LITHUANIAN QUARTERLY JOURNAL OF ARTS AND SCIENCES
Volume 26, No. 3 - Fall 1980
Editor of this issue: Birutë Cipliauskaitë
Copyright © 1980 LITUANUS Foundation, Inc.
ELEGY AT THE WINDOW
as though marinated.
on the fourth floor
playing the gramophone.
From the street
like a seaman in Bergen harbor
who looks through binoculars
But . . . nevertheless I dream
that I am in Paris,
where one can kiss on the streets.
You are a midinette,
I — a mediocre poet;
we sit in a smoky room
and drink the cheapest
about my fanciful life.
It's that time
when the last Sunday goers
return home from the seaside.
flicker on in the squares
above the lindens.
haven't even a linden,
only the old myrtle
and needle memories
in the vase on the table.
And I am as sorrowful
as a village girl
who has lost — her favorite cat...
The silence of snow oars on the streets,
And somewhere in sheds oars grieve.
You sit and speak so quietly,
As though wary of yourself and others.
Shall I exchange my black curtain
For another one — bright and red?
You're the sort to take affront —
Your own heart would hang you.
Weightless light steals from the glass,
Behind the wallpaper is a smell of lime.
How I'd like to smooth against my face
A newly cut round of pine.
Then again in this time of winter
I'd feel moist marl and streams,
And bending I'd say to you — gentle one,
I like the pattern of your dress.
But you, you talk of eternity
And fear your own death:
Long ago I told you — don't wear brown,
It's harmful to your nerves.
Who can touch on thoughts of death:
She never comes before her time,
Better learn to water flowers
And chase the tears from your cheek.
All three poems translated by Inara Cedrinđ