And why tonight You didn't sleep well. And then in my heart I'll make up a song; Through the world like me Let it roam along.
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7. Jurgis Baltrushaitis
OCEAN AND DROPLET
Ocean and droplet, like corn - ear and flower, Breathe in fulfillment of one same behest: Winter and summer it spins in the world Whirlwind and slumber in woodland boughs. Men and their doings - a weft immemorial... Miracle pilots us, we are the oar - strokes... Trembling of moments in trembling eternal... Years are in flower, of bliss everlasting... Mankind's brief hour is like to the wave... Know you, o man, in the depths of the night, Meeting with prayer the silence of stars. Whose is the mouth with which you speak? In brilliance of noon, where the hour of fulfillment Opens the flowers in Golgotha's world. Know you, o wand'rer, in labor and strife. Whose is thought, not of earth, that you think?
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8. Albinas Bernotas
LOVE
Don't step so cerefully, please. I'm not as fragile as glass. What I need is a fresh March breeze - And I'll sprout like a blade of grass. Shoes trample the frozen earth; No stone in a field am I But a rye-stalk trapped in ice While pecking through to the sky.
another poem by this author
FURROW AFTER FURROW
Let's spread sacks on the clods and lie down. Gnats! I'll smoke, and they'll fly off, for sure. How the sacks and the field-fringes smell Of fresh-cut potatoes and drying manure! Look - those sunbeams on root-woven turf Crimson-hued, like earthworms they crawl. Red, too, blackbirds through furrows walk, Furrows stretching towards the sun's ball. Blackbirds waddling after the sun Search for something, their beaks bending down; Maybe, for a forgotten world Where the turf was ripped up by a wooden plough? Bleached fog spreads through the countryside. Clouds arise like pink pillows on high. Having marvelled all day at machines, Why do blackbirds each night homeward fly? One by one, over furrows they pass... Who, who was it that drew the first one? Not to rockets - to ploughshares glory let's sing Which went farthest of all and first reached the sun! Let's spread sacks on the clods and lie down. And watch blackbirds seek the first furrow.
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9. Kazys Binkis
SPRING MOTIVES
The fence is quite dry, and the sprouting peony With its little red beak through the flowerbed pecks. In the farmyard the mottle-skinned cowherd keeps tramping, Cofee-brown and light-grey, with their sturdy, thick necks. In her wide homespun jerkin the cowgirl keeps running After stray cows behind the great haystacks, and falls. With their trousers rolled up to their knees - ah, how funny! - In a puddle a whole heap of peasant boys rolls. A serious cat waddles out of a barn, And Towzerkin sits at the doorstep and stretches. The smell of the south wind, as heady as balm, My nose through the wide-open windowpane reaches. I feel Spring's arrival with body and soul. How lovely it is just to breathe - I can't tell! The sprouts of peonies peck through on the beds. Soon, soon will the first forest flowers bloom as well! I listen, quite still. In an ocean of light The skylark its melody merrily tries. The pond hums aloud by the mill, out of sight. The cowgirl falls down by the haystack and cries. I, too, feel like laughing and crying and shouting In a vortex of radiant, resonant air - If only to look at the wry old man putting In order the tumbledown fence over there.
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10. Jurgis Bliekaitis
SENSE
With words that sway in the wind - like a tree rocking the night in its branches - life, I would hold you in my arms, asking - who are you? With words that call, call in vain, with those that caress, those that question, and above all those that ask: - What's the sense? The night mocks me with the chirping of crickets, touches my eyes with cool fingers of stars, overpowers me and my outcry. And the sense? You utter the word, and it shuts itself up like a clam. Sinking into the silence, I repeat to myself: - It's better not to ask. Remember Eve? The apple, the serpent? Eve didn't ask. She never asks - nor does she ever listen.
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11. Vytautas Blozhe
WHY SOLDIERS DIE
Some die painfully like the setting sun others burn like falling stars or tracer bullets some die with the names of towns on their lips raising freedom's flag others die like dogs on foreign soil rotting in bombcrater graves some die so others may live others die killing soldiers soldiers soldiers my heart marches with some guns to battle my lips blow out the fire of others my tears wet the ground where so many soldiers lie the ground that echoes the guns' hoarse salute the soldiers march to die with tears in their cartridge belts with tears in their cartridge belts they march to conquer death.
