#asterulaikaa

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(Untitled painting by Livonian Latvian painter Jāņ Bēļța (1893-1946). Only about 18 of his paintings are currently known)

Silver Grave

I wade in the wavy silver shallows, Pearls and amber roll beneath my feet, I squeeze the very silver with my toes.

I wade further into the silver floodplains How cool the silver is, how gentle it feels! The silver already now reaches my knees!

And higher it climbs around my limbs Now silvery ivy twisting Around my pale thigh-columns it winds.

Up to my burning chest From my hips is a pillar Blanketed now in silver waves.

Already my red blood like icy frost Turns to silver, flowing through my flesh My heart thumping like a silversmith's hammer.

The silver rides higher, splashes thrown, It closes my eyelids Sprinkling eyelashes with silver.

I am swayed by the silver lullaby - Lifted up on the water’s surface Only the two gulls of my palms. -

Soon they too will be swallowed up And a white waterlily alone Will grow on my silver grave.

- Aspazija (1865-1943) (From her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

My translation from the Latvian; see Keep Reading for the Latvian original.

SUDRABA KAPS Es brienu pa viļņu sudraba grīdu, Zem kājām man pērles un dzintars rit, Es sudrabu pašu kājām mīdu.

Es brienu tālāk pa sudraba paliem: Cik sudrabvēsi, cik maigi man tiek! Jausudrabs man sniedzas līdz ceļu galiem!

Un augstāk jau apvij stīdzenītes No sudrabotām efejām Ap baltām gūžu kolonnām vītes.

Līdz krūšu sarkanām ugunsdegām No gūžu baltām kolonnām Sedz viļņi visu ar sudrabsegām.

Jau sarkans asins par sudrabu salis, Kā tekošs sudrabs man miesās rit, Sirdsāmurīts sit kā sudrabkalis.

Kāpj sudrabs augstāk un mētā šļakstus Un acuvākus man cieti slēdz, Un pieber ar sudrabu acu plakstus.

Un mani iešūpo sudraba aijās — Uz ūdens virsu tik paceļasV ēl manu plaukstu divas kaijas.—.

.. Sen arī tās jau norītas tapa — Un baltā ūdensroze vien Aug virsū uz mana sudraba kapa.

- Aspazija

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Painting: The Sky in the Sea, Belongs to Me, by Aigars Rinkulis (1970-2013)

The Violet “Ave”

The sea surface lies heavy, like molten tin… Then suddenly it shows itself sun-crowned: In flaming glory the sun sets westwards Searching amongst cool waves for its grave Bit by bit disappearing as it treads the red dunes, Leaving the earth behind to its darkness and pain, Here now it disappears, - but the waves before it, take its life And they shine, and shimmer, and mirror, and slide and splash; The grey coast of even stoney hues Bursts into branching flashes like a ruler’s crown And sounds, flowing from afar on the waves, Sweet melodies, breaking in anguish:

“The sun was gold, Now sallow, deathly old,- There were path of light, Now linen and night, - There was burst of beams, Now the darkness teems, - Fading, light fading! Fear and vapours - dismaying!”

Bells toll with heavy tongues clanging, Winds cry on the shivering zither strings, All the little fish tremble.* And cry along. The mermaids’ pearly jewellery appears, Sapphires and emeralds all cast out. A mirror falls out of the moon’s hand Floating on the waves, splintered in pieces. Tears rain from the stars: “Is the sun dying?” But louder and louder comes the reply, The violet “Ave”: “It is not death! It is not death!”

- Aspazija (1865-1943) (From her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

My translation from the Latvian; see read more for the Latvian original.

PURPURA ĀVĒ Smagi dus jūras līmens kā kausēts no alva… Te pēkšņi parādās saules kronētā galva: Liesmainā godībā saule nokāpj pa rietu Viļņu vēsumā meklēt sev kapa vietu. Maz pa mazam tā pazūd, kāpjot pa sarkanām kāpēm, Atstāj zemi aiz sevis tumsai un sāpēm. — Te tā jau pazūd——bet viļņi top dzīvi aiz tās Un zaigo, un mirgo, un spulgo, un zvīļo, un laistās! Pelēkas krastmalas vienmuļos klinšu toņos Iedegas zarotas liesmas kā valdnieku kroņos, Un skaņas, no tāles pa viļņiem šurpu plūstot, Saldas meldiņas atnes, žēlumā lūstot:

«Bij saule zelta, Nu nāves dzelta, — Bij gaismas ceļi, Nu nakts un veļi, — Bij staru tekas, Nu tumsas sekas, — Zūd gaisma, gaisma! Kāpj tvaiks un baisma——»

Dun zvani ar smagi dimdošām mēlēm, Raud vēji uz drebošām kokļu spēlēm. Visas sīkas zivtiņas šaudās Līdzi raudās. Jūras jaunavām pērļotas matpīnes raisās: Safīrs un smaragds kaisās. Mēnesim izkrīt no rokām spogulis Un plūdo uz viļņiem, gabalos saplīsis, Zvaigznēm asaras birst: «Vai saule mirst?» Bet skaļāk un skaļāk skan purpura āvē: Nav nāve, Nav nāve!

