a palmers chronicle right bw


Warm greetings to all of you, our critical readers and charitable critics. More than once I’ve been asked (as I’m sure all of you have as well): Where can I read your poetry? Your prose? Who are your most interesting writers? What is Lithuanian literature like? What is most important to the writers in your country?



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My last meal should be a poor man’s breakfast-
a slice of Lithuanian black bread
a hard boiled egg and a piece of
fat and just slightly salty Baltic herring

I transformed myself in her freezing rivers—
Lietuva burst a floret, yare devil, and a pixy.

Photo by Zenonas Baltrušis
Thusly, we momentarily see reality, crawling through
the trenches, showing its spikes to the outside world.

Photo by Salionas
and so, I claw with my fingers
at the emptiness
to which, my blood, from time to time,
waving its little hand, says hello

Photo by Vladas Braziūnas
what of it
that i stand watch for the third day
over an unborn poem

Photo by Greta Ambrazaitė
there, were a still living bird sings,
sings of how we will not die,
but simply remain invisible for all time

The woman was not afraid. This land had never been hers, it had never belonged to her. Just like her life.



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