SPRING MOTIVES

The fence is quite dry, and the sprouting peony
With its little red beak through the flowerbed pecks.
In the farmyard the mottle-skinned cowherd keeps tramping,
Cofee-brown and light-grey, with their sturdy, thick necks.

In her wide homespun jerkin the cowgirl keeps running
After stray cows behind the great haystacks, and falls.
With their trousers rolled up to their knees – ah, how funny! –
In a puddle a whole heap of peasant boys rolls.

A serious cat waddles out of a barn,
And Towzerkin sits at the doorstep and stretches.
The smell of the south wind, as heady as balm,
My nose through the wide-open windowpane reaches.

I feel Spring's arrival with body and soul.
How lovely it is just to breathe – I can't tell!
The sprouts of peonies peck through on the beds.
Soon, soon will the first forest flowers bloom as well!

I listen, quite still. In an ocean of light
The skylark its melody merrily tries.
The pond hums aloud by the mill, out of sight.
The cowgirl falls down by the haystack and cries.

I, too, feel like laughing and crying and shouting
In a vortex of radiant, resonant air –
If only to look at the wry old man putting
In order the tumbledown fence over there.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg



WHEN THE SUN WAS RISING

At dawn they were shot in the field,
At dawn, when the sun was rising;
As Nature awoke, and the heavens smiled,
They were led far afield, and against the horizon
All of them – to a man – they were killed,
While the golden sun was rising.

They walked so slowly along the road,
In silence they gazed around,
And the flowers and the trees with their green leaves bowed
In silence their heads to the ground.
Looking around, they went down the road,
Like sprites of the fields, without sound.

Up on the hill they were put in a row
And so as if they were dead they stood.
Only rifles barked, and the smoke rose to flow
With the wind to the nearby wood.
And then, like brothers, they laid them low
In a pit, side-by-side, as they stood.

And the sun rose as if on a happy day,
And merrily birdies flew,
And the skies were smiling, gentle and gay,
And none of them ever knew
Of the sufferings of this poor land, and who lay
In the grave with their hearts shot through.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg



SPRING IN GERMANY

With paws stuck upward, lies Berlin.
That silly idiot – the moon
Bridled with cables, broken in,
Smiles, goon!
The close-cropped trees along the streets
Don't know if to unfold.
But here, indoors, narcissi sweet.
Begin to smile, all gold,
Like babes in hungry sleep.
The crocodiles sleep in the zoo,
Apes, lions, donkeys too.
Rich women in their villas sleep –
They've nothing else to do.
And the time is almost two.
The trams and cars have stopped their dance,
Their dawn-to-dusk quadrille,
And one after another prance
To their caves and stand still.
In places lamps already wink,
While higher crawls the moon
Between cathedral towers – just think,
It's stuck, the old baboon!
It grins still broader, goofy-face,
It sighs and blows and then through space
Warm streams of gentle air begin
To flow o'er slumbering Berlin.
It tried to get into the zoo,
The moon, but then it saw
Rich women take their clothes off: "Oo-oo!"
The fool blushed pink with awe,
And then behind the towers hid
Its face, flat as a saucepan-lid.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg



* * *

Their heads together fused, professors scold at me:
He's capable – in certain things – but not too serious.
But I – wherever I may look, it's springs I see.
In every pocket I keep springs in endless series.

You go out – all around boils life's spring flood;
Hearts threatening to overflow all dams,
Through every body pumping crazy blood;
No wish in me to age and rot like some Monsieurs and some Mesdames.

Who turn away to dodge the sun's too torried heat
So that their blooming glasses shouldn't melt,
And if a dewdrop wets their hair-do, beat retreat
To haircutters, with razors and tight belts.

But I, even unintentionally, for a joke,
If I open my mouth or pocket just a bit,
Springs – such a noisy, squeaking, pushing folk,
Green, wriggling, jump under the fence from it.

There's nothing anyone can do about it, friends.
It's like a chronic illness that you catch –
You can't get rid of it, and there's an end –
Like fingers getting squeezed by a tight latch.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg



* * *

The meadows rush into your eyes.
The pinewoods turn your head.
You hear the willow-bark change size;
Kids play with noise enough to wake the dead.

Their trousers turn to shreds.
Their bare legs catch the sun.
Stork-like, I would alight among the lads,
Forgetting everything and everyone.

For every pipe cut out,
For every finger cut
I'd give my heart and all there is in it – don't doubt!
Give all – just to forget the daily rut!

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg



THE WATER-LILY

Upon a reed-pond in a meadow,
Like moonlit snow all pale and gleaming,
Once bloomed a silver water-lily,
Upon a reed-pond in a meadow...
Sunshine or rain, it lay there stilly,
Speared in with reed-shafts, deeply dreaming,
Upon a reed-pond in a meadow,
Like moonlit snow all pale and gleaming.

Translated by W. K. Matthews



CLOUD-CALVES

Spring trickles into the meadows.
Only at dawn, small puffs of cold.
About the barns of heaven
wander the little cloud-calves.

From sheepskin coat draw forth your soul.
Into the winds, free, let her go.
And let her tend, milk-rich there,
the herd of clouds in air.

Translated by Clark Mills



COUNTRY

Warm smelling rain
In small silver drops
Colored birch and linden
And orchard all different.
A dew flickers diamonds
Trembling frail in the leaves.
Sunbeams wound in the branches
Keep flashing green.
Pigeons fly the open air,
A stork on the roof keeps clacking,
While in the swamped part of the yard
A rooster stands immersed in thought.
Way past the last homestead
Where fields sprawl green,
Bright rainbow wings lean
Down from boundless air
And stand like the gates to Eden,
Or some grand fieldflower wreath
To cheer the unhappy plowman
With an all-clear for tomorrow
And hope for days better than these.

Translated by Vyt Bakaitis



CORNFLOWERS

Blue is all there is to see:
Earth, air and sky;
With nothing more before your eyes,
Blue is all there is to see.
Squint both eyes shut and think,
You'll have to laugh for, all the while,
Blue is all there is to see:
Earth, air and sky.

Translated by Vyt Bakaitis

Born in the family of a peasant owning little land in the village of Gudeliai, Kazys Binkis attended primary school in Biržai and teacher's training courses in Vilnius. From 1920 to 1923 he studied literature and philosophy at Berlin University. In 1922 he published the manifesto Prophet of the Four Winds, voicing the views on art of German Expressionism and Russian Futurism. An organiser of the avant-garde movement, he edited the journal Keturi Vėjai (Four Winds) from 1924 to 1928. Binkis wrote several long humorous poems and parodies, as well as two plays. His poems marked the beginning of the avant-garde trend in Lithuanian poetry.