Heritage

I am rooted in soil
spilled with the blood
of young lives, lost
but not forgotten.

Homeland,
a badge of identity
the feet of my forebearers
have walked there.
They danced.
They praised.

I see a man, moustached
hands calloused from
working the fields.
Eyes weary.

I see a woman, burly and ragged
bearing the hue of my own eyes.
she pulls a child at her side
her mouth is cornered in a frown
released to her discontent.

I see a people
graced with dignity
flowing into a new land
disheartened by displacement.

I see myself, once removed
a heretic of heritage
skewed and confused
I am learning why
the Old Woman feared Thunder.

Homeland.
Green valleys, saturated with sun
I sense internal heat.

Rooted in that soil,
I envision a walk
to the Hill of Crosses,
and find a place to rest.

Palikimas

Mano šaknys žemėje
persunktoje krauju
gyvybę praradusių jaunuolių
žuvę, bet ne pamiršti.

Tėvynė,
tapatybės ženklas.
Mano protėvių kojos
čia takus mynė.
Šoko.  Garbino.  

Matau vyrą, su ūsais,
rankos sukietėjusios
iš darbo laukuose.
Akys - pavargusios.

Matau moterį, drūtą, nuskurusią
su mėlynom akim - panašios į mano.
Eina tempdama vaiką
susiraukusi, sučiaupta burna
parodo jos nepasitenkinimą.

Matau tautą
oriai laikydamasi
nepaisant tremties
ir bėglių nusivylimų.

Aš matau save, kaip paveiksle
palikimo eretikė
nukrypusi ir pamišusi
dar tik išmokstanti
kodėl Močiutės bijo Perkūno.

Tėvyne!
Žali slėniai žiba saulės šviesoje.
Viduje jaučiu didelį karštį.

Mano šaknys toje žemėje.
Svajoju apvaikštinėti Kryžių kalną
ir rasti vietą pasiilsėti.

Lietuvis and Lietuve

Two travellers
return from the parched shore of Ozymandias

No stone icon to greet them but a winding road
framed with dotted farmsteads
         lily, mint and peony spiral
         through the atmosphere
         intoxicating their flinging spirits

Travellers: Lietuvis and Lietuve
Seeking a place to lay their bodies down
         battered minds and dreams of freedom
         have dissipated into jocular memory
         have entered the vocabulary of "past"

"We must find a hayloft where swallows breed," says Lietuvis.
"Near woods of baravykai," replies Lietuve.

Long they travel, each step savoured
like honey-flavoured cheese on Whitsunday
         that feast of flaming tongues
         where language was no barrier
         and spirit was most holy

"There," points Lietuvis.
Two storks lay nesting in the cart wheel of a sturdy oak.

He takes a sprig of rue and gently places
it in Lietuve's hair, she brushes her hand lightly against his strong fingers.
         today she is a maiden chaste
         aglow with possibility
         his love will fill her empty longing

"Lietuva," he calls out in his excitement
And from the birch-lined barn house
Lietuva emerges.
         smiles and waves them in
         the wicker fence-gate has been unlatched
         to greet them home.

Notes:
Lietuvis=Lithuanian (male)
Lietuve=Lithuanian (female)
Lietuva= Lithuania
baravykai=boletus mushrooms

Lietuvis ir lietuvė

To Madrid

You will take me to Madrid
  where long nails as plectrums
  dance upon guitar strings to deliver
        Segovian air,
  and deliberate Flamenco heels dance passionate
  sweeping heartbeats into butterflies.

I have never been to Madrid.
Know nothing of Spanish life.
  But your eyes have made love to Madrid
  your mouth has tasted its honey
  felt the quickening of desire.

I will tremble in your Madrid
on a dry-hot languid day resting in Chinchón
  as we eat sopa de ajo
  as your language tongue whispers my name
  then ruptures symphonies of pleasure
        against my waiting lips.

į Madridą

One Word

If I seek one word for you
all others would collapse in jealousy
"Linguist-envy" would become
a treatment term
for abandoned words
lying wasted and wanting
to be a word
for you.

If I must choose one, and
such noble descriptives do exist:
joy and peace and happiness
(no shabby-fodder among them).

"Siempre" would call itself
to the bidding table
ask for fair consideration.
It has, after all, been
reliable and true for centuries.

But "l'amour" would lie
kicking and screaming
crying for justice
(a piece of the action, really)
the hopeless romantic that it is.

