Poems by Arvis Viguls
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1. ROMANCE: KATASTROFA Viņai bija maiga āda, viņš izvēlējās viņu pēc taustes, kā tirgū izraugās augļus, kas sapūs neskarti uz galda. Viņa izvēlējās viņu pēc vārda, viņam bija svētā vārds. Viņa nezināja, ka par godu svētajiem nosauc slimnīcas. Viņš mīcīja viņas vaibstus kā bērns, kas pie galda mīca maizes mīkstumu, kas paliks neapēsts. Viņš pašķīra viņas matus, kā dārznieks pašķir zarus, izraudzīdamies tos, kas jāapgriež. Viņa domāja, tas ir barters -- muti pret muti, ādu pret ādu, bet viņš bija lūžņu uzpircējs, kaulu mijējs. Viņa bija smalks mehānisms, viņš — neprasmīgs pilots. Vai brīnums, ka iznākums bija katastrofa? ROMANCE: A CATASTROPHE She had soft skin, he chose her based on touch, like one chooses fruit at the market, which will rot on the table without having been touched. She chose him based on his name, he was named after a saint. She didn’t know, that hospitals are given saints’ names. He kneaded her cheeks like a child, who kneads bread dough at the table, which doesn’t get eaten. He parted her hair, like a gardener parts branches, and singles out those, which need to be cut off. He thought it was barter – mouth to mouth, skin to skin, but he was a scrap metal buyer, a bone peddler. She was an intricate mechanism, He was an unskilled pilot. Is it a surprise, that the result was a catastrophe? 2. NAGS Pirmā bērnības atmiņa: ķirurgs ar pinceti un skalpeli noliecies pār manu labo durvīs iespiesto īkšķa nagu. Alas, no tā nācās atvadīties. Vietā, protams, izauga jauns, pēc skata pavisam parasts, ne ar ko neievērojams nags. Taču, jo lielāks augu es pats, jo stiprāka auga mana ticība, ka šis derivāts uz labā īkšķa ir visu manu neveiksmju cēlonis. O, man piederētu dimanta raktuves, o, es dabūtu Nobela prēmiju, ja ne šis nelaimīgais, ja ne šis nolādētais nags. A NAIL My first childhood memory: a surgeon with tweezers and a scalpel bent over the thumb of my right hand that had gotten slammed in a door. Alas, I had to say farewell to it. In its place, of course, grew a new one, from the looks of it a totally normal nail that doesn’t stand out at all. However, the bigger I grew, the stronger my belief became, that this derivative on my right thumb is the reason for all of my failures. Oh, I would possess diamond mines oh, I would receive the Nobel Prize if not for this unlucky thing, if not for this damn nail. Translated by Jayde Will |
Arvis Viguls (1987) is a latvian poet, literary critic, and translator. He works with English, Spanish, Russian, and Serbo-Croatian languages, and has translated works of such distinguished authors as Josef Brodsky, Federico Garcia Lorca, Walt Whitman, and W.B. Yeats. He is the author of three poetry collections - The Room (Riga, Satori, 2009), 5:00 (2012), and Book (Riga, Orbita, 2018). His poems have been published in anthologies and literary magazines in English, German, and Russian, among other languages. He lives and writes in Riga.
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