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12. Kazys Boruta
SONG OF THE CAWING CROW
Mists and lamps over street and lane. A crow caws up in the inky sky. Ah, my green-leaved youth, I call you in vain, You and the storm's sweet roar on high! Ah, crow, old crow, what calamity Hanged our cry from the forest free Up in the sooty sky of the town, A sky where dawn one can never see! Only maybe the stinted lights, The sick, bleached patches of rare, dim beams, And here am I, lost, a village lad, And, you black daughter of green woods and streams. Ah crow, black crow, my sister by blood, What devil brought you to settle here! Far away is my father's woodland home, No rustling, storm-riven woods are there here! Here it hums, but it isn't the noise of the woods, But the noise of chimneytops black, But the rubbing of iron against hard stone, Thousands of concrete jaws crunch and crack. Ah crow, old crow, you will never fly Out of the soot-belching chimney row, When you've let through yourself all the smoke and grime You won't even be worth a plain black crow.
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13. Kazys Bradunas
LITHUANIAN GRAVES IN SIBERIA
The taiga burns with northern flames. Graves grip crosses. Above them, winging slowly, Hawks glide - black hawks. A storm climbs the sky, Blows sound beneath the earth. The souls of the dead are quieted By the voices of their homeland. There is enough dirt for bones. Even more for ashes. A bloody flower blooms In eternity's palm. Northern flames die on the taiga. Graves won't let go of their crosses. Over them, beating their wings, Hawks settle, black hawks.
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14. Bernardas Brazdzionis
JOURNEY INTO NIGHT
My sister told me, "You are not my brother." My brother told me, "You are not my brother." Where can I find a sister - where, a brother, Who am, to sister and to brother, alien? High up the Alps, deep-chasmed in the snows, St.Bernard's chapel hunches, hoar with years. A cold and lonely toller nods beside the bell And, sleeping, dreams and angel, lowering, awoke him. He walks now, searching for me - downhill: through night And day, through wind and snowdrift, thaws and freezing. He seems to brush my brow - his good soft hand upon me; He seems to touch my face - my heart he quickens. Here below, my heart will sleep. Above, awaken. Its sun obscured, Its beating stilled, this heart had verged on death. Through fog - a tale: all, all is a trek through fog. And life itself Ascends through fog - a journey into night.
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15. Alfonsas Bukontas
THE SALT COLUMNS
Where are you, who joined hands and went away Along the seaside? The earth spread a couch And waited for you; the trees stopped breathing and leant Over you, and the birds on their branches Ceased singing. Oh lovers! Tears Rushed from your eyes when your frightened Beautifully carved bodies, covered with flames, Felt dizzy and thrilled with joy Since they found one another. You did not see How the God of Love came silently Over the bending grass and opened the door Calling, inviting and urging to go. "We are here!" answered the bodies, "We shall never Move from here, no matter what happens..." Oh damnation! The flame is dying out already. But you have not seen anything, you are only sinking Deeper and deeper into the earth. You should walk on-- Those who lingered, got stiff and became the salt Columns: there they are, showing white in the mist Of the sea coast. Hurry, oh hurry! Since the seaside Road and the waves, and the stars Whirling in the wind Are getting restless and turning away from you.
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16. Janina Degutytė
LITHUANIA
I walked into the snowy midnight to bow to the earth and to the sky. And in that silvery point in space where winds and ages meet, the snowflakes fall and the seconds fall on my hair, on my palms, and they burn like salt and fetter my feet with white enduring ropes. But I will not leave. In this silvery point in space where behind my shoulder breathe houses and trees, where snowflakes and seconds sink into my palms and into my heart,- there, in red letters, silently, I shall write in the snow one name, that one name: Lietuva I walked into the snowy midnight to bow to the earth and to the sky.
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17. Antanas Drilinga
BRIDGES
The stars that illumine us, The moons that see us off, The suns that give us their warmth, The winters that bring us together, The summers that lead us apart, The rains that give us water to drink, The houses that give us shelter, The trees that give us their shadow, The rivers that carry us, And the toppled bridges across which we run towards each other And at whose very middle we embrace - All this is what makes up my happiness.