If I allow one word -
one solitary, strong and meaningful word
Steeped in tradition
weary but not worn
sought but not readily attained
a word that stands alone
but can balance all others
capable of anything -
one word for you:
"rimtas."

Note: rimtas - earnest, sober, intense and serious person

Vienas žodis

Howl at the moon

The Australian sky
surrealistic
clear
sun-filled striking blue
There is no point in waiting for rain.

Yet my body hankers
for the joy of moisture.
It longs to return
where trees sag heavy with snow
and the ground turns white.

The Australian night sky
black as indigo
cave dark
its full moon
awakens the wolf in me.

It is then that one must howl
at the moon
and realize that the world over
it is the same moon.

Wolves everywhere howl —
“Understand my feeling!”

Who would have guessed this secret about the moon?

Staugti į mėnulį

Under an Open Sky

It's difficult to mask oneself
be dishonest - for love

Yet I did not hide
like a trembling, cowering animal
crouched in the bush.
Not I.

Under an open sky
I ran quickly towards you
(while days moved slowly)

I knew that at home
I was an invisible shadow
a visiting ghost

Walking as if through empty walls
alienated (mostly from myself)

Under an open sky
I withdrew
in search of truth.

I dreamed about the rhythm of our hearts
(calming me, arousing you)

It is hard to deceive
for love, for heritage
abandon my English tongue
and disappear
fly off to a future unknown.

I am told, happiness has no limits
when your heart is free
when you understand who you are
and answer love with love.

It is very simple.

I used to wander through life
with eyes closed.

Po Atviru Dangumi

Untitled

Someone
somewhere
lost
gazing through a window

unbeliever
unaggressive
sober

homeless
missing everything

someone
for the moment
still trying
notices from within the lake

she is not fully drowned
floating

not yet gasping

someone

wants to fall asleep
in peace

Be pavadinimo

The Fair

You bought me
fairy princess wings
and a crown

we rode
the Ferris wheel

turning

the sky appeared
the future opened

Mugė

Lithuanian Language

by Gintautas Kaminskas

Perhaps most members of most ethnic groups think that their native language is very special, beautiful and unique. Lithuanians are no exception. We love our language for many reasons. One of those reasons is that you love something you almost lost. Situated next to the Baltic Sea, at the crossroads between Russia and Germany, with Poland and Sweden nearby, Lithuania has suffered a lot of invasions and influences, which have often put the very survival of the Lithuanians’ language (and therefore our culture and identity) in danger.

If we go back only one century_to 1903_we find Lithuania occupied by the Czar's army and incorporated into the Russian Empire. After an uprising against the Russians which was brutally suppressed in 1863, the writing of Lithuanian in the script we normally use_modified Latin alphabet with some special letters was banned. This meant in effect a total ban on Lithuanian books, because no Lithuanian would touch the only books allowed to be printed by the Czarist authorities in Lithuanian: those using the Cyrillic alphabet, which is used for writing Russian.

The fact that our books were banned gave rise to the phenomenon of “knygne_ys” or “book smuggler”. (Knyga = book; ne_ti = to carry.)

Lithuanian books printed in the proper Latin script were printed by Lithuanian émigrés in neighbouring East Prussia and smuggled across the Nemunas River to delivery points in Lithuania. They were distributed to illegal schools that operated after dark in barns and forest cabins to avoid persecution from the Russian authorities. Book smugglers who were caught were severely punished: sometimes hanged; sometimes deported to Siberia for many years or even the rest of their lives. The penalty was great; but their love for our native language was greater.

The ban on Lithuanian books was not lifted until 1905. Fortunately, in 1918 Lithuania was able to win independence. This lasted only until 1940, but it was enough to educate in Lithuanian a generation that included my parents and Maryte Gureckaite’s. The love that the Lithuanian schools inspired in them for their native language has been passed on to us.

Our parents had to leave Lithuania because of World War II. For 50 years, Lithuania was occupied by foreign powers: first the U.S.S.R. (1940-41); then Germany (1941-43); then the U.S.S.R. again (1944-1991). Again the Lithuanian language was in danger, constantly being crowded out of one sphere of activity after another by Russian.

Imagine our joy when Lithuania almost miraculously managed to re-establish itself as an independent country in 1990-91.

At last the Lithuanians are maîtres chez soi again, the young people are being educated in their native language, and Lithuanian culture is flourishing. While there are no Lithuanian authors who have yet won Nobel prizes for literature, there is no shortage of accomplished Lithuanian poets.