Toms Treibergs

- Latvia -

Toms Treibergs is a poet and editor, the author of three poetry collections. He has served as an editor for the Baltic States literary almanac No More Amber, and his work has been translated into German, Lithuanian, and Estonian. Actively engaged in the literary scene, he participates in Poetry Slam events as both a host and judge. Passionate about fostering creativity, he enjoys leading literary workshops and engaging with children and young people in creative writing classes.

Toms Treibergs’ poetry is predominantly characterized by an exploration of the inexhaustible vitality and regenerative forces inherent in nature, often juxtaposed with elements of esoteric mysticism and contemplations on the implications of a veiled fate or divine omnipotence.

Imaginative, precise, expressive images, landscapes and details of the environment are combined with the unfolding of inner states. The writer's poetic field is broad and quite abstract, with few specific points in space, events or personalities.

Drawing inspiration from the works of Rilke, Trakl, Celan, and Simic, Treibergs endeavors to elucidate the fundamental principles of European identity, the process of individual maturation, and the interpretation of rapidly evolving societal values and truths.

More about the poet

Poetry

The places that are silent without me / Ko darīs bez manis klusējošās vietas

Those are not leaves on these clusters of giant osiers, it is a fabric,
covered with clay and rainwater;
But the bent grass preserves an old pact; I must return when a new timepiece is invented, which will have a river running through it instead of hours
I long for your arrival so much that the glass of one of the veranda’s window panes cracked – I was shuffling the cards and dealing them to myself;
next door a new school was going up and the children, not suspecting anything, drove
their small bikes down the only hill

The place where I drank for the last timeovergrown with impenetrable underbrush and the railroad over it collects
shadows during the day’s rising and setting of the sun

A place without me
a place, which is silent

Under the fir trees
under a rock
lies a voice

and says:
“I am here –
I am you.”
Translated by Jayde Will
Tās nav lapas uz šiem milzu kārklu puduriem, tas ir audums, notriepts ar mālu un lietusūdeni;
Bet smilgas glabā senu norunu: man jāatgriežas tad, kad būs izgudrots jauns laikrādis, caur kuru stundu vietā plūdīs upe
Es ilgojos pēc tavas atbraukšanas tik ļoti, ka vienai no verandas rūtīm ieplīsa stikls − pats jaucu kārtis un pats sev izdalīju; kaimiņos cēla jaunu skolu un bērni, neko nenojauzdami, brauca ar maziem velosipēdiem lejup no vienīgā kalna
Vieta, kurā es pēdējo reizi dzēru
apaugusi necaurejamiem brikšņiem un dzelzceļš tai pāri uzkrāj ēnas no dienā aizvadītā saules gājuma

Vieta bez manis
vieta, kura klusē

Zem eglēm
zem akmens
guļ balss
un saka:
"Te es esmu −
es esmu Tu"
*** / ***

Between us is a display window.
A clothing shop that slides along the sidewalk.
The air is so pure, without car exhaust.
I have learned to count
and I don’t have dandruff anymore.
You don’t drink anymore and think about establishing a
crisis center for people who
have arrived in the city
the night before.

The glass is frosted.
It’s fireproof.

I see where you can
plug in your phone.

3000 years have passed.
There’s a call from the library.
They don’t speak.
Translated by Jayde Will
Starp mums ir skatlogs.
Apģērbu veikals, kurš slīd pa gājēju ietvi.
Gaiss ir tik tīrs, bez izplūdes gāzēm.
Esmu iemācījies rēķināt
un man vairs nav blaugznu.
Tu vairs nedzer un domā par krīzes centra
dibināšanu cilvēkiem, kuri
ieradušies pilsētā
pagājušajā naktī.

Stikls ir matēts.
Ugunsdrošs.

Redzu, kur iespraust
telefona lādētāju.

Ir pagājuši 3000 gadi.
Zvana no bibliotēkas.
Nerunā.
*** / ***

Suddenly life became a game of Jenga.

The more I added to the tower, the higher and higher and
higher it became, and the fewer blocks I possessed.

It was nighttime, deep as an open sewer drain.

The gas station attendant gave us their last napkins so we could wipe up what was left of us.

Grand promises of a bright tomorrow were rolling together with the sludge
in the canal’s waves –

I held you like a small child who is tired of their own weight.

The air was teeming with mathematics employed in soothing multiplication tables, reciting them over and over: “You passed through here before, don’t you remember?”

