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| Translated by Agnieška Leščinska | |
Agnė Žagrakalytė, Liekamieji reiškiniai (Long-term Side Effects). Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishing House, 2024.
Liekamieji reiškiniai (Long-term Side Effects) is the fifth poetry collection written by the prose poetry writer Agnė Žagrakalytė. The abstract explains that “long-term side effects” linger after an event. Perhaps they can be interpreted as consequences or as a recollection of events that occurred somewhere in the past. The theme of memory is closely tied to the theme of aging, which surfaces throughout the poems, and we can see it in lines such as “Oh, how long ago it’s been since the last time! / I was / maybe / thirty-eight?” (p. 84). The title of the final chapter, “Blunkanti žandikaulio linija” (“The Receding Jawline”), also symbolizes the physical transformations of aging, such as sagging skin and the recession of once-defined cheekbones and jawlines. Such “recession” can relate to the erosion of memory and the softening of sharp edges in relationships, which is another pivotal theme in Žagrakalytė’s latest work.
However, upon turning the final page of Liekamieji reiškiniai, it becomes evident that Žagrakalytė’s poems, which capture phenomena and put them into words, draw readers in, making them linger. Her poetic world is sensual, dense, and intense, yet always alive and in motion. It is playful and erotic, not only in its textual expression but also in its physical and experiential dimensions. This is living, breathing poetry.
Eroticism runs through both the speaker’s persona – seductive, jealous, passionately vengeful – and the world, extending even to the relationship with language itself since her debut collection Išteku (I’m Getting Married, 2003). Žagrakalytė’s work reflects a world that seems to engage in a game of seduction, and she blends folklore with urban student experiences in her early work, then later weaves these themes into scenes of family life
In her poetry collection Išteku, “the armpits of an overcrowded trolley” envelope fatigued girls (p. 49) and “young men drying in the sun” hang like clothes on the washing line (ibid., p. 29). You would give anything just to sit down along the narrator on the dirty kitchen floor in her poem “Pienės / švyliai žydi po langu” (“Dandelions / cottongrasses bloom under the window”):
Her fluff is covered in fluff
As she sat on the ground
On the unmopped kitchen floor
So completely naked. (ibid., p. 12)
In Lithuanian poetry, eroticism often takes on a serious, dramatic, or even dark and deadly tone. For instance, Gytis Norvilas, a contemporary poet, unafraid to explore erotic themes, writes in a traditionally lofty style in one of his poems about jealousy and lust. There, imagery of pain and destruction prevails:
I’m shaking the apples from the giant tree (not
even from an apple tree), but clots fall to the ground, I gather them in my lap, what can you do.
I bite my hand in rage, I’m so jealous of you – – – (“pavydo litanija per šv. užmarštį ir tyrus” [“jealousy litany through st. forgetfulness and purgatory”] from the poetry collection Išlydžių zonos [Spark Zones], 2012).
In contrast, Žagrakalytė blends the supposedly inappropriate eroticism with playful irony – a combination that is refreshingly uncommon in Lithuanian poetry. Her metaphors capture the humorous tensions of daily life without a drop of destruction or martyrdom. What makes her approach to eroticism innovative and unusual in the context of our poetry is that she explores eroticism through a mother’s and a writer’s daily domestic life. Unlike the majority of Lithuanian poets, Žagrakalytė doesn’t mock, nor does she try escaping the simple domestic life. The title of her other poetry collection, Bu bu itis (Ord-in-ary-Life, 2019), playfully mocks the fear of the domestic life in the title. She does that by using the assonance of the Lithuanian word “domesticity” (buitis) and converting it into a moan “boo” (bu bu bu), often used to scare children. Domesticity is no monster, and we shouldn’t fear it.
Žagrakalytė rejects the pretensions of grandeur and the weight of suffering, even when writing about jealousy. It’s a theme that serves as a central leitmotif of Liekamieji reiškiniai. The lyrical subject says that “those flowers of blood / I didn’t want, but desired more and more! / a duller story” (p. 49)
When discussing the narrator of Žagrakalytė’s poems, I intentionally use the term “lyrical subject.” This is because the narrator, due to her sensuality, subjectivity, and emotional resonance across all levels of text, is much closer to traditional lyricism. Žagrakalytė’s poems contain something that can be called lyrical openings: moments when observing an external object leads to a kind of enlightenment or insight, which helps in understanding your inner world and its path. In other words, the link between the lyrical subject and the environment surrounding her is close, complementary, and reciprocal. Notably, the world in Žagrakalytė’s poems is often (with a few exceptions) seen from a woman’s point of view. The narrator can appear as the poet’s alter ego because often mentioned biological details and literary events in which the poet has taken part also echo through the narrator’s point of view. A good example of such narrator is Alisa Meler from the collection of poems Visa tiesa apie Alisą Meler (The Entire Truth About Alisa Meler, 2008).
