***
deep underground breathe
birds
buried in dirt
if you dust one clean
her cornflower plumage
will shine bright and blue
such birds are
moose beetle swallows
ultramarine mole-eagles
with these birds
estonians play at being cherokees
cherokees play at being estonians
but these birds will allow
only indigenous peoples
to phich their blue feathers
we estonians and cherokees come
from the land of tricoloured dogs
and underground birds
but where are we headed
Translated by Patrick Cotter, Ireland
Commentary:
Cornflower is Estonian national flower, one kind of swallow (smokeswallow in Estonian, Hirundo rustica in Latin) is our national bird.
For some, Estonians are Indians of Europe.
to be a dog-apartment
to be a dog-apartment with three barking rooms
with a snout-bathroom
where one tap dribbles cold
and the other hot slobber
to be a dog-apartment with floors
that howl towards moon-yellow ceiling lamps at nights
to be a dog-apartment
that detests the smell of cats
to be a dog-apartment
whose sofa hairs bristle up
even at the stench
of distant felines
2000
Translated by the author in cooperation with Richard Adang, USA
*
fish livers have been strewn on the ground
nuns chirp their songs under the ice
night tugs day by its feet
in towers clocks sprout like ears of wheat
the motley eggs of passion roll in the blue grass of sobriety
wind is heavy like radium
across good and evil
it flows like molten serum
cataracted forests
foam beneath us
to be sea
to embrace tender and ethereal islands
cats’ eyes full of the motes of autumn mists
away! away!
here the satrap tried to place his heel on the last of primeval time
here dogs kiss the night
away! away!
here silence has noodles up its nose
here punishment flares behind the mountains
like a great woolen maze
here snow grows like the balance of payments
its suffering is exhibited on a golden stand
your breasts expand
through the café window
like two pagodas
they are fondled by the young evening
love is polling them
like a glinting knife
screeching trees
recount on the boulevards
all they have heard
on the ignorance of humans
the disgusting behaviour of automobiles
lightning bolts hang
stationary in the sky
they sparkle there even now
dust and soot will gild them
will do their work
the Lord’s lightning fails to touch earth
under the tree no one can
embrace the salamander
of heavenly fire
even without hearing we know the score
about the stagnation in paradise
about plots
about putsches
about the corruptability of angels
alas
Translated by Patrick Cotter, Ireland