Lord, let us into the chamber of Your Heart to take refuge from freedom, which hunts us like a lynx in the open meadow of a pine forest; save us, Lord, in Your truth, because Your reward is our only tomorrow.
Translated by Jayde Will
Piepeši dzīve palika par koka klucīšu spēli “Jenga”.
Jo vairāk es pieliku klāt tornim, jo augstāks un augstāks un augstāks tas palika, jo mazāk klucīšu man atlika.
Bija nakts, dziļa kā atvērta kanalizācijas lūka.
Benzīntanka pārdevēja atdeva pēdējās salvetes, lai mēs varētu saslaucīt to, kas no mums bija palicis pāri.
Lieli apsolījumi par gaišu nākotni zvārojās kopā ar vižņiem kanāla viļņos –
es tevi auklēju kā mazu bērnu, kurš noguris pats no sava svara.
Gaiss bija pilns ar matemātiku, kuru izmantot mierinošam reizrēķinam, vēl un vēlreiz atkārtojot: “Tu taču šeit jau vienreiz gāji, vai patiešām vairs neatceries?”
Kungs, ielaid mūs savas Sirds kambarī patverties no brīvības, kura mūs medī kā lūsis klajumainā priedājā; glāb mūs, Kungs, savā patiesībā, jo Tava alga ir mūsu vienīgā rītdiena.
*** / ***

We lived in a place
where there was hardly anything –
just open fields all around, on the horizon
evening lakes steamed and in the kitchen
the microwave knew how to play
an old melody
but only when it was in the mood;
in the evenings we watched the shadows
on the doors of the mahogany wardrobe,
they reminded you of the line of people
in Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal” –
but where could it have come from,
if there was nothing outside
that could have left a shadow?
While falling asleep I often think of the road
that we covered to get here.
The trucker said
the last time he was here was
when he was asked to transport equipment
to a meteorological station,
but no one had appeared at
the agreed-upon place to meet him.
He left everything he had brought right there.
One morning by the mirror you were admiring yourself in your red dress
and you looked surprised.
I wondered if your feet were cold,
but I didn’t actually ask you.
Translated by Jayde Will
Mēs dzīvojām tur,
kur gandrīz nekā nebija -
apkārt tikai klajš lauks, pamalē
kūpēja vēli ezeri un virtuvē
mikroviļņu krāsns prata nospēlēt
kādu senu melodiju,
bet tikai tad, kad tai pašai iegribējās;
vakaros vērojām ēnas
uz sarkankoka skapja durvīm,
tās atgādināja cilvēku rindu
no Bergmana "Septītās zīmes" –
bet no kurienes tām bija rasties,
ja laukā nebija nekā,
kas varētu aiz sevis atstāt ēnu?
Iemiegot bieži domāju par ceļu,
kuru mērojām līdz šejienei.
Kravas auto vadītājs stāstīja,
ka pēdējo reizi šeit bijis tad,
kad viņu lūguši aizvest mērierīces
meteoroloģijas stacijai,
bet norunātajā vietā neviens
tām nebija ieradies pretim.
Viņš visu vedamo atstājis turpat.
Kādā rītā tu spoguļojies savā sarkanajā kleitā
un izskatījies pārsteigta.
Iedomājos, vai tev nesalst pēdas,
bet skaļi to nepajautāju.
Trouble in the neighborhood / Nemiers rajonā

The buildings, it seems, have lost their value entirely –
recently they have been
burning down a lot.
Long, high, and bright flames
until all they leave behind
are rubble and debris.

However, in this city, in this country no war
is being waged.

The buildings have also lost the weight of their meaning –
at some point perhaps they had been designated
a special place in the mind of a person,
family or even broader society.

Now they are just quadrants on a map
which is put together on a screen
by a stream of data sent from satellites.

“A place to sleep” was how one of
my friends had saved the number
of his apartment on his phone.

But trust in sleep has been lost as well; like a low, dull buzz,
coming from an insect set to be squashed by a palm,
the Grim Reaper’s breath burns numbly down the back of your neck:
“The pictures of the Blessed Virgin
with the prayers on the other side
are endearing of course, but I will come - - ”
Translated by Jayde Will
Ēkām, šķiet, pilnībā zudusi vērtība –
pēdējā laikā tās
ļoti bieži deg.
Spožām, garām un augstām liesmām
līdz beigu beigās
aiz sevis atstāj tikai gruvešus.

Un šajā pilsētā, šajā zemē taču
nekaro.

Ēkām zudis arī nozīmes svars –
savulaik varbūt tām tika piešķirta
īpaša vieta kāda cilvēka,
dzimtas vai pat plašas sabiedrības prātos.

Tagad tās ir vien kvadranti kartē,
kuru ekrānā savelk
satelītu atsūtītās datu plūsmas.

