Raimonds Ķirķis

- Latvia -

Raimonds Ķirķis (1997) is a poet, translator and literary critic. He studied cultural theory and management at the Latvian Academy of Culture, and is currently studying for a Master's degree at the Faculty of History and Philosophy of the University of Latvia. Since early 2023, he has been working as the editorial director of the publishing house "Neputns". He has translated works by W. H. Auden, T. S. Eliot, S. Sepehri, F. Farrokhzad and other poets. Since 2016, he has published reviews and articles in Punctum Magazine, Satori, Domuzīme, Diena and Teātra vēstnesis. In 2019, he published his debut poetry collection "Maps", for which he received the Poetry Days Award 2020 and was nominated for the Annual Latvian Literature Award in the category "Best Debut". He is recipient of Poetry Days Award 2023 for his translation of "Deaf Republic" by Ilya Kaminsky.

I first encountered Raimonds Ķirķis’s work in 2014 at a poetry slam event, where he, still a high school student, demonstrated an unusually mature aesthetic that captured the spirit of the contemporary world through lyrical expression. He soon became one of the most inventive Latvian poets, working primarily in the prose poem form. Ķirķis’s debut collection Maps came out in 2019 to great critical acclaim.

The setting of his poems often feels eerie, while the long and intricate sentences point to a broader referential network consisting of various literary influences. Ķirķis also likes to blur the boundary between what counts as good and bad literature since many of his poems, as suggested by reviewer Anda Baklāne, sound as if they were produced by someone who struggles to write in proper Latvian.

Culturally speaking, Ķirķis’s poetry belongs to the current interest in slowness and complexity. Think of slow cinema, which favors contemplation and atmosphere, or consider the complexity of our life in the shadow of capitalism, digitalization, and the climate crisis. Although Ķirķis does not mention these factors directly, his writing fits the present moment structurally, corresponding to the essence of reality.

This reality is not just about space, which Ķirķis usually represents in terms of disorientation and alienation, but it concerns also our experience of time. Various scholars have suggested that, unlike modernity when time moved neatly from the past to the future, our present consists of multiple temporal directions. Ķirķis explores this quite messy situation by blending different aesthetic registers and themes.

Upon reading Maps for the first time, I was amazed by the way Ķirķis integrates phenomena such as Christian theology, Latvian folklore, Dadaism, and programming. Together, these conflicting subjects disturb our sense of historical and cultural development, and we might even become slightly anxious delving into such constellations. But nobody said that poetry should be easy and comforting.

In an interview following the release of his debut collection, Ķirķis stated that his goal is to affirm language. This process involves recognizing language’s historical and syntactical layers and creating a sense of vertigo that alters the reader’s perception of literature. At the same time, Ķirķis is not just an abstract poet; he is also deeply interested in the way cities affect our minds, as evidenced by his writing about contemporary Riga, which he portrays in an uncanny manner.

In 2020, critic Anda Baklāne called Ķirķis’s collection “one of the most progressive and outstanding Latvian poetry collections of the past decade”. Typically, we introverted Latvians shy away from such bold statements, which only highlights the impact of Ķirķis’s writing. Given everything I’ve discussed in this short essay, you should consider hiring Ķirķis and be amazed by his unique poems. The alternative is simply too boring.

Artis Ostups

More about the poet

Poetry

A Map / Karte

Abstraction and generalization are followed by yet another toponym, which, adorning one’s imagination, serves as a never-before experienced existence, a sentence that has been lost to meaning. Like scattered punctuation marks, from which all excess has been stripped, the placement of which in relation to one another is approximate, we suddenly come to our senses under pressure, which arises as the continental masses collide.

Our ecumene is estranged, confined, and lofty, pointed to somewhere between the ocean and the stars, and navigation is made difficult by the meridians you have rescinded. That is the silence of figurative meaning hidden in spurious projections – the white spots, where new reference points are to be implemented by force.

The lines that stretch across Africa are as ideologically just and negligent as my speech is formal and contradictory. The flooding rivers and other elements – for instance, hyphens distorted under the heavy burden of words yet drawing comparisons between a cleansed border and the place, where the overpopulated masses take refuge, are as limited as this wandering sentence is insipid.

