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Vidas Morkūnas: “‘People on the margins’ and marginal situations always interested me”

Interviews /

Writer, poet, and translator Vidas Morkūnas could be presented as an author who, on the one hand, is somewhat distant from the Lithuanian literary center (at least in terms of publicity), and on the other, as someone who significantly expands and enlivens the literary field with his uniqueness and individuality. His ability to construct texts,

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Vytautas Ališauskas

Poetry /

Now for the sake of caution, I must warn the dear reader not to fall for this particular ruse, and that the persuasively written footnotes are part of the act as well. Vytautas Ališauskas’s recent collection of poems – Jono Naujoko eilės (“John Freshman’s Verses”) presents us with layers of artificial authorship: the author operates

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Vidas Morkūnas

Fiction /

the unarmed We’ve been hanging around for a good three hours on the crumbled supermarket loading dock dotted with old stains. Nearby, beyond the dusty shrubs, the town sweltered in the summer forenoon heat. When the determination of our trio to load whatever needs to be loaded was finally dying out, when we were running

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Social (un)feeling

Reviews /

In Lithuania, literature engaged with social empathy appeared about a century ago when short stories and novelettes by Gabrielė Petkevičaitė-Bitė and Jonas Biliūnas, which have become classics, were written and published. The short story “Offering to God” by Petkevičaitė-Bitė is today known to every school-age child in Lithuania because it is being analysed in schools

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This Is a Miracle

Reflections on Belonging /

Imagine how the universe comes into being, apparently out of nothing. The first particle pops out of nowhere followed by a huge stream of particles that start interacting with each other instantly, the fields appear, first atoms get born according to physical laws that had never existed before. The atoms clump together led by that

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Alvydas Šlepikas

Poetry /

Doll in labyrinths of evening sky my soul gets lost in the blind eyes of heaven in the bottomless rifts of consciousness distant thunder the autumnal                             hair god                                opens time                         to dead-ends          sleep the stilled breath                     of a child with orange ribbons in her hair a mother

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Tomas Petrulis

Poetry /

by mistake the crucified is like a marionette in the hands of whomever touched his mother all over but through an angel they touched as through a membrane they caressed until her body was fertilized though maybe someone else in someway else also fertilized her body as a woman through a great mistake (misbe-)held this

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