“Vieta, kur gulēt” – tā sava dzīvokļa
tālruņa numuru savā mobilajā telefonā
bija saglabājis kāds mans draugs.

Bet arī uz miegu zudusi paļāvība; kā klusa, apnicīga sīkoņa,
kuras avots ir insekts, paredzēts nosišanai ar plaukstu,
pakausī truli dedzina kaulainās elpa:
“Bezvainīgās Jaunavas bildītes
ar lūgšanām otrā pusē, protams,
ir mīļas, bet es nākšu – –
Riga / Rīga

I understand Riga –
a student serving detention at a desk in the last row,
with a chalk-smeared uniform,
chewed hangnails,
snot-filled nostrils.
How can you not understand this fallen,
kicked-down city,
where the streets are constantly flushed by cheap wine,
urine and sand.

Riga is the tall tv newscaster,
who had a hair of the dog
before the show;

Riga is a phenomenon,
not a settlement.
It’s tired and sleep-deprived -
only in winter is it able
to find its long-sought peace.

Sinking into snow drifts
and not opening its eyes, so it wouldn’t catch sight of
the dazzling lights from the first buses
in the morning.

Riga is a giant belch after
the New Year’s potato salad.

Riga is a manor estate that’s been gambled away,
wagered at the playing table by
a baron full of bravado, who
must make an impression on
his foreign guests who
have just arrived.
Translated by Jayde Will
Es saprotu Rīgu –
pēcstundnieci pēdējā solā,
ar krītu notrieptu formu,
aizkostiem atnadžiem,
puņķiem pilnām nāsīm.

Kā lai nesaprot šo pakritušo,
nospārdīto pilsētu,
kuras ielas pārskalo lēts vīns,
urīns un smiltis.

Rīga – staltā televīzijas diktore,
kura pirms raidījuma
paspējusi salāpīties;

Rīga – fenomens,
nevis apdzīvota vieta.
Nogurusi un neizgulējusies –
Vienīgi ziemā tā spēj rast
Tik ilgi meklēto mieru.

Iegrimt sniega kupenās
un neatvērt acis, lai neieraudzītu
spožās gaismas no pirmajiem
rīta autobusiem.

Rīga – milzīgā atrauga pēc
Jaungada rasola.

Rīga – nospēlētā muiža,
kuru uz spēles galda uzlicis
bravūrīgs barons, kuram
jāatstāj iespaids
uz nule sabraukušajiem
ārzemju viesiem.
*** / ***

Opening up the curtains, you brought the sea here –
the air is calm and strict like a governess who starts the lesson after getting a raise in wages.

Somewhere during this evening words of apology should be said, which contain a hope for forgiveness –
we were in such a rush to find a way out, though we hadn’t even arrived to the place we needed to get out of.

Did I really need to get close to that precipice, where I’d lose you
and everything that bears witness to you if I stepped over it,
only to realize that:

I probably don’t have a particular desire to linger somewhere for long or
disappear from some other place before myself;

There’s probably no record label that could present it
to the world that would be contained in a song or symphony;

Time is wonderfully indifferent towards everything that surrounds it. Like a child
in a baby carriage, slowly drifting off into an afternoon nap - - -

Only the dust in the bullet holes on the building facades farther from the city
center serve as a conduit through which a record of the years topples down into the potholes of the sidewalks and

the arrangement of circles on a sawed-off tree stump become
nothing but a curious pattern
Translated by Jayde Will
Atvelkot aizkarus, tu atvilki jūru-
gaiss ir rāms un stingrs kā mājskolotāja, kura uzsāk stundu pēc atlīdzības paaugstināšanas.

Kaut kur šajā vakarā jāizskan atvainošanās vārdiem, kuros ieslēgta cerība pēc piedošanas -
mēs tik steidzīgi meklējām izeju, kaut gan vēl pat nebijām iekļuvuši tur, no kurienes mums vajadzētu tikt laukā.

