ziemas pusē

Mīļo viking*, nu beidzot Arī šai pusē ziema. Velk tāds kā zempūtis Visur — no jumtiem Pār ielām un krūmiem Un apaļiem zvirbuļiem Nārsta vārnām un vientuļiem Kraukļiem — pulverīgs baltums. Sniegu laukumos smaržo pēc apsēm Egles pilnas ar sarmu Tikai pelēkais paliek Cauri puteņa līčloču rakstiem Un zīlītes dzied tur augšā Ozola zaros tik […]

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more memories

this is a time of memories. most of the memories, however, are not. well, they aren’t something i remember. now i m waiting for my brother to call me and tell me of the condition of my father. my father has refused to go to any hospital. he is also not so well. i will […]

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Bez vietas un briežiem*

Mīļā, šodien ir pumpuri pušu, un žubītes burbuļo neapklusušas. Mīļā, jasmnīns zied trausls un krēmīgs, un liepas piebalso neizlēmīgi. Mīļā, saule jau stāv tik tuvu, un zeme auksta neapturami. Strazdi bērnus jau palaiž tautās, un vārnēni zālājā nenopļautā; Un smiltis skrien naksnīgā vējā, pār atmiņām skrien nepaspējami. Mīļā, ir atkal debesis pārplīsušas, un man tevis […]

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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

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different lucidity

they say – and i have seen it actually – there is a moment of lucidity before the final departure. the whole of today is torn by flashbacks. of pictures of sudden bursts of coherence and actual joy when my mother spoke like she was better. of the little flutter of hope. and then, the […]

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possessive modality

my memories. of her last days. my body remembers uncontrollably. these are my possessions, my riches, my hoard: my pain and my love for her. i wish i had found the courage to tell her, to verbalise my love and care, to make them known with words also. the unsaid festers and burns, and can be disposed […]

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even when death is but passing, it towers and looms over the traveller home; the things important on the linear path get brushed under the quiet rock, the immense carpet made by transcendent hands; death is but passing – you know it, and i, and yet we stay

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the empty graves

“but i want to go to your mother’s grave,” she said. “you can come or not, it does not matter,” she added. “but i’d appreciate a navigator.” “i do not see what i’ve forgotten there,” i said. “but ok, i’ll go.” and so we went. the day was bright and sunny, the road characteristically abysmal, […]

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roses and tomatoes

roses are green and red, and yellow, and orange. tomatoes are green and red and yellow and orange. roses smell nice. tomatoes smell nice. now, how come, we do not put tomatoes in a vase, and do not eat roses for salad? ======================================= my dead mother inhabits my dreams, mutely disappearing at the most odd […]

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exp +360

and again. for the past nights, i have been dreaming of losing her again. or not losing. it all is so confusing. my rational mind tells me- all that could have been lost, has been [lost], and there is nothing, nothing at all to be done about it. my body memory, morphic memory, tells me that something […]

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when a wake is impossible because the people are too different and just would not talk

it is midnight, and the tree roots have grown over the faces of the ancient statues of power and strength, and faithfulness.   at the table, cards folded in hands the two sat, unblinking, unmoving, speechless amidst little half-empty glasses of shots.   the light flickered, unresolved gleaming on the horizons where what was met […]

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the unwritten

i thought about writing a long and maybe poetic post about my mother playing tetris. she was perfect at it. but i will not. because it would be too long and too poetic, and what is inside me is all raw and sore, and not poetic at all. she played tetris like a world champion […]

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i miss her. it’s been a year and a half roughly – and i still miss her. the little things, the casual talk on the phone, the cabbage recipe, the enjoying of bananas or fish soup. nothing great or important, just the little, everyday, unimportant things. the beautiful voice. the work-worn hands. the ‘life must go on’ […]

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another conjunction

even if living here, one is supposed to be proud of the winters with their cold and snow and blizzards and ice and whatnot, and sort of look down on the ‘southern softies’, i sometimes think that a more temperate climate would be an advantage. i am bored by monochrome. i want daffodils. but the […]

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of the unspoken

it is january. my body remembers the decisions i had to make last year. and i remember never been able to tell her i love her. or how much i love her. or that i have ever wanted to be able to tell her. i thought it was more important to do the love. to do […]

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she said, ‘what makes you happy?’ i said, ‘wait a moment, i have to think.’ (because i live my life in different terminology) then i said: ‘i know what makes me happy. it is the presence of my god.’ she said: ‘you are a lucky person, then.’ and then i thought that happiness is something […]

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es atgriežos kaut kur starp nāvi un klusumu saulstaru rakstos bērzu spurdzes pārklājas rasas prizmām un dzilnīša srīi-srīi kā dimants griež ledus; tāds āliņģis starp toreiz un vienmēr; tāds elpas pārtraukums.

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predictably but too soon

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. […]

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