skumju putns izplešas
vējā un tumšmelnām spalvām
ieķeŗas mākoņu malās.
viņš plīvo starp zemi
un debesīm, starp
to, kas varēja būt, un
to, kas nenotika.
viņa kājas iejūk
vīnogu zaros aiz loga,
un viņa sirds sitas
stiklos, klusumā, pārtraukta.
sarāvies kamolā, skumju
putns tup uz palodzes,
un ir krietni pāri pusnaktij;
viņa acis aizsedz mēnesi,
viņa klauvējieni apēd
miega paliekas,
viņa balss izžāvē
neizraudātās atmiņas.
because there is a great gift that cannot be earned, only received with humbleness and joy.
uzdāvini man sapni.
pilnu ar … madarām;
ar tikko paspētu skolas zvanu,
ar ozona molekulām
mazliet ieplēstā kolbā.
uzdāvini man sapni.
kur nav ilgu iesildīšanas;
nav neatveŗamu durvju
un zirnekļa tīklu
pār vecām kartēm.
uzdāvini man sapni.
pilnu ar … ķiploku receptēm;
ar gandrīz negaisa mākoņiem,
ar asfalta smaržu
zem raibi rūtainām riepām.
sapni kā medaljonu,
kur atvērtas debesis,
un nekas vairs nav pazaudēts.
the annual ‘lux perpetua’, etc etc post.
i can forget. no problem with forgetting. but my body does not. the annual dissonance.
clench the teeth, cook something complicated like chicken tikka masala (in this country one has to spend hours hunting the ingredients), clench the teeth, hide.
the dead walk in my dreams, and i have no control over them. and it is too hot for snow.
i will drink with the dead tomorrow. just because i can. or maybe they need company.
today, i will just know that the beginning of augst is here, and i am here, and it will end and i will go on.
Re, vēja nav, un kociņš neviens nekustas,
Un laikam neplūst arī gruntsūdeņi.
Un melnās svītras nodzēstas no tāss.
Un sausā eglē apklusuši dzeņi.Bez vēja tavi mati klusi guļ.
Un nešūpojas aste cielaviņai.
Un brūnā māla bļodā māte sviestu kuļ.
Bet debesīs. Un nav ko prasīt viņai,Jo debesīs. Un neviens kociņš nekustas.
Gar manām kājām briljantos birst rasa.
Pa lielu pasauli es eju mazs,
Un pēdas man to balto ceļu prasa,Kur vēja nav. Re, atkal brīdis jau -
Tik mēms, tik kluss. Tik tukšs no visām pusēm.
Es stāvu laimīgs te. Nekā te nav.
Un arī nevajag, kad dvēsle klusē.I.Ziedonis. Re, kā.
she was. those words taste strangely. she is my mother, regardless of her status with life or death. do i have words for her? do i have memories?
on the scale of one to ten, as a mother, she was about 5. on the same scale as a friend,
she gets 12 minimum. but i had to leave home, learn to be independent, and to be me to know this. our relationship was that of a close friendship. now i mourn a friend first, a mother after that.
i remember a day. i was less than 5 then. i somehow managed to get my right index finger into a motor – and it was instantly minced. the pain was so intense i could make no noise whatsoever. my mother noticed that my chattering had stopped, turned, and there it was – a kid all in blood. Read More
min moðor forðferde.
i think it was the best for the given circumstances,
she died like the active person she was. in action.
for which i admire her.
and also. i think the this was the best variant of all the possible variants. this is what she wanted, how she wanted to go. fast. neat. and this was it.
she was/is a great person. one without which many things lose coherence.
she fared forth. to wherever it is people go.
i will bury her. and i will think and feel later. and write later – of this and what it is i think i need to write of… all that later.
till wednesday. and then. yes, and then.