How do I position myself to have my horizon covered by your equator? Like all tragedies, this one, too, has Greek origins – khartēs. The fold creases obscure the view – what are your eyes centered on?

Legend: striated muscles, cheekbones and expanse.

Scale: 1:1

(It is far to the nearest desert, and my feet hurt.)
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Aiz abstrakcijas un vispārinājuma seko kārtējais toponīms, kas, greznodams iztēli, pārstāv nekad nepieredzētu atrašanos, teikumu, kas izzudis nozīmei. Kā izkliedētas pieturzīmes, no kurām izlupināts viss liekais, kuru savstarpējais izvietojums ir aptuvens, mēs attopamies zem spiediena, kas rodas, blietējoties kontinentālajiem masīviem.

Mūsu ekumene ir atsvešināta, norobežota un cēla, vērsta kaut kur starp okeānu un zvaigznēm, un navigāciju apgrūtina tevis anulētie meridiāni. Tas ir pārnestas nozīmes klusums, kas slēpjas viltotajās projekcijās, – baltās vietas, kur jauni orientieri ir ieviešami ar varu.

Cik ideoloģiski taisnas un nevīžīgas ir līnijas, kas stiepjas Āfrikā, tik pretrunīga un shematiska ir mana runa. Cik ierobežotas palos ir upes un citas stihijas kā zem vārdu smagnējās nastas sašķobījušās domuzīmes, kas velk līdzības starp attīrītu robežu un vietu, kur patveras pārapdzīvotība, tik neizteiksmīgs ir šis paklīdušais teikums.

Kā pozicionēties, lai mans horizonts pārklātos ar tavu ekvatoru? Kā visām traģēdijām, arī šai cilme ir grieķu – khartēs. Locījuma vietas aizsedz skatu – pret ko centrēts ir tavs?

Leģendas: šķērssvītrotie muskuļi, vaigu kauli un klaids.

Mērogs: 1:1

(Līdz tuvākajam tuksnesim ir tālu, un man sāp kājas.)
Northern Lights / Kāvi

If you see the northern lights in the winter sky,
there will be war in the coming years.
Latvian folk belief

Even back then, inhabiting the cities, they knew how to write about the stars without sounding too terribly foreign. Though there is much light in the sky, it’s just a pattern that has set; you can neither stitch yourself into it, nor take yourself out.

While a confused astrologer will be drawing up his star maps, an astronomer will be skulking the streets like a moth, having lost his sense of direction, neither able to make out anything in his delirium, nor say anything new, nor find a window to jump into, nor proclaim anything. More far-reaching paradoxes may also be spun.

Winter is long, but industrialization longer still: the ways of light are inscrutable: when will that soft cupola collapse.
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Ja ziemā pie debesīm redz kāvus,
tad nākamos gados gaidāms karš.
‘‘Latviešu tautas ticējumi’’

Jau tolaik apdzīvodami pilsētas, viņi zināja, kā rakstīt par zvaigznēm, neizteikdamies pārmēru sveši. Ir daudz pie debesīm gaismas – vien sarecējis musturs. Ne ierakstīt sevi tajā, ne izšķetināt.

Kamēr apmulsis astrologs zīmēs zvaigžņu kartes, pa ielām slapstoties kā naktstauriņš, astronoms, zaudējis orientācijas spējas, baltās pelītēs ne izšķirt ko spēs, ne jaunu pateikt, ne logu atrast, kur ieskriet, ne pavēstīt. Var tālejošāk vērpt arī citus paradoksus.

Ziema ir gara, bet industrializācija – garāka: gaismas ceļi ir neizdibināmi: kad sagrūs mīkstais kupols.
Chimney / Dūmenis

As soon as the firewood surrenders to the caresses that tired hands have dedicated to it, I nobly evaporate like a throat exhaling the deepest of groans. The dryness in my walls grows tired, which has been forcibly absorbed by the wood that the lingering fatigue has turned into rot.

The flame nestles itself lowly and deceptively into my cavities, so the suction would dissipate the fumes that have accumulated inside me into the air. I perspire soot, which trickles, bubbling up, and becomes caked to the bricks’ seductive hips.