- Aspazija

* Note: I’m pretty sure that the zither (the Latvian kokle) and fish bit relates to the wind blowing through fish - specifically sprats - hanging on lines to dry at Riga’s beach (Jurmala)

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War Caryatids, by Džemma Skulme (1925-2019), Latvian painter.

Adonis is dead!

Nymphs sadly bow heads on shoulders Like shivering pigeons Letting their long green hair hang down, Fountains gasp, And tearful leaves murmur in the trees: They refuse to green-up anymore And toss downwards brown onto waves. Amongst the reeds the mermaids wring their pale hands: “Adonis is dead!”

And with the pale sun and moon - With the gods they left, as did the rest. - Pan’s silver flute sounds in our forests no more, No whooping bacchanal bands dance any longer, Sad Bacchus sleeps amidst the overturned wind cups The sweet juice gives way to salty tears No more he rides a panther-pulled chariot The broken ivy reins, lie limp on the ground: “Adonis is dead!”

Climbing cold up from the earth is Pluto’s breath:
 Withering all, that blooms and buds in sunlight, Black cypresses, like smoke turned into vegetation, Pointed columns against the blue of the sky, A mourning choir gathered at the divine tomb: “Adonis is dead!”

Laid underground lying
 On black tables is Adonis His white flesh glows Cut to pieces in golden bowls Steaming life-blood poured in crystal dishes Mounds of pomegranates alongside Invite tardy guests to the subterranean banquet: “Adonis is dead!”

The ruler of the underworld is a glutton, Eating the offered body, The icy lips are not warmed, in drinking the warm blood, The bitter cry sounds around the world: “Adonis is dead!”

- Aspazija (From her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

(my translation from the Latvian - see read more for the Latvian original)

ADONISS IR MIRIS

Nimfas liec skumji galvu uz pleca, Kā dūjiņas salstot, Gari uz leju tām nokaras zaļie mati, Avoti elso, Un lapas čab raudot pie kokiem: Negrib tās zaļot vairs Un brūnas kaisās uz viļņiem, Vīstošos meldros nāras lauž baltās rokas: «Adoniss ir miris!»

Un līdzi bāl saule un mēness — Līdzi ar viņu aizgāja dievi, i citi visi. — Neskan mums mežos vairs Pāna sudraba fleitas, Netrako dejās vairs bakhantu kliedzošie bari, Bēdīgs guļ Bakhus pie apgāztiem vīna kausiem, Sulīgas saldmes vietā tek asaru sāļums, Nebrauks viņš viesuļos vairs savā panteru jūgā, Pārrautie efeju groži velkas šļaugi gar zemi: «Adoniss ir miris.»

Auksta kāpj augšup no zemes Plūtona dvaša: Stindzina visu, kas saulē un ziedos plaucis. Melnas cipreses it kā ziedokļadūmi Smailā stabā stiepjas pret debesu zilgmi, Sēru korī stāv koki ap dievišķo kapu: «Adoniss ir miris!»

Pazemē nolikts guļ Uz melniem galdiem Adoniss — Baltā miesa mirdz, Sagriezta zelta bļodās, Kūpošā asins lejas kristāla traukos, Granāta augļi sakrauti kaudzē guļ blakām, Aicinot veļu viesus uz pazemes dzīrēm: «Adoniss ir miris.»

Rijīgs ir zemzemes valdnieks, Ēdot ziedoņa miesu, — Ledainās lūpas nesilst, siltas asinis dzerot, — Izmisis sauciens skan visai pasaulei cauri: «Adoniss ir miris.»

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Farm Workers, Edgars Iltners (1925 – 1983)  Soviet-Latvian painter

Pan’s Bed

Between the last roses and the first mint, Between July’s bird chorus and November’s storms Fleeting Time has burned up the cult of Pan. So between the golden sunny days And the threatening stormy walls Pan sleeps in his gold and purple bed.

Though Pluto sends him Persephone With flax flowers, and narcissus in hand, Bacchus offers the cup with vine-leaf crown And sheaves and fruits, encircling round; Still the cups foam with divine fuel, Still the flow of plenty masks the rustle of destruction.

Is Autumn loss or gain? The seed of life? Or nearing of annihilation? Do we again feel chilled, turned to tin? No! - Autumn is more than just pain, He is both the culmination of Summer, And in death, wears the wreath of May.