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18. Sigitas Geda
I WALKED OUT INTO LITHUANIA
I walked out into Lithuania. There were birds, women and wind. All the cows walked towards day, And a large - brown - meadowlark Fluttered and flapped in the wind. Long wings and whisking rivers, And all the women - butterflies, My eyes grew over with grass, And from the very depths of the grass Animals turned red. Was I there or wasn't I, Or did I dream a clay dream?
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19. Liudas Gira
MAYBE I AM MISTAKEN
Maybe in this I am mistaken? It's true I'm young, perhaps naive, With people's ways not well acquainted... But I sincerely do believe That people kindly are by nature And sympathise with others' woes, And should they hear somebody crying They'll sit with them and cry also. A broken heart they'll soothe and comfort, Eager to ease all suffering. Like brothers, loving one another, To one another aid they'll bring... And so, though mine's a heavy burden, Somehow I'll bear it - in the hope That other folk, my plight observing, Won't let me die beneath the load... Maybe in this I am mistaken? It's true I'm young, perhaps naive, With people's ways not well acquainted... But this sincerely I believe...
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20. Kotryna Grigaitė
WORRY
It's not that Which tears the skin Like the sun the treebud. It's not that Which walks in spring's steps Bearing a tender promise And it's not that Which opens and shuts the doors With morning's thin fingers. It's that Which, having listened attentively, Nuzzles deep into the ground, Bites into the living tree's roots, And gnaws a hole for a quiet collapse.
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21. Almis Grybauskas
SUMMER
transparent gothic of a morning cathedral within and above us with a flight of swallows with thorns crowned and pierced by the anguish of an ultrasonic plane upon descent you lift a stone from the threshold to the clouds - let's go! but those roots of teeth are still clinging branches of hands is it really in vain the blossoms' atonement turned into fruits in the markets a froth of blood with pits and medicine from the chokey sorrows of childhood
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22. Kazys Inciura
POEM OF THE FIELDS
The neighbours came, the beer they praised, They praised the newborn too, Then left, too dazed to give the babe The blessing that was due. Her brothers gave her apples bright, Her mother silks to wear. She'd feast her eyes on butterflies When spring was in the air. The autumn cranes called out her name, With the hilltop breeze she played. Born to the freedom of the fields, Like a roe deer grew the maid. Seeing her prance in country dance The firs would dizzily spin, The alder tree laugh merrily, Lads bare their arms and grin. To rake and loom accustomed soon, She rose with the rising sun And like a slave toiled six long days -- Then Sunday's rest would come. Rue in her prayer-book she'd press, Don a scarf her brother had bought, Sit in a cart and race the wind Like a princess riding to court. When everyone in church was singing Her sweet voice all could tell. Folk said: "No Easter bell is sweeter..." "No organ sounds so well..." The matchmakers were plied with beer, Their horses stamped outside. "I've got no chest for my dowry yet..." She'd say. "The rue froze and died..." The old man sucking his pipe agreed: "Why wed? For your brothers care! Better one summer more to live lark-free With yellow rue in your hair." But one she loved came seeking her hand. "Why await old age?" he said. A sleigh sped through deep snow. The banns In the nearby church were read. His friends came for the dowry, brought His invitation soft. Away she rode through driving snow To a parish a long way off. But false his words were and he beat her Cruelly day and night And no one saw her dance any more, Nor knew her terrible plight. As fleet as roe deer, days flew by, Years passed like elks in fog, And starless was the bleak night sky, Her pillow hard as a log The way back home had long been ploughed, At the looms there sat young brides. Her fate she bore. Now the girl of yore Was a crone who sat and cried. To church she wore her maiden scarf And sang as in years past. But crushed by grief beyond belief At the church-door she collapsed. In a coffin her weak frame they laid They placed her on a sleigh And on the wings of the winter wind All the saints were heard to pray. Folk merry made at her funeral wake But no one shed a tear. Her dog alone howled all night long By the barn for all to hear.
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23. Liudvikas Jakimavicius
ELIZA
Each morning the Computing Center's computerist sprays the garden's lilies of the valleys with lily of the valley fragrance deodorant while through the open Computing Center's windows the computer plays Liudwig von Beethoven's Eliza.
another poem by this author
THE TOWN GARDENER
Having bred the apple trees the gardener falls asleep, and the trees dream the gardener's dream about the beautiful lonely love of his youth. And especially, just when she comes through a green wall no one may wake the gardener-- the cross-breeding would not take.