Immured, I stretch upwards and then a little bit higher still. Have I no other choice than to stand and watch this? Until the chimney-sweep enters me and brushes me bare and beautiful again. And when the daylight crashes into the very center, my oblivion would once again plunge into the darkness.
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Līdzko malka padodas glāstiem, ko tai veltī sagurušas plaukstas, es cēli izgaroju kā rīkle, kas izelpo visdziļākos vaidus. Manās sienās pagurst sausums, kas varmācīgi iesūcies koksnē, ko ilgstošais pagurums pārdarījis trupē.

Liesma glaužas manos dobumos nabadzīgi un lišķīgi, lai velkme liktu izklīst gaisotnē manī uzkrājušamies tvanam. Es pazudinu sevi, svīzdams kvēpus, kas lāso, augšup virdami, un ķep pie novārdzināto ķieģeļu sāniem.

Es stiepjos iemūrēts un nedaudz augstāk. Vai truli man tā vērties? Līdz ieņemtu mani skursteņslauķis un izbirstētu atkal kailu, daiļu. Un, kad dienasgaisma ietriecas dziļākajos pamatos, tumsā atkal gremdētos mana aizmirstība.
How to Get Up in Ten Minutes or Less / Kā pamosties desmit vai mazāk minūtēs

goodnight, Lauris Veips

If you are being tormented by a numbness in your legs brought on by general weakness, persevere and extend the time necessary for the process of getting up. An alarm is only a suggestion, there’s no sense in hurrying.

Breath hurries ahead; mechanical manipulations will only slow down the heartbeat. The lack of sleep is a lofty dream to aspire to. Perhaps, by shutting your eyelids tightly, you will be able to obtain it.

The blood is pumping far away from the eyes, a sheet is spread out hot in a withered meadow. The dandelion fluff tempts. Dance if you know, what you want to be. Sing if you can’t be bothered. Sing if you can’t be bothered.
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
arlabunakti, Lauri Veip

Ja tevi moka bezspēka izraisīts sajūtu zudums kājās, ietiepies un paildzini pamošanās procesam nepieciešamo laiku. Modinātājam ir rekomendējošs raksturs, steigai nav pamata.

Elpa traucas pa priekšu, mehāniskas manipulācijas ar to vien paildzina sirdsdarbību. Miega trūkums ir cēls sapnis, kam kalpot. Varbūt, cieši aizžmiedzis plakstus, tu to tik tiešām spēsi iegūt.

Asinis dzenājas attālināti no acīm, karsti izklājas palags izkaltušā pļavā. Pieneņu pūkas iekārdina. Dejo, ja vien zini, ko atveidot. Dziedi, ja neceļas rokas. Dziedi, ja neceļas rokas.
The river sported six heads / Sešām galvām rotājās upe

The river sported six heads, when I looked at my friends from a soft raft on its shore. They splashed about, innocent and peaceful like corners of our eyes – the waves moved in circles and rushed. You all are different.

Later too, when almost half of the white threads broke, I observed that what has been experienced together is a shared memory does not settle uniformly. Luckily, I had thrown a colored knit sweater over my shoulders, and it was kindly as your will.
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Sešām galvām rotājās upe, kad raudzījos draugos no mīksta plosta tās krastā. Viņi plunčājās nevainīgi un mierpilni kā acu kaktiņi – viļņi virzījās apļos un triecās. Jūs visi esat citādi.

Arī vēlāk, kad pārtrūka tikpat kā puse balto diegu, es biju liecinieks tam, kā kopā piedzīvotais ir dalīta atmiņa, kas nenoklājas vienlīdzīgi. Par laimi, biju plecos uzmetis adītu krāsainu džemperi, vēlīgu kā jūsu griba.
Kisses vanish / Skūpsti izzūd

The traffic lights splashed colors, the surroundings besieged so insistently, while you talk in such protracted whispers, I must kiss you as if by accident.

In newly blazed neuron pathways, I shared your intuition at that moment, I apprehended myself intangible in the depths between your breasts. But as the wires unexpectedly joined – a spark: green.
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Luksofors šķiedās krāsām, apkārtne uzstājīgi ielenca, kamēr tu ilgstoši runā tik izstiepti čukstus, it kā neviļus tevi jānoskūpsta.

