LITHUANIA

No longer can I keep count of my years, 
Too old am I – much older 
Than oak-trees, few of which are left, 
Than streams run dry 
Or lakes grown over, 
I am much older 
Than ancestors who long since turned to dust.

Time's heavy waves have battered me, 
Yet I'm alive. 
Though I have borne 
The felling of an oak-tree 
And the death of man, 
Again on budding life I thrive.

To some I've been a bad stepmother, 
To others a dear mother I have been. 
The few who cursed me in despair 
Fled overseas and vanished there, 
The rest 
In me took root and joined their lives with mine. 
And now I feel 
Their live hearts throbbing, 
Infusing blood into my veins.

O you who've mixed your blood with mine, 
With you I am alive. 
Therefore 
For you I guard the rolling wave, 
For you I guard the quiet streams, 
For you I guard the rustling woods, 
The ears of wheat I guard for you: 
Live in abundance and good health! 
Be strong to save my flesh from devastating fires, 
To save my heart from your despairing pain. 
Be strong to shield my eyes 
From bitter smoke and tears. 
Be strong and bring up children who from birth 
Appreciate my love.

Should you discover in your heart some day
A thirst unquenchable for distant stars,
I'll bless your daring journey
And wait for your returning
To my domain of trees and streams...

So many destinies I've witnessed,
So many blows have I endured,
So many ages have I travelled
I sometimes fear I'll melt away in space,
But when again I feel
New budding lives take root in me,

I nourish them, 
My own life is renewed 
And I shall live 
As long as in my soil your roots grow deep.

Translated by Lionginas Pažūsis


ORIENTAL MOTIVES

A greeting to my friend, the Tajik poet Ubaid Rajab

			The world is wonderful,
					my friend!
						 Rudaki

A mountain spirit came to visit me that evening,
And after the long road
Its snowy wings,
Exhausted, crumpled,
Drooped before me,
But only for a moment,
For then
The snowy wings spread straight
And were transformed into a woman's arms,
And then around its head the vibrant flame of mountainous expanses
Vanished
And turned into black hair, as black as coal,
And then the lips came open
As if to tell me something
Or to sing a song.

And now it was no more a spirit of the mountains
But a woman
Young, lovely as a tulip of the foothils –
Lola;
Ah, Lola,
To this day
I keep repeating that sweet name...

Remember, friend Ubaid,
You led me
Through your mountains
And their canyons
Into whose depth dropped waterfalls
Towards the centre of the earth.
Oh, how those canyons frightened me
Like everything mysterious and lovely.
And yet across the canyon's vast abyss, stretched taut like harpstrings
Leaped mountain roes;
Bridge-like, their leaps
Linked both the canyon's sides together.
So we were linked together by warm friendship
After we leaped across a thousand-year-wide gap
To meet that day beside the river Vakhsh,
Beside the world's roof – the Pamirs.
And there you were to give your hand to me
And tell me,
"Come, I will show you dancing
Lola!"

And then I saw a dance
In which there sparkled
The loveliness of woman,
And the fire of youth,
And passion, blinding me,
And like an incantation
My lips repeated
"Lola!
O tulip!"
I hear the rhythm of the rubob,
The palpitating thunder of the doiras,
The beating of your heart I hear,
In time with which my spirit breathes.
And slowly from a distance I approach you
Over the long millenia that used to part me
From your enchanting dance, your beauty
And your burning heart.
O Lola,
Tulip,
Flower of that mountain country!

Then we sat down
And drank delicious, fragrant tea
And ate sweet grapes,
And from the sky
A great, pure watermelon
Poured down its juice
Upon the mountains
And the valleys
And on us.
And, beaming hospitably, laughed Tursun-zadeh,
And with his witty sayings fenced Rakhim-zadeh,
And rested in repose
Jalol Ikrami
While I still saw before my eyes
The dance of tulips.
And over all of us,
Their head wound with a turban of white glaciers,
Towered the proud Pamirs
That gave birth to the white-winged spirit
Destined to visit me.
And I to my amazement understood
Those words that were pronounced a thousand years ago
By Rudaki:
"The world is wonderful, my friend!"

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg


BRIDGES

The stars that illumine us,
The moons that see us off,
The suns that give us their warmth,

The winters that bring us together,
The summers that lead us apart,
The rains that give us water to drink,

The houses that give us shelter,
The trees that give us their shadow,
The rivers that carry us,

And the toppled bridges across which we run towards each other
And at whose very middle we embrace –
All this is what makes up my happiness.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg

Born into a peasant family in the village of Plikiškiai, Antanas Drilinga studied Lithuanian language and literature from 1955 to 1959 at the Vilnius Pedagogical Institute and in 1976 he also graduated in history from Vilnius University. From 1966 to 1972 he was editor of the literary journal Nemunas and from 1971 to 1974 secretary of the Kaunas branch of the official Union of Lithuanian Writers. His work was first published in 1953. In his poetry, a journalistic style is combined with a branching out of thoughts by association, simplified imagery and free composition. Drilinga has also authored two novels.