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24. Demie Jonaitis
TIME - VILNIUS UNIVERSITY
Life shines out while time crowds in with rocks, bones, ashes. Minutes dripping blood and fire coagulate; stalagmites of years fire up old shadows. Pulse outpulses veins; a song outsings the singer; a dream outdreams a dreamer. Dusk in Vilnius darknes into dawn.
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25. Eglė Juodvalkė
WOMAN
Feathers enter into burnished leaden heels: she will fly. I would have preferred a pelt like a cat's or a rabbit's - long hair thick, fine down. The one I have is so small - barely enough to keep my fingers warm... the salty planks of the pier smell of the sea and of the sea smells the coarse hair of fishermen their bristly beards the fabric of their shirts the closely woven yellow nets the shells the clouds the sky the sea - the burning rays of the sun the honey and the sweat the sand the white cliffs the crickets' chirping the sea and your lips your lips your lips between the maze and the light I do not forget you the unkept promise the crossroads still waiting beyond the bend I do not forget
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26. Jonas Juskaitis
A BLUE VIOLET ILLUMINES THE FUTURE
Above the ocean soaring swans arise. It was no thorny earthly road they took, And now in stately triangles they fly. Their wings cut silence open like book. Mirrored among thin bangles that appear Upon the wastness of aquamarine, At times we glimpse them, pallid, in the air Above the limpid plains with pallid sheen. It's their long wings that curl around the moon. They carry early ground-frosts on their feet. Why is it here, not elsewhere, waters clear Upon their surface those white images repeat? The water at the earth's top flashes gold, And, blue, it sighs, as if to say, alack! Poor earth! Among the stars the swans' loud call Wipes from its face a wrinkle, sad and black. So give the first blue violet to me, Let it cast light upon our destiny.
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27. Donaldas Kajokas
THE SACRIFICE
And not having awaited a miracle from us he kicked that black stone and smiled so sorry and the sea misbehaved, Lord -- enough betray us! Oh bless us, our chosen brother as you fall away slowly far off as slow as bread turns to stone
another poem by this author
THE ONE HUNDRED YEAR OLD BEGGAR
He sits on a rotted bench with a chewed cane at his side in his pupils the world is already faded God and the devil are of one color only one thing can press a tear from his eye -- on Sunday, in the Old City, on the street a familiar melody on the accordion
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28. Juozas Kekshtas
DEAD EARTH'S ROMANCE
There has never before been a night lice this on earth. Eyes are scattered in the heavens like deep, dead stars. The wounded wind flutters against the dead branches of trees, mute grass rocks heavily, faints, and melts. Earth's travelers have never seen another night like this. Constellations rattle like castanets in the murdered earth's depths where corpses turn pale gathered for death's festival, dancing with broken legs to an ardent bolero, to the erotic samba of the drowned. The lost poet has never before visited a night like this on earth.
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29. Julius Keleras
GIRLS WITH CHERRIED LIPS Girls with cherried lips are dancing the Beginning. The indiscreet flare of a minuet lights their bodies, and spectators instinctively step back for fear of turning to ash. Outlines change in an instant: extending their flutters they become the sign of spring that determines peace, and history loses its great seal. Girls with cherried lips, frail as willows, lose the laces binding them, and spectators glimpse the sun sliding down their knees. Divine bodies with a smell of the north, unfit for an anatomical atlas, or any niche where plaster Venuses display ordinary boredom with their longing for petnames and tobacco. Girls with groowing shadows under their lids are dancing life: goblets full of the past, old still-lifes, the scent of swamps waded in childhood. Angels, aged cherry orchards, sunsets. Finally, they bow to the audience. And yet this exact replica of moonlight has managed so slyly to fool our eyes, we are left incapable of perceiving any change. The cold abolishes all play with a ban on music, body radiance, allocating use of light and beauty only the slimmest ration, according to decree. An history, the slut with plucked eyebrows, claims to have vanquised nature: lips no longer smell of cherries.
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30. Faustas Kirsha
GREENNESS
Such greenness, such joy surge over my earth Deluged with springborn blossoms! Agonies - lightened with the kindling of colors, Vigor - fired with the victory on hilltops. Hands though gnarled and backs bent crooked, There's a health seeks labor like prayer. A greeting - rumor of God - to the earth, And gratitude - love's consummation. Hills, valleys - flowered sanctuaries: There, the Lord's face, bread, abundance, There, deep glances fathom the flatlands, There, still thoughts glow through despondence. Rivulets, rivers, lakes and bogpits, Sparkle with sunbeams and move. So all things comfort man and accompany him, And earth spins on along cosmic grooves.