- Aspazija (From her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

My translation from the Latvian. Read more for the Latvian original. Even if you can’t read Latvian it is worth looking, just so that you can see the strong rhyming she used here - alas, sacrificed in the translation.

PĀNA GULTA Starp pēdējām rozēm un pirmajām mētrām, Starp jūlija tvīksmi un novembra vētrām Laiks gavilēs sadedzis Pāna kultā. Nu vidū starp zeltainām saules dienām Un melni draudošām negaisa sienām Guļ Pāns savā zelta un purpura gultā.

Gan Plūtons tam sūta Persefoni Ar veļu puķēm, narcisēm, rokā, Bet Bakhus sniedz kausu ar vīnlapu kroni, Un kūļi un augļi visapkārt stāv lokā; Vēl kausi puto no dievišķās malkas, Vēl pilnības plūsma sedz nīcības šalkas.

Vai rudens zaudējums ir vai guvums? Vai dzīvības sēkla? Vai nīcības tuvums? Vai atkal mums atsalt stinguma alvā? Nē! —Rudens nav vien tikai sāpinājums, Viņš reizē ir vasaras kāpinājums, Un nāvei maija vaiņags ir galvā.

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Image: Why didn’t you wake me? (2013) Installation by Latvian artist Ginters Krumholcs.

Hamlet’s Monologue

When the ground is covered with shimmering autumn vapours And has swallowed up the last leaves of the trees, The moon shines wanly in the sky, Like a corpse, Then the sorrowful times begin again, As Hamlet rises once more from the grave And, wrapped in a black toga, Holds forth his monologue:

“Has life improved after me? With fewer tragedies? Less crime? It seems better to be suffocated in elemental sleep! Or hang unseen like a foggy patch Over the world’s inhabitants, Filled with the new seeds of stars, - Or to be formed in marble, So smooth and white, Laid in a mountain bed untouched, unwrinkled, Not under the sculptor, nor chipped by his hand, Where the chisel splits, and the sparks fly? Who thirsts for a hot-bodied life? Who would climb the tower of beauty? Or yet reach the pinnacle of perfection, When earthly life is filled with such struggle?


“It is hard for who has not been, to be, But much harder for who has been, to not be!”

- Aspazija (Prologue to her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

(my translation from the Latvian - see read more for the Latvian original)

HAMLETA MONOLOGS

Kad zemi pārklāj gluzdošs rudens tvaiks Un rīst vispēdējā no kokiem lapa, Pie debess palsi atspīd mēnesis Kā miroņģindenis, Tad sākas atkal grūtsirdības laiks, Kur Hamlets pieceļas ikreiz no kapa Un, aptērpies ar melnu togu, Tur monologu:

«Vai dzīve labāka pēc manis tapa? Vai mazāk traģikas? vai mazāk ziegu? Šķiet, labāk dusēt elementu miegu! Vai karāties kā miglas plankumam Virs zemes dzimtām nesaredzamām, Ar jaunu zvaigžņu sēklu pildītām, — Vai būt kā marmoram, kas gluds un balts Dus kalnu gultā neaizskarts, bez krokām, Ne nākt zem tēlnieka un viņu roku kalts, Kur, dzirkstēm šķiestot, šķeļ to asais kalts? Kam karstas dzīvības slāpt? Kam daiļumu tornī kāpt Un pilnības kalnā jau būt, Kad zemē ar joni grūt?——Gan grūti ir nebijušam būt, Bet grūtāk par grūt’ Ir jau reiz bijušam ne vairs būt!——»

- Aspazija (1865-1943)

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The Mill, Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669)

In Rembrandt’s Light

Sunset stretches round the earth as a golden bow; Little by little the day’s paintings fade, Green-shimmer and purple-glow: Night draws over its velvet hand.

In violet vapours the Universe sinks, Milk and opal dashed across the water, Pink-streaked clouds fill the sky Meandering like rose-petals dissolving.

Sharp darkness take the colours of all, Harsh mountains down to the soft valleys, Bitter life drinks from sweet poetry, Hearts again become sisters of the stars.

- Aspazija (From her collection:  In The Time Of Asters - Autumn Poems, 1928)

My translation from the Latvian; see read more for the Latvian original.

REMBRANTA GAISMĀ

Rieta stiepj ap zemi zelta loku; Maz pa mazam izdziest dienas gleznas, Zaļganmirdzošas un purpurgreznas: Nakts tām pāri velk ar samta roku.

Violetos tvaikos iegrimst Visums, Piens un opāls velk virs ūdens švītras, Gaisā sārtu mākonīšu vītras Klīst kā rožu lapu birstošs risums.

Tumsa asumu ņem visām krāsām, Skarbais kalns nāk klāt pie maigās lejas, Rūgtā dzīve dzer no saldās dzejas, Sirdis atkal zvaigznēm top par māsām.

- Aspazija