THE POSSESSED

he was overcome. Without any warning,
abruptly, brutally. And had no idea
what he should do.

foaming and thrashing,
if only to get
back here.

he would yell, arms raised, in the dark:
tell me, am I worth all this,
because I will take my revenge on you

for all the many times you have seen
me celebrating victories
even when dead in defeat already

it's the end of me, now
down to weeping, wailing is all
was how he cried

then quieted down, merely asking
is it all over now. No,
not all.

what more do I have to do? nothing.
Then what for. Why do you need to know.
What for.

Translated by Vyt Bakaitis



QUAINT COMPLAINT
IN THE LAND OF HYPERBOREANS

the land, to tell the truth, is bleak and depleted,
the peaks all levelled, everything evenly bottomed out,
the pediments hold no heroes. Yet it's not easy to die
even here, while dexterity alone is sufficient
to evade a misfit's switchblade, you'll manage to stay alive,
just as the oddballs survive with no legs, no hands,
no heads... even their gods are different, prone to ambush
and barge in, with the mightiest of them maybe a little
like the grimy blacksmith Hephaestus, though this one is
much angrier. They celebrate in their own fashion too,
drinking and crying without much knowing what for,
they'll say it's sad and that's it, weird customs,
but what, really, is there would you want to do, in a land where
(it's a shame to be saying this) all the women are bitches,
and the men pickpockets, and there you are. But it's not
easy to die, even here.

Translated by Vyt Bakaitis



HISTORIES

when you think of it, there have been
all sort of histories, and for all that
hasn't it been worth it

let's say the one in which a long time
is spent looking at the wall in an empty
room

or the one where groggy eyes
slowly come to close – oh no, that still is
the same story

or the one where there's laughter and
carrying on, raising hell and spoofing
in the fall of '89

when you felt out of it, less than pretty,
and so you were, isn't it a pretty
history though

even that one unclear, when it rained without stopping
it seems, for three whole days and nights, and the fish
swam in by the windows

and one that's the craziest of all,
with the woman you were in love with,
pretty beyond all hope

and of course the one that's the simplest,
one you just now
didn't get to write down in time

wasn't it really worth it

Translated by Vyt Bakaitis

Gintaras Grajauskas was born in Marijampolė, a major industrial town at the southwestern crossroads. He completed his studies in Klaipėda, where he now works in broadcasting and as cultural editor for the city's leading daily. As a postmodern satirist with a distinctively abrupt, disjunctive style, he manages to retrace superficial, self-evident commonplaces and simultaneously uncover their real basis in deeply and absurd insecurities.