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31. Ina Kontvainyte
UMBILICAL CORD
There is a memory before the year when I was born, There is a dream beyond the night I fall to sleep There is a land distant the land outside my door This is the ancient tie to Lietuva I keep. Far from this century of din and aimless haste Into the bosom of an ancient sea The seabirds plunge where amber stones lie deep Within the swells of Baltic memory Forests of fir and shaded glades of oak reply With intense perfume of wild strawberry Filling the azure air under the sky Still resonant with ancient melodies. Though miles have come between and days pass by The bond was made before my birth. The tie to Lietuva remains... As strong as gravity to earth.
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32. Kostas Kubilinskas
Childhood
My childhood - like a dog In the stubble-field - rattling Its frozen teeth near the herd ... My childhood - like a dog. That's why the lonely green poplar Always rustles my pain. My childhood - like a dog In a stubble-field - near the herd.
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33. Vincas Kudirka
LITHUANIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM
Lithuania, my homeland, land of heroes! Let your sons draw strength from the past. Let your chidren follow only the path of virtue, working for the good of their native land and for all mankind. Let the sun banish all darkness from Lithuania, with light and truth always guiding our steps. Let the love of Lithuania burn in our hearts And for the sake of our country, let unity blossom.
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34. Leonas Letas
GROWING CLOSE
Plain homespun, remember, the days when? But that was grain in the palm the nearness, warmth and hunger we heaped! Our trembling lips testing the silence in silence. A pale wrap of fog over there that your glance repeats streaming past just now on the breeze. Now then, uncaulked hours dribble down the sill; and leaning on rundown quiet from autumn woods one hand now plays and plays (and what for?) the latch back from the door.
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35. Juozas Macevicius
HAPPINESS
You spoke about a little bit of happiness As if it were a drop of sparkling dew. You said we could create a nice, small universe With just enough of light and love for two. You are afraid of life, that's clear to me, Just like a little bird's afraid of storms. And so today your words arouse anxiety In me, your happiness that neither chills nor warms. For nowadays we live in such a time When neither life nor love can ever end. So do not talk to me about such happiness - It is too small, too small for me, my friend.
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36. Bronius Mackevicius
BIRTHPLACE
Here On the meadow grass I'm sprawling And drinking woodland breeze again. My eyes are moist again recalling The childhood stories I heard then. The scent of rue... A scythe is ringing, Reminding me of youthful bliss. To you, my birthplace, ever clinging, Your soothing silences I miss. You'll smooth my brow with wind's caresses, Refresh my face with drops of rain The gentle touch of your birch tresses Will soon remove all nagging pain. Hay shall again Smell sweet as honey... The village dogs will bark till dawn. Alas, the distant traffic's humming Bears witness that those years are gone. I'll find a table laid with dishes And not one glance downcast or glum. But you'll appreciate my wishes: It's not to feast Or rest I've come. I've come again to seek my yearning, My youth inside the barn concealed, And take away Like bread for a journey The wind that freely roams this field.
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37. Algimantas Mackus
LITHUANIA
Soon, I will be no more, soon, I will go to sleep: My country is winter, my country is midnight, only in the palm of my country while the moon is shining, a snowy fruit tree shimmers. II My country is winter, my country is midnight, a lonely voice in the age of lost homelands, only in my country's unsowed fields, awaiting sleep, echo the trailing bells of sleighs... I will be no more - but not yet I will turn deaf - but not yet.
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38. Vytautas Macernis
INTRODUCTION
An angry evening has come to the earth, So very alien and restless. Only the wanderer wind tosses about outside the window And like a traveler knocks at the door. But I shall never let him in - I will shut the door even more securely, I, full of unrest, longing for something, Drowned in the gravity of the evening, think: Of this earth and plowed-up hills, Those cabins built of thick timbers, And men, passing from generation into generation, Those men, young and full of promise. I see the golden harvest of their summers, The ripe nights of the month of May, The fields after harvest, the seed, free-falling, And the agony of creative men. It is they who flutter in the shadows of this evening, Becoming clear through gestures and power, And slowly they are born again, Born again through me.
