Sigitas Parulskis
Landscape
(from Journey Along the Edge of the Sand)
Stop! freeze it, frame it, capture it on film,
film stinking of long conveyor belts,
skyscrapers, movie screens, abandoned mines.
For one thirsty moment
it will live longer.
Soon it will grow dark-a huge unattainable
skeleton covered with sand, rinsed with rain
will rise—
a mixture of salt- and freshwater.
Firs will kneel for a moment
and the night’s demigods
bend over it.
Its heart will learn forms
and grow ripe—
concerned with the solstice
over its own dying head.
And still it will attempt
to keep watch.
(Translated from the Lithuanian by Laima Sruoginis)
Sigitas Parulskis
Border Village
(from Journey Along the Edge of the Sand)
The very edge of the world;
oh how dreary this land is—
garish cows,
a herd without a shepherd,
the bay’s murky tongue,
an eternally still mouth,
a dark ox in the sparse reeds;
quiet, suspicious
strong calved girls—
Europa’s
or Neringa’s.
And a church beyond the bend in the road,
Christ’s ship. Through a wound in the Eastern wall
heavy fishing nets burst forth—
along the water,
on a crust of blackened sand,
lay rotting fish.
Give us this day
our daily bread.
Our bread is petroleum,
her crust is tougher
than a coffin.
Along a battered dock
row boats bob;
their rust travels
through our blood,
through original sin
and forgiveness,
through the blood of Northerners
with the mark of a Lithuanian soul—
Still we condemn their hearts
their colors — blue, white, red —
their dogs, their fences and their trash.
They are like flocks of suffocating birds.
Above their rooftops thick crosses
of antennas intertwine—
unable to catch the voice
of God.
But this is just a border village, on the border.
The beginning.
It scrubs your bones
while a bottomless tornado of wind
pulls you towards the very center.
(Translated from the Lithuanian by Laima Sruoginis)
