I Paid with Lilac Leaves For the five minutes I stopped my ears On the other side of the house While my father and neighbor Slaughtered the incarnadine pig by the pen On the squealing snow. For the stubble field, for the pointed moon, Waking from one dream To another, For the rusty nail
Birutė Grašytė-Black Read More »
Birutė Grašytė-Black has won the First Book Contest (poetry section) organized by the Lithuanian Writers’ Union. I spoke with the author last year and wished her luck in the contest. I had already heard and read some of her work – Birutė’s poems are vivid and laconic yet capacious, and I recall in them the
The Olive Branch Connecting the Past and the Present in the Beak of a Raven Read More »
There are two images stuck in my mind when I think about Dominykas and Greta. The first is the two of them standing at one of the tables lined up along the wall of a big room in the Dainava center during the 2019 Poetic Druskininkai Fall, where publishers sold their books to the festival’s attendants.
Greta Ambrazaitė and Dominykas Norkūnas: On Poetry and Poetic Ambassadorship Read More »
Excerpts The global quarantine of 2020 was like the game musical chairs. Wherever you were on planet earth when the music stopped and the quarantine went into effect, that’s where you stayed. I found myself on a sandy strip of shifting dunes held tentatively in place by ancient forests of pines and firs. The Curonian
Homesick When I awoke in the morning the motel ghosts had already hidden, fallen away like the sands of time. I wanted to run from the place as fast as I could. We didn’t stop in the small town, but carried on towards the Fort Bourke Hill lookout. From the platform, you could see all
Akvilina Cicėnaitė Read More »
When discussing an autofictional novel, a reviewer can perhaps allow herself to introduce some elements of autoreview in her text. I write primarily in Lithuanian, and I am thinking in “translation mode” because I will translate it into English myself, inserting words and idioms that don’t exist in Lithuanian. My thinking in Lithuanian turns out
Lord, if you wish for me to return, make it so that a fish would swim through my meadow, my eye swimming in pursuit until it reaches the fish’s refreshing embrace. G. Grass — When the war broke out in Ukraine, I visited my grandfather, who is slowly approaching his centennial birthday, hoping that he
translated by Rimas Uzgiris video by Jevgenij Tichonov organized by Saulius Vasiliauskas Copyright: Vilnius Review All rights reserved
Donatas Petrošius – Lutsk, 2012 Read More »
translated by Rimas Uzgiris video by Jevgenij Tichonov organized by Saulius Vasiliauskas Copyright: Vilnius Review All rights reserved
Sara Poisson – Nothing Read More »
In Alzheimer’s Fields she gathers and gathers those dandelions wading through a meadow up to her knees – old unhinged and fatigued – while the wind scatters dandelion seeds until there is nothing left in her hands I stopped – looked – thought how I need to help my neighbor who can’t find her