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39. Maironis
TRAKAI CASTLE
With mould and lichen overgrown, Behold, revered Trakai! Its great lords lie in graves unknown, The castle though stands high. Yet from time's fury unprotected The walls are crumbling, long neglected. When storm winds lash the water grey And high waves rise and break, Stones from the towers fall away And crash into the lake. Many a tender heart, perceiving This daily ruin, falls to grieving. You gave us champions, Trakai, Knew days of glory, when You saw the Great Vytautas ride Among his fighting men! Where is the might we should inherit, Where - the antiquity we cherish? There are no guards, no cannon here Upon the silent wall. Proud tales of times that I hold dear Your battlements recall. Shall we see former times returning, Or for lost youth be ever yearning? My heart from bitter pain would weep Whenever I passed by, And tears of pity stain my cheek And cloud my bright-blue eyes. And vainly I sought consolation - All round lay night and desolation.
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40. Alfonsas Maldonis
LITTLE CHILDREN
Earth as well as ocean are polluted. Rain comes down - and off comes people's hair. In this great world live our hope, our beauty - Little children, needing love and care. From a handful of white seaside sand, From a cloud that wayward winds may bring, From both bread and water- who will save Little children, with their tender skin. Where to carry them and where to hide? Not a spot of which we can be sure! Marked by atoms, play upon this globe Little children - on this globe impure. Here and there - on both sides of the ocean - What are you all doing, friend and foe? In this world, eroded by pollution, Little children have to live and grow.
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41. Justinas Marcinkevicius
FATHER'S WINTER
The birds have all left my father's tall trees. Now only frozen stars cling to the black branches. Old farm tools stand stagnant: plows, scythes, hands and hoes. It seems there is nowhere to go, nothing to make us wonder. The wonders of Father's life have passed unnoted and expected - who will marvel at the water or grass, or write down the spring or winter? If you listen, at night you can hear the deep and heavy sighs of the senile, faithful Guernsey passing up from the cattle-shed. All thoughts, like snow, blend to one.
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42. Aidas Marcenas
COURTYARD IN ANTAKALNIS
To enter is the same as to dive into a dream or waken. Objects broken free of form, faded balconies, doors, grass not yet sprouted. Everything shrunken; at the same time expanded. One way or the other I don't belong. The circle has turned around; the branch I used, late for school, to pull myself over the fence five meters high; the tree where we'd sit playing cards, blooms in paradise now. Hidden for eternity from God, playing Chech Fool are my friends - suicides, whose faces are worn now by children still playing war.
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43. Marcelijus Martinaitis
LONELY WOMAN'S SONG
What does the lover say? What do the trees and the earth answer? And on whom overnight does the morning dew fall? What does a word say to a word? Who comes out of the river's white mist and in the morning silently stops at the window? What do the stars and the bullets say, what does death say when it leans over the lover in a foreign land? Does a word hear a word, when the stars fall soundlessly, when far away the moon swims over mountains of clouds? Don't rustle, books, trees, don't interfere with the lovers - so quiet, they don't fall asleep, like two stars in the heavens.
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44. Eugėnijus Matuzevicius
SLEEP - GO TO SLEEP!
Like floodwaters, Dreams float above the city. Sleep - go to sleep you, too. Yet somebody keeps calling you By name From far-off pier and jetty... But it recedes, that voice, and dies, Away it goes, And strange, transparent depths Unfold before your eyes, And sounds and colours and sensations softer grow. And then appears the soundless essence of existence, Just for an instant, maybe, and one listens And then forgets again To live on in anxiety and pain. Dreams come and go, Yes, they will come and yet they never die again. Bright visions full of light, death they defy.
