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…
this is the time of post-truth. my head does not get around that notion very well. then, of course, should it, once it is the time of emotions. and so after some rumination and deliberation and suchlike, both for the purposes of exercise and clarity, here i am making a short list of what might be…
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…
the moon floats in the hazy Aegean blue like a Cheshire cheese. the air is moist and kind of cold, though hectically warm. i have lost the right words. yes, as the trite metaphor goes, silence engulfs me. no, not only engulfs, it also enfolds, consumes and drowns me. this silence is black, and it…
The Telephone “WHEN I was just as far as I could walk From here to-day, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against a flower I heard you talk. Don’t say I didn’t, for I heard you say — You spoke from that flower on the window sill– Do you remember…
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,…
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…
here’s this, from a student’s paper: ‘The pathetic fallacy is a term that uses nature to express the characters or their emotions.’ this somewhat makes me wonder (annually) about what i am actually doing there at the uni. maybe i should use some nature to express my emotions. such as birches. or that would be…
my Kat is not mythological. he has no healing powers. he sleeps everywhere. he makes weird grunting noises when happy. he wakes me up at unseemly hours. he does not even pretend to understand what i say or feel. he is easy to wash. he likes drinking from the tap, and tries to open it…
when the sunlight comes into my room, and i, too, am at home, i see cobwebs in the normally dark places. some are ornamental. some are dirt. ultimately even the originally ornamental cobwebs turn to dirt. who’s to blame for that? the spiders, who have laboriously woven their little webs to catch whatever insects happen…
cherry blossoms fall slowly, a meditation over mud trodden by many over blood, and unexpected memories. gentleness perishing silently over violence perished like snow over grass.
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…
i sit here, in my tower of ice, under the wing of winter herself, and watch the media stream go by. and there is something wrong in the representations of the recent events in France and other places. yes. terrorism. it does not have race, or religion, or gender, or sex, or colour. it is…
the purpose of advent is to prepare for christmas. the purpose of christmas is… what is the purpose of christmas? one answer, rather unpopular, would be: to remember that god came into the history as Jesus, and did all those great things. another answer, slightly more popular, would go thus: christmas is the time for…
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.
Some people think that it is time.
status update: i have not fallen off the map. i’ve been under influence. of a creepy virus, freely donated by countless students. when i am not asleep, or in class, i read. and suddenly here was this need to quote this to the wide world, which is limited only by my perception: 6.43 If good…
this is not a lullaby. this is a call. maybe one of these days i’ll come up with a decent translation. working on it.
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…
one’s gotta love the book. i hope it is published in eng, too. plz, publish it in eng. it is mind-blowing “.. neither way of looking at the sonata is wrong. Yes, it’s a beautiful, evolving piece of music, and yes, it’s this giant time-less chord. With Fourier analysis, you move between the two ways…
i updated the list of books i am reading now. (when i was younger, read was one of those verbs which were not supposed to be used in a progressive tense – like think or live…yeah, those were less progressive days), but this is exactly how it feels … am reading, at the speed of 400-800 words per minute,…
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
and, besides, the giants’ march is one of my fav themes from the Gold of the Rheine…
it is summer. the brief summer of this country where it is often winter, but most of the time – autumn, even when it is spring. not that i particularly like the sunshine and the heat, and all that…but the trees are green, the birds have lead forth their young and are conceiving another hatch,…
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