trešais aprīlis, divi tūkstoši septiņpadsmitais gads

vai arī tavā pusē bērzi pumpuro? un melni mājas strazdi  izbož rīkli un svilpj un vītero? zem meža velēnām salts rūgtums iziet gaismā un zeme atveŗas un peļķu ledus plaisā… vai tavā  pusē arī  vārnas vējā dejo un kraukļi kramšķina un bērzos sulas klejo un klusi tek no sīkām mazām brūcēm? un mums pa vidu…

circles

she’ll only forget her children, pale green when the dawn deprives them of sleep. she’ll sing bitter lullabies, an aeternal dirge, primaeval and calling to all that sees light. she will look out when the night is high and all the rotten things flourish. her breath so deep, full of fragments, fragrances, thoughts catching up…

trivia

behind the sunglasses you wore your tired eyes; reflections of sparrows mated vehemently across the space of fresh minted sunshine. the wetly-thawed earth was fragrant with emerald moss. starlings chirped darkly, looking for morning worms under the din of the city. i saw you sitting alone, at a crowded bus-stop. the traffic went by unrestrained…

padziedi, zeme

padziedi, zeme, par baltu smilgu zaļajā mežā, par zelta lapu apaļā liepā; padziedi māti viņajā pusē, zaļajā zemē, zeltajā domā, klusums kur veļas, mākoņos aizķerts

trains as large cetaceans (and the butterfly unexpectedly)

maybe the trains are large animals, not unlike the blue whales, stranded, composite, growing wheels and tails and then picking their route, out of the capture, out into the wild places and fields, to see the cross-dressing hills, to roar and signal, and rear up into the cloud-bothered sky over horizons. magical trains, invoking stories,…

was clearing the rucksack and found this

a little winter poem*. i think it will look fine in the heat (such as it is) of the summer: today it snows right out of the blue they fall, correct in every aspect, criss-crossing the near to the far, cross-stitching the perspective to this silence, this mute mobility outside the glass. Snowflakes, little feathers…

the blackbird sings night competing*

a long whistle, a whistle, a green turn to the right, peach upon blue, tweet, chatter, breathe in the freshly cut mint, a hint of basil, orange setting, apple trees ripe for starlings, stars not emerging from dusk, make another jump into the wild-rose fragrance, dance in the twilight, watch the moon go semi-round, eyes…

upside-down sky with peach-coloured dolphin dreams

peach-coloured sky breathes the pale dust of ships splitting towards heaven. stars creep out from their dents in the firmament, and drop, shooting, growing tentacles, acquiring a life of their own ——————– down down into the endless sea, blue as the night giving it birth. dreams like dolphins surface to breathe, shoot up into the stars,…

the ultimate test*

death is the ultimate test – it is irreversible, a one-way-only gate, a membrane that filters you out and then returns to its stillness. death is both never and near, certain and so unknown that those who live the illusion of total control spend their days in fear. the ultimate test, where the win or the…

things move

the clouds in stratosphere shift invisibly, under the cover of low, rain-soaked spreads closer to earth; rain-clouds come closer to find all sorts of parade, or maybe the remnants of snow; and they rain; wind moves cyclons. or maybe the other way round; air masses move branches, and trees, and waves, and all sorts of…

crystallisations

the earth and the air are in opposition: the earth still warm, the air carries a frosty breath. and water escapes from earth, and goes up. to get stuck like white crystals in the hair of the trees, making them grizzly and white. the trees do not mind, the trees have warm feet.

parallels and juxtapositions

what shall i name you? ever have you been close by. in the sky, and in soil, in parched sod and in mud, over the treetops and by the roots and fallen leaves, and yea, even in the season of spring when all is reborn, have i felt your breath. you have taught me patience,…

rain

is a sign of autumn, the smell of raw water in the nostrils of all people splashing, hurrying, covering themselves improperly in umbrellas and raincoats. rain reminds. of thick morning fogs skewered by sunshine, the fragrant sod, freshly cut open, and potatoes, pale and moist, just discovered, ripe to be picked. rain sloshes up thoughts,…

the invisibles

sometimes i wonder. where are the God’s people when the devil’s people are so much in view. or. where are the loving when nobody cares. or. where are the freedom fighters when one state enslaves another. or. where are the bringers of peace when all is there in the news, is war. or. where are…

kad mēness vairs neslēpjas aiz mākoņiem, jo naktīs līst

tu esi lietū, kad lapas čaukst, kad mākoņos ietinies, rudens vēl tikai silda plaukstas mēnesnīcās un kļavu zaļumā; tavi soļi zibšņos un lāsēs, un rīboņas pilnā skrējienā, pāragros putnu kāšos, kas ielavās sala neskartās debesīs; tu esi lietū, un smilšu graudos pie tavu kurpju zolēm

there might be books about this, but summarily

to be latvian means to know your pitch from your fork, to speak a tongue designed for woods and fields, it means to have so much history that the present stops and goes backward, the future reiterating the pasts. to be latvian is to be aware

when rain does not choose randomly

rain at 73 degrees deep dark blue of of the foxglove. passer domesticus brown-backed, picking at flies. listen how linden-trees blossom all over this day, this city of too many judgments and fears.

the maples are on blossom, and the sun seems too young to be ignored

i’ll buy two twenty-four-hour tickets, switch on the springtime, take food and a spare pair of socks, and invite you to go through this city of endless shades of sunshine, look up trees, ask strange questions of dandelions and catalogue all that is green, crazy, and budding. we will jump transport criss-cross, from a line end…

to es nepaspēju pastāstīt*

pa šodienu pēkšņi bērzi izdzina lapas, izpleta skaras, kļuva biezi, un sulas apstājās tecēt. un kaijas jau četros piekliedz pilsētas ielas, skaita radus un uzglūn lietām, kas nepiesietas. drīz kļavām būs ziedi,

my own weather

in a world complete with abstractions, i come with my own sunshine, my own wind – the thunderstorms all around me are all of my own making. the clouds over mountaintops, the rocks teething from sod, the devious moonbeams are all of my own weather. to be or to do, to drizzle, or come down…