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45. Jonas Mekas
OLD IS THE RUSTLE OF RAIN IN THE BUSH BRANCHES
Old is the rustle of rain in the bush branches, The cries of the heathcocks in the red summer dawn - Old is this our speech: Of the yellow fields of oats and barley, Shepherd campfires in the windy wet loneliness of fall, Of potato harvests, of summer heats, Winter's white glitter, the creak of sleighs on the endless roads.- And of heavy log wagons, rocks in the fallow fields, Of red clay stoves, and limestone in the pastures; And at lamplight in the evenings, in the greying of the fields - Of wagons for tomorrow's market, Of drowned, washed out October roads, Potato harvest days. Old is this our life - countless generations That walked down these fields and left their tracks in the earth - Each foot of the land speaks and breathes the fathers. From those same cool stone wells They watered their evening herds, And when their cottage floors wore out And the walls began to crumble - They dug the yellow clay from these same holes, This golden sand - from these same fields. And when we too depart - Others will sit on those same boundary stones, Mow the same lush meadows and plow the fields; And as they sit at the tables after work - Each table, each clay jug, Each beam in the wall will speak; They will remember the wide yellow pits of sand And the fields of rye waving in the wind, The songs of our women gathering the flax - And this first scent in the new cottage! - The fresh fragrance of mosses. Oh, old is the smell of clover, Horses whinnying in the summer nights - The rustle of sod, harrows, plows, The grindstones of the mills - The smell of the flax retting pit, the meadows, The white gleam of the scarves of the garden weeders, - Old is the rustle of rain in the bush branches, The cries of the heathcocks in the red summer dawn - Old is this our speech.
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46. Eduardas Miezelaitis
THE HELMET AND THE DANDELION
Near a rotted old stump Which the spring water washes A n old helmet rusts, gaunt, And upon it, audacious, Like a bold mountaineer Climbs a wormlet. Nearby A small bird for a nest Scans the beach with its eye. The last ice-splinters melt And are turned into springs. But what flower in the grass To the old helmet clings? From beneath its steel rim Peers a frail dandelion. Stroke its head with your hand - Its alive - undying...
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47. Algimantas Mikuta
A DRAWING LESSON
Today we'll draw lightning, lightning over trees, towers of big cities, or hives with tiny bees. What colour shall we point them? Yellow or blue-green, or simply leave them white like a Negro's grin. What'll the zigzags look like? Anything you please - waving arms, roots, nerves, or better, branches of trees. Work on it, children, and then we shall all see blazing spring lightning neatly nailed to the wall. Have you ever seen anything so disquieting, so innocent and sad as drawings of lightning?
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48. Nijole Miliauskaite
THAT SUMMER
She wore light long wide dresses the wind carried her down streets and through parks easily, as if through a dream with blossoming lindens the thin soft cloth did not hide her breasts and in the sun you could see her supple young body it was so hot we rested in wicker chairs in the shade of giant old trees, the river's reflections glittered on our faces, boats parasols and clouds floated gently by your dropped bicycle in the distant summerhouses opened books leafed through by unseen hands that summer there was no war and there was not to be the first the world these are lilacs from Jaskonis's mill, which is near crumbling each year I pick a huge bouquet empty neglected ordnance yards each year grass overgrows the trenches, the bunkers, and the bones in the common grave these are lilacs from Jaskonis's mill, the saddest flowers, for you Jadvyga (the overcoat hacked by moths rots in the attic) and for you Karolina, you are old already and for you Barbora, the miners's mother and for me
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49. Antanas Mishkinis
WINTER From grief, my amber homeland, O land of rue, from woe You'll dance. You'll dance a folk-dance At the tavern by the road. Hundreds of buses pass here, In my eyes you'll be white. Winter will hold you fast here, Bridelike, in silver ice. Sisters are linen weaving From threads of woe with skill. Mother is bitterly grieving For a son dying in Brazil... Father his soul has mortgaged. "In misery I go," He says. Yes, I'll dance also From the bitterness of your woe. Come spring though, down the river We'll sail to the bright blue sea. If happiness fate won't give us, Grief won't catch you and me!
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50. Henrikas Nagys
MORS ATOMICA
We are but animals on a deserted island. Beasts who could not fit into Noah's ark, driven by invisible arrows and spears. No one sent a boat to save us. No one wrote in fiery letters on the clouds. We wait submissively for the final night of pitiless blue swords. All the ships, with panic sails raised, pass us by. There are no birds. Wind. The island wellsprings went dry. The bread trees are fruitless. We feel the cold and salty sand with our lips. The nearness of the eyes and hair of those collapsed near us, their harsh breathing, rhythmically chopping eternity into the present's small seconds. Silence and the final wave which washes our feet. We are the beasts the Scriptures do not mention. Driven by the arrows and spears of apocalypse into the deserted, empty coral island. No one sent a boat to save us. Water did not wash our names from the shifting sands.
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