The Time of Miracles

by Aivaras Veiknys


The Time of Miracles

November ends with the clanging of chains,

and smoke now snakes toward the south,

a pinch of salt, dirt, defilement – vouch

for pain throughout the night. The last rains

 

turn to snow as you crawl out for kindling

into a crunching world. The pigs say amen –

you parried the heart-spike – feed them in their pen.

A brood of chickens flocks – cluck, clucking

 

by the windows. Slowly, December stirs

as Venus opens her eye like an omen,

watching over children as they sleep.

 

Banality reigns: now but a saw sounds deep

in a forest of fir, yet one more miracle will occur –

a mute man will denounce you to the Romans.

© translated by Rimas Uzgiris

Stebuklų metas

Grandinėms žvangant baigsis lapkritys,

pietų kryptim tirštai raitysis dūmai,

žiupsnelis druskos, purvas, nešvarumai –

per naktį viską, žvelk, ir užpustys

 

pirmasis sniegas; einant prakurų

girgždės pasaulis, kiaulės melsis tvarte –

išvengta durklo širdyje, tad šerti

dabar tau teks jas; ties langais būriu

 

ganysis vištos, kudakuos, stos gruodis –

danguj akis Veneros pasirodys,

tai akiai stebint miegančius vaikus,

 

eglyno vidurius praretins pjūklas,

ir banalus, tačiau vis tiek stebuklas –

tave romėnams nebylys įskųs.

© Aivaras Veiknys, Paukštuko liudijimai (LRS leidykla, 2014)