Returning to Žagrakalytė’s poem, even though the lyrical subject confesses that she wants not the “flower of blood” but a “duller story,” in the following passage we see the opposite:
(…) each woman inside
hides a dragoness: slithery, proud
in some she’s the size of a swallow, in others
a nuclear star (p. 55)
In this poem as well as many of her others, Žagrakalytė creates meaningful connections through internal rhymes and alliterations, which are deliberate repetitions of identical or similar consonant sounds. In the poem “tai žinom” (“This we know”), the consonants “s,” “d,” and “ž” and the digraph “dž” contribute to an atmosphere of playful fear and fairy-tale. Such an atmosphere is particularly well-suited to exploring the specificity of the subject’s inner world, where she embodies a slithery and proud dragoness, a swallow and a star simultaneously. The dragoness, swallow, and star are linked not only via assonance (in the Lithuanian text) but also through shared qualities. For example, each can rise above the ground and fly. They also look similar: the dragon’s scaly body, sharp claws, and pointed tail mirror the swallow’s arrow-like wings and the star’s sharp corners.
The poetry collection Liekamieji reiškiniai is divided into eight chapters, each containing poems of various themes, such as reflections on female admiration and rivalry, descriptions of nature, landscapes, history, “a mother’s stories,” personal narratives, and contemplations on love and literature.
The theme of struggle and rivalry is one of the most important motifs. The cover of the book features sumo wrestlers, while the opening poem vividly depicts a clash between two women (like the film The Substance, 2024): one “athletic, supple, and lean” princess and the other, a queen, bearing “burning lungs and wrists ablaze, bloody knuckles, an ocean of might.”
The battle between the queen and the princess is intense: “queen versus princess / whose is the victory / Who shall prevail.” Symbolically, this clash represents the tension between youth and maturity.
The poems in the first chapter, “Tarp mūsų, mergaičių” (“Among Us Girls”), also explore similar clashes. The lyrical subject and the women she encounters, observes, or converses with confront one another. However, these confrontations are full of admiration and appreciation. Sometimes their appreciation is so great it inflicts pain. In Žagrakalytė’s poetry, this tension of violent appreciation is closely tied to vitality and the instinct to survive. It also reflects on the capacity to recognize and admire the beauty and strength of a rival. However, only one can emerge victorious.
the meek pigeon, the gentle mouse,
the disturbed rosebuds in the autumn sun
I would never hurt them, why
do I cut her forehead rapidly
as if giving a kiss. (p. 12)
The chapter “Gėlių ir gyvūnų albumas” (“An Album of Flowers and Animals”) is dedicated to the senses evoked by the external world, while the chapter “Dienoraštiniai” (“Diaries”) explores reflections and representations of the complex relationship with the self, smoldering in daily life. These introspections, however, are far from solemn – they sparkle with playfulness and wit.
Original, fresh, and breathtaking metaphors serve as firm anchors in daily life, the world, and poetry, for instance: “Our / hearts like a hall of mirrors / crystals shattering” (p. 7); “The bright balconies of consciousness and / the endless spirals of basement corridors” (p. 44). Banal situations, like the flow of promotional emails, are reimagined using personification: “I’m greeted by my undies” (p. 63). Linguistic and conceptual clichés are revived through decontextualization: “I won't be looking for any inner / child, / my inner mommy is enough” (p. 68); “I want to celebrate, shine and glow for you, / I want everything down to the light bulb!" (p. 81).”
In contemporary culture, gender stereotypes are openly viewed in an unfavorable light as damaging and repressive. Žagrakalytė’s relationship with such stereotypes is unique. She plays with them in such a way that they transform into a unique, deliberately chosen masquerade. For example, in the poem “Ji” (“She”), the author illustrates the stereotypical rivalry between women as a passionate encounter between female warriors, Kendo fighters. In the poem “Katitė” (“Kitty”), Žagrakalytė addresses the sexist trope of comparing women to animals (e.g., using terms like “kitten”) by turning it into a masquerade, where women can change into various clothes and become various “kitties,” such as lionesses, tigresses, and cheetahs. And they’re enjoying it!
One of the most captivating chapters for me is “Literatūros pasaulyje” (“In the World of Literature”). This chapter explores the intricate relationships between authors and publishers, authors and readers, and authors and editors.
The cycle “Leidėjų leidėja” (“The Publisher’s Publisher”), which explores the behind-the-scenes realities of the publishing world, quite like Rebecca F. Kuang’s popular novel Yellowface. It’s important to mention that Žagrakalytė’s poem focuses on the conflict between the author and the “publisher’s publisher” instead of between two writers.
The role of editors in shaping literary works has sparked discussion in Lithuanian literature recently. Some authors critique editors for inattentively editing their texts, while others accuse them of stifling their creative work. In the chapter “Mamos istorijos” (“Mom’s Stories”), Žagrakalytė presents two versions of the same poem “1979, suklijuota juostelė” (“1979, A Glued Tape”). One is unedited (the author’s original version), and one has been checked by an editor. It’s obvious that the texts differ. However, this raises the question: which version is superior, more truthful, more authentic?
To summarize the impact of the poems in Liekamieji reiškiniai, I would borrow the poet’s own metaphor and call it “a palate that buzzes” (p. 81). Žagrakalytė’s poetry is witty, sensual, and filled with vitality. It’s a world that invites readers to linger and remains vividly alive even after they close the book.
