* * *

We sat, quiet and silent,
under the silvery humming trees.
Then a peasant
spoke up suddenly
saying we'd better go home
and bring the cradles with babes
and hitch them under the trees
of silver valleys.
For it is May already,
and nightingales sing at night.
And something really has to happen.
For the hamlet has stood just like that a long time,
and rye has grown just like that,
men have died - just like that.
For it is now time -
the nights are so light,
mothers toss sleepless,
and the birch-tree's silver cradle
is lit with anticipation.

Translated by S. Roy


* * *

Like words of some forgotten song, you'll ask the way
To that remote old town of Lithuania...

On cosy sunlit mornings, in trembling leafy shade,
Madonnas of Kupiskis here drink their lemonade...

By measured movement, modest dress, and clear soft laugh,
You'll recognise the dwellers of the quiet North...

It'll feel uneasy and quite strange, this quietude,
which e'en a flower's slightest breath perchance could wound...

Translated by S. Roy


* * *

The depth of nights! Man, touch with care
Great passions - fragile butterflies.
And then, remember: night lays bare
Mysterious worlds unseen by eyes.

A book looks back at you again.
A candle, a table. Someone's whisper.
The steps of someone in the lane.
The soul grows clearer than rock crystal.

The truth is this: you lose each thing,
Woods hum as melancholy shells,
But you walk straight... Small labours cling
To tired feet, like dry bluebells.

Translated by S. Roy

Born into a peasant family in the village of Laičiai, Vytautas Skripka graduated from the Vilnius forestry technical college in 1962. His verse was first published in 1960. In his collections, Firs in the Sky (1969), Treasure-Houses of the Sea (1972) and Tree of Staunchness (1977), Skripka combines a note of intimacy with expansive outbursts.