Vai tiešām man vajadzēja pietuvoties tai kraujai, kuras malai pārkāpjot, es pazaudētu tevi un visu, kas par tevi liecina - lai tikai tad saprastu:
Laikam nav kādas īpašas patikas kaut kur uzkavēties ilgāk vai no kādas citas vietas pazust pirms sevis;
Laikam nav ierakstu kompānijas, kura varētu to pasniegt pasaulei ieslēgtu dziesmā vai simfonijā;
Laiks ir brīnišķīgi nevērīgs pret visu, kas tam apkārt. Kā bērns ratiņos, lēni slīdot pēcpusdienas miegā - - -

Tikai putekļi ložu caurumos uz ēku fasādēm tālāk no pilsētas centra kalpo par šķērseju, caur kuru gadu uzskaite nobrūk lejup ietvju bedrēs un
apļu kārtojums uz nozāģēta koka celma pārtop par
tikai īpatnu ornamentu.
For Matīss / Matīsam

I already felt that something was wrong with you –

we tried to have a conversation, but the words turned into white lilies,
their odorless blossoms falling down all around us in this quiet street space, on the way to the warehouse, where we kept peace – hidden from the speeches of strangers and late guests that lacked a deeper meaning;
there was already a feeling beforehand, that something is wrong with you –
which is why speaking with you took such effort, although
the most pressing things that needed to be figured out fit
in a single package of hope, to be torn open with the fingers of one hand
if there was no other way: to once again glimpse the sun
over the tree trunks that the leaves had abandoned, to once again gain trust,
something kindred to swans and elephants – and the elephants in particular
would like it here, because everything here is filled with swathes of sand
and never-seen-before rock formations – you stand next to one of them
and I see that you are slowly feeling better again
Translated by Jayde Will
Es jau jutu, ka ar tevi nav labi –
mēģinājām sarunāties, bet vārdi pārvērtās par baltām lilijām, kuru ziedi bez smaržas pakšķēja apkārt šajā klusajā ielas telpā, pa ceļam uz noliktavu, kurā glabājām mieru - noslēptu no svešinieku un aizkavējušos viesu runām bez dziļākas nozīmes;
jau iepriekš bija tāda nojauta, ka ar tevi nav labi –
kādēļ sazināties prasīja tādus pūliņus, kaut gan tas, kas bija vissteidzamāk noskaidrojams, ietilpa tikai vienā cerības iepakojumā, atplēšamā kaut vai ar vienas rokas pirkstiem: atkal ieraudzīt sauli pāri koku stumbriem, no kuriem aizbēgušas lapas, atkal iemantot uzticību, kāda radniecīga gulbjiem un ziloņiem – un tieši ziloņiem te būtu paticis, jo apkārt viss piepildīts ar smilšu klajiem un iepriekš neredzētu akmeņu krāvumiem – pie viena no tiem tu stāvi un es redzu ka atkal jau pamazām kļūst labi
Prenzlauer Berg / Prenclauerberga

Who would like to buy flowers?
We still have a little time before the train,
miraculously, we have saved
a couple hours for the rest of the trip
to the middle of the park where the bust of a long-dead composer
is observing the people passing by
like an ancient lighthouse.
Perhaps I should place this small bunch of freesias
right at the foot of it as a remote and quiet homage,
though we haven’t heard any of his works
at all.
Ah, this city – an alarm that never stops ringing,
forever in motion and at the same time looking forward to a melancholic peace –
the metal in bridge constructions and tram rails, the black color on the main headlines in the newspapers, but above all the flowers next to sellers, on windowsills, in cemeteries and cafes; flowers in the display window of a second-hand shop, placed in picture frames made by the hands of a passionate apprentice - coincidentally, in the workshop just around the corner, next to the veterinary pharmacy.
Flowers, flowers and a chestnut avenue, dogs that have a special meeting in store for them, which they won’t even get to, because their owners have other plans – but really, how is it possible that flowers are everywhere, there’s still a fair amount of time left before summer; maybe they are filming a historical series here, but the entire crew is hiding somewhere, including the actors.
We still have some time – an hour, perhaps even an entire afternoon,
who knows, perhaps even several days, the more courageous gamblers might even be willing to bet an entire year.
Prenzlauer Berg, I am coming to you, running even, with flowers, and
a couple of friends in tow, I hope you won’t mind
this unexpected visit and that you have enough slippers for everyone.
Translated by Jayde Will
Kurš vēlētos iegādāties ziedus?
Mums vēl ir laiks līdz vilcienam,
brīnumainā kārtā, esam ietaupījuši
pāris stundas atlikušajam ceļam
līdz parkam, kura viducī kā senatnīga bāka
garāmgājējus novēro sen aizgājuša
komponista biste.
Varbūt šo nelielo frēziju pušķīti nolikt
tieši tai pakājē, kā attālinātu un klusu godinājumu,
kaut arī no viņa skaņdarbiem esam dzirdējuši
precīzi nevienu.
Ak, šī pilsēta – nekad nenospiests modinātāja signāls,
mūždien kustībā un vienlaikus gaidot melanholisku mieru –
metāls tiltu konstrukcijās un tramvaja sliedēs, melnā krāsa laikrakstu galvenajos virsrakstos, bet pāri visam ziedi, pie tirgotājām, uz palodzēm, kapsētās, kafejnīcās; ziedi antikvariāta vitrīnā izstādītajos bilžu rāmjos, kurus darinājušas aizrautīga mācekļa rokas – sagadīšanās labad, darbnīcā tepat aiz stūra, blakus veterinārajai aptiekai.
Ziedi, ziedi un kastaņu aleja, suņi, kuriem paredzēta svarīga tikšanās, uz kuru viņi tā arī nenokļūs, jo saimniekiem ir citi plāni – bet patiešām, kā tas iespējams, ka visur ir ziedi, vēl taču līdz vasarai jāgaida krietns laiciņš; iespējams, te notiek filmēšana kādam vēsturiskajam seriālam, tikai visa komanda kaut kur ir noslēpusies, aktierus ieskaitot.
Mums vēl ir laiks – stunda, varbūt pat viss pusdienlaiks,
kas zina, pat vēl vairākas dienas, drosmīgākie spēlmaņi uz galda sviestu pat likmi – gads.
Prenclauerberga, es nāku pie tevis, pat steidzos, ar ziediem, un kopā ar mani ir pāris draugu, es ceru, ka tu neļaunosies
Par šo iepriekš nepieteikto vizīti un ka tev pietiks ciemiņu čību.
*** / ***

