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Nijolė Daujotytė was born in Žemaitija in 1963. She attended Varnių secondary school and stidiens Lithuanian language and literature at Vilnius University. She has published three collections of poetry, Same Aged Plants (2003), Through the Leaves (2009) and A Bold Line (2021). Her first book was awarded the Zigmas Gėlė Prize. She works at a publishing house.

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reflections on belonging

a palmers chronicle right bw

Graphic Novels

Aleksas Andriuškevičius, from the cycle "Unnamed Lines", 1991. Paper, ink, 49,3 x 63,2 cm. From the MO Museum collection.

Poems from the poetry collection „A Bold Line“

Translated by Markas Aurelijus Piesinas

 

 

SIGNS

i turn
i try
to descry
the signs
of survival

st. anne’s church
the closing
wounds
of the mortal

excavations
in the city of silence

and laughter
piercing
laughter

 

 

SOUR LITTLE APPLES

when i’m silent
i find
my voice
yelling

crawling
on trunks
of trees
prowling
in the murky shade

sour little apples thus
grow
deeper
into a summer
past

 

 

RIVER

a hot day in July
like a great
transparent ball

explodes from
the crashing rain

heavy and tired
            the river
rolls into the sky
in billows of white

through glacial
             stones
and lilies of silence

 

 

WATERCOLOR

my friend used to say:
“i have so much love
in me it will make me
explode”

she died

now where
is her love

is it swarming
in thick acacias
or set in her
watercolor
tones of bluish green
and yellow

hot-air balloons
take fire and
rise from the earth
so easily

 

 

ST. CASIMIR’S FAIR

the smell of smoked fish
and moss
in the morning

cyanic mists
rise from the attics
and cellars
turning again
into spirits
of wood and clay

a sooty lathered horse
gallops
along the river Vilnelė
late to
return to that March night

roses of steel
sprout
on your heart

until the coming spring

 

 

TO GO BACK

lunch
with ma
at a diner
in a small town

we’re eating
cutlets
and drinking
rosy kompot

i’m only six
dangling my legs

everything is so pretty
and festive

feels like
flying

mom will not want me
to return to
the village

only further
into the big city

and now
can i come back now?

 

 

NEIGHBORS

my father is
getting ready to go
to the funeral of
zakarauskis

to sing the prayer
of Calvary hill

it is cold, windy, far
and he is a little unwell

he turns back
from the doorstep
lays down his hat
on the table
dragging
his padded fur coat

remembering how

zakarauskis
when the Jews were
dumped into the pit
went to take off
the shoes
from their feet

he dug them up from the soil
the good leather ones

our windows then
were covered by snow

we finished
our supper

the lamp
had to be lit

 

 

A BOLD LINE

too short
this flashy dress
it’s just too short

but pretty
would be a waste
to throw it away:
no bad memories

laundry
or mending
can’t fix

some lace, you say?
and organza?

could i just get a
ribbon please
not necessarily red
yellow is fine
a bold line

ok but
how long

 

 

 

 

 

 

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