ko vairs atceros*

vējš parauj smiltis un pērnās lapas un kūlas stiebrus vecos kapos un kopto pagalmu kaktos, kur kaķi, vārnas un lustīgi sīļi svin pavasari starp gandrīz dīgstošām zīlēm, snieg- pulkstenēm un dažiem purpura krokusiem puspavērtiem. virpuļo sīkumi, skaidas saskaitās pulkos, pārlec žogiem, dzīviem un stiepļu rombiņos sapītiem, vīnogu- lāju noklātām zvirbuļu laktām, aizšvīkst līdz strazdu amata […]

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A beer can

My kid brother died Aug 2, 2005. This is his lay. This too is his lay, only written as a scene for a Creative non-fiction workshop on Aug 2, 2018, inspired by the excellent Inara Verzemnieks, a professor extraordinaire. (and the only person who has ever praised me for writing silences, which has perplexed me). […]

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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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kad dzirkstele aizlec

turpat pie celiņa, it kā aizmidzis, zālīti apsedzies, kaķīts atlaidies; pelēka vilniņa, viss melnās strīpiņās, dzeltena pakakle, pusviru actiņas- guļ kā tāds plausītis. zīlīte atnāca, zvirbulīts pieleca, ne ķepa nekustas; tepat viņš staigāja, draudziņu meklēja, murrāt murrāja, cilvēku gaidīja; rītiņa agrumā apstājās sirsniņa, mauriņa lizdiņā, kaķentiņš aizmiga.

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funeral coffee

the kitchen is ever dark, and cold, and cave-like, and sombre. starting the fire, on gas or in the cooking range. the quiet determinism of those present in the house for the morning. the smell of sadness, the unspoken collectiveness of all people waiting. the setting-up of the pots, the pouring of water, the measuring […]

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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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and now he has moved on. a tribute to a poet, a national consciousness, a man who had barbs and a heart to love

he formed the definition of what poet is, in my world. and how to see the world. Imants Ziedonis. The Master of Clarity. Passed on to the next world on this day. i am happy he did. and i hurt, as a poet and as a latvian. let his journey be light. you will have […]

Read More and now he has moved on. a tribute to a poet, a national consciousness, a man who had barbs and a heart to love

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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pilnmēness/ pustrijos naktī// joprojām nav iespējams gulēt

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, […]

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nekas nav pazaudēts

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 […]

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et lux perpetua

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 […]

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bet varbūt arī tā

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 […]

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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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one of our cats (the one in the pic, where he sleeps on the laundry, as was his custom) got killed by falling snow and ice from the rooftop. now the farm is un-catted, cat-less, bereft of a noble hunter.

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briefly in memoriam

when your teachers die, when the greater ones move on, forðfaraþ, what is left in the world? the breach in the net of the world is patched up by us, the lesser ones, the followers, the disciples. we are not carried by the net. now we are the net, and must carry others. this is […]

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Formal patterns on a journey

We thank you for giving […] to us, […] family and friends, to know and to love as a companion on our earthly pilgrimage (BCP, Burial of the Dead, Rite II) To know is to love. To love, is to know. In the process of our journey here on earth, we meet strangers. In the […]

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The day of maybe has come

This is for you, little kid. I, the eardstapa, will sing your song of death. Because I could not mourn you then and there, I will mourn you here and now. Drink another beer, whichever place that is you are currently gone to, drink and have fun. Grass Still green. Leaves Still brilliant. Sun So […]

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I am having an ecclipse

“Poetovi zatmenya/ ne predugadani kalendaryom” (M. Tsvetayeva) [Poet eclipses// are nor foreseen in calendars] —- —- —- —- —- —- A touch of moondust The dogs howl death away The last bullet fired. — — — My words are unknown to the majority winds up the sky-path — — — Hey, you. The steps Leading […]

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