Jauni iestaigātās neironu takās es tobrīd līdzdalīju tavu intuīciju, apjautos netaustāms dzīlē starp krūtīm. Bet, vadiņiem necerēti saslēdzoties, dzirkstele – pakulās: zaļā gaisma.
* / *

You have always known how tiresome it is to watch a three-part landscape. It is a handful too unstable to become abstract but, at the same time, it resembles a willful shenanigan that stands for nothing reasonable.

You don’t draw in the expanse and likewise it rejects you. There is no gentle embrace with which a forest hugs a lake. There is no trampoline to push against, so the deeps would surround you a minute later. Just a bare strip, here and there broken by river mouths, which you cannot cross.

‘‘How many times this mindless state has been admired where the land flows into the sea?’’ you ask an insignificant wave, an insignificant wave bringing a fishy smell. ‘‘No, really, don’t you see?’’
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Tu vienmēr esi zinājusi, cik apnicīgi ir vērties trīsdaļīgā ainavā. Tā ir smilšu sauju par svārstīgu, lai kļūtu abstrakta, bet reizē līdzinās patvaļīgai blēdībai, kas neapzīmē neko saprātīgu.

Tu neiesūc sevī plašumu, tāpat kā tas atraida tevi. Te nav rāmā apkampiena, ar ko mežs ieskauj ezeru. Ne arī laipas, no kuras atsperties, lai mirkli vēlāk tevi aptvertu dziļums. Vien plika strēle, kuru laiku pa laikam pārrauj upju ietekas, kurām tu nevari pāriet.

‘‘Cik reižu nav apbrīnots šis bezprāta stāvoklis, kurā zeme pārplūst jūrā?’’ tu vaicā niecīgam vilnim, niecīgam vilnim ienesot zivīgu smārdu. ‘‘Nē, patiešām, vai tad tu neredzi?’’
*** / ***

Returning from Bastejkalns after awakening and turning slightly left, we stared at the crowd reduced by the narrow angle of the lens. The still saturated with song resembled a staging where the props of a movie set – tents, microphones, and emptiness following it all - have been placed around the extras. The elation of the soundtrack was rolling until the separate tones could no longer be distinguished. The flags unfurled on the embankment were gathered too tightly against the postcard backdrop to be sent to relatives in Sweden and England.

We wandered like a picture without an original and authorship, like a lightbulb without a socket, remembering the rolling crowd – between two coasts, deprived of fate: let the fetishism of Time, released by a badly educated scriptwriter, end like this. And with this I address you, my companion: “Come, project time in me, you will see how weeks, days, hours can meld in one horrible moment.”
Translated by Ieva Lešinska
Pēc atmodas atgriezušies no Bastejkalna un nogriezušies nedaudz pa kreisi, mēs vērāmies pūlī, ko ierobežoja kameras objektīva šaurais leņķis. Ar dziesmu piesūcinātais kadrs līdzinājās inscenējumam, kurā ap brīvprātīgo masu vēršas filmēšanas laukuma atribūti – teltis, mikrofoni un tukšums pēc visa. Skaņu celiņa pacilātība viļņojās, līdz toņi vairs nebija izšķirami. Par ciešu stiepās krastmalā atvāztie karogi, kas pulcināti uz atklātnes fona, ko nosūtīt radiem Zviedrijā un Anglijā.

Mēs maldījāmies kā attēls bez oriģināla un autorības, kā spuldze bez ligzdas, atcerēdamies viļņojošās masas, – starp diviem krastiem, bez likteņa: lai ar to arī beidzas Laika fetišisms, kuru brīvu darināja vārgi skolots scenārists. Un ar to es vēršos pie tevis, sava līdzgaitnieka: ‘‘Nāc projicē manī laiku, tu redzēsi tur, kā nedēļas, dienas, stundas sablīv mirklī kā murgā.’’

Raimonds Ķirķis

- Latvia -

Poetry

A Map / Karte

Northern Lights / Kāvi

Chimney / Dūmenis

How to Get Up in Ten Minutes or Less / Kā pamosties desmit vai mazāk minūtēs

The river sported six heads / Sešām galvām rotājās upe

Kisses vanish / Skūpsti izzūd

* / *

*** / ***

* / *