As a kid I drew tv screens
inside empty boxes of chocolates.
The schedule was quite varied;
starting from “The Little Bunnies’ Sauna”
to the rebirth of Count Dracula.
Giant branches of fir trees sent greetings
through the window to the wall of the house,
scratching the plaster off a little bit
like a cat, which damages
the closed kitchen door.
The tones of the surrounding world were changing quickly.
From black-and-white to sepia,
then a four-color contrast, until
a full spectrum came into focus before your eyes;
air strikes in Nagorno-Karabakh,
the stuffy and over-the-top visits
of the leaders of great nations,
the biggest pumpkin ever, grown on some farm
close to Alūksne.
The minutes rang out like matches
flung downwards one by one
from the top of the stairwell
While falling asleep, before the mind disconnected itself entirely
from the chopping of wood, carrying of water and
sandwiches with sausage slices (or without them);
before the darkness had entirely enveloped a scene imbued
with an understanding of peace, a smoking cowboy stood
in the middle of it,
looking for his lost horse.
The horse, which supposedly had just gone
to the nearest stream to drink,
but in that time had already managed
to ride to a neighboring state
and start a new, independent life.
Translated by Jayde Will
Bērnībā zīmēju televizora ekrānus
tukšās konfekšu asorti kastēs.
programma pēc plašas izvēles:
sākot no “Zaķīšu pirtiņas”
līdz grāfa Drakulas atdzimšanai.
Aiz loga milzīgi egļu zari
sūtīja sveicienus mājas sienai,
nedaudz skrāpējot tās apmetumu
kā kaķis, kurš apskādē
aizvērtas virtuves durvis.
Apkārtējās pasaules toņi mainījās ātri.
No melnbaltā uz sēpiju,
tad uz četrkrāsu kontrastu, līdz
acu priekšā nofokusējās pilns spektrs:
aviācijas uzlidojumi Kalnu Karabahā,
lielvalstu vadītāju
stīvās un pārspīlēti svinīgās vizītes,
lielākais ķirbis, kurš izaudzis kādā saimniecībā
netālu no Alūksnes.
Minūtes skanēja kā sērkociņi,
pa vienam nosviesti lejup
no augstākā kāpņu laukumiņa.
Iemiegot, pirms prāts sevi pilnībā atvienoja
no malkas skaldīšanas, ūdens nešanas un
sviestmaizēm ar desu (vai bez tās);
pirms tumsa pilnībā ieskāva miera uzstādīto
uztveres ainu, tās vidū nostājās
smēķējošs kovbojs,
kurš meklēja savu pazudušo zirgu.
Zirgu, kurš itin kā bija tikai aizgājis
līdz tuvīnajam strautam padzerties,
bet pa to laiku jau paspējis
aizjāt līdz kaimiņu štatam
un uzsākt jaunu, patstāvīgu dzīvi.

Toms Treibergs

- Latvia -

Poetry

The places that are silent without me / Ko darīs bez manis klusējošās vietas

*** / ***

*** / ***

*** / ***

Trouble in the neighborhood / Nemiers rajonā

Riga / Rīga

*** / ***

For Matīss / Matīsam

Prenzlauer Berg / Prenclauerberga

*** / ***

* / *

* / *

* / *

* / *

* / *