Selected Poems by Kaplinski, Jaan -- Read -- Imperial Library of Trantor

Index

Cover Description Title Page Acknowledgements Contents from THE SAME SEA IN US ALL (1985)

Sails come sailing out Our shadows are very long Only to go along You, you moon White clover asks nothing Who has who has ever O distant sun If you want to go Every dying man They are standing up to their knees in blood and mud Everything is inside out, everything is different Sleep covers us too much for one, too little for two Non-being pervades everything and being is full of peace No one can put me back together again And when the sea retreats from here Night comes and extinguishes the numbers Once more spring pulls young leaves from buds Light / reminds us Oven / alone What woke us Night and earth To be / Icarus Honeybees You / light-footed moss Near / nearest The same / sea Big black hedgehog A flying fish Ant trail Summer’s / last evening So light / after all Heart / of rain Ashes / of one world Painting / a boat The late well-master With a broken wing Everything melts A tit / upside down Ink not yet / dried Wiping away / dust Swarms of daws All in one The white vase Little by little / our dirty river Little by little / a poem fades An understanding I am both / spider and fly Dana paramita There is nothing / between us To wake / in the dead of night

from THE WANDERING BORDER (1987)

The East-West border is always wandering The washing never gets done We started home, my son and I My little daughter To write more On the other side of the window There is no Good Four-and-a-half tons of Silesian coal Once while carrying coal ash People were coming from the market Sometimes I see so clearly the openness of things It gets cold in the evening A piebald cat The early autumn, a faded aquarelle The crop is reaped Poetry is verdant Silence of night We always live our childhood again Dialectics is a dialogue Destruktivität is das Ergebnis ungelebten Lebens Elder trees that thrushes have sown Once I got a postcard from the Fiji Islands Potatoes are dug, ash trees yellow

from THROUGH THE FOREST (1991/1996)

There is so little that remains To eat a pie and to have it Lines do not perhaps exist As the night begins, a forked birch captures I begin to wash my son’s shirt Think back to the vanished day Once, at a meeting, I was asked Death does not come from outside The wind does not blow You step into the morning The ticking of the clock fills the room A flock of jackdaws on the outskirts of the town I do not write, do not make poetry I never weary of looking at leafless trees The most disconsolate of landscapes Silence. Dust The Forest Floor Dust. I Myself To fight for the rights and freedoms of the body This autumn’s great big yellow chrysanthemum Birch tops like brushes The beginning of the year is like a white sheet of paper Politics and politicians are gradually becoming streamlined I ended up in literature I came from the town Autumn comes closer I come up from the cellar A bird in the air In the room, a moth flies from east to west In the ventilation grating lives a tit

from EVENING BRINGS EVERYTHING BACK (1984/2004)

The snow’s melting Through the cellar ceiling White paper and time For many years, always in March It’s easy to say what’s become of the snow I was coming from Tähtvere Once again I think about what I’ve read I don’t feel at home in this synthetic world Spring has indeed come The morning began with sunshine I could say: I got out of the bus Running for milk I saw wood sorrel in bloom I write a poem every day We walked the road to Kvissental My aunt knew them well The sky’s overcast Silence is always here and everywhere The other life begins in the evening I don’t want to write courtly poetry any more Only at dusk do eyes really begin to see A last cloud moves across the sky The rain stops There are so many insects this summer There are as many worlds as grains of sand It makes little sense to talk about the subconscious There is no God The world doesn’t consist of matter or spirit Late summer: a faded old watercolour The full moon south-east above Piigaste forest I told the students about the beginning of Greek culture From stalks and curls of pine-bark

from SUMMERS AND SPRINGS (1995/2004)

In the morning I was presented to President Mitterand The radio’s talking about the Tiananmen bloodbath The sea doesn’t want to make waves God has left us The possibility of rain A fit body doesn’t exist The age-old dream of mankind One day you will do everything for the last time Evening’s coming It’s raining again The centre of the world is here My poems often aren’t poems Less and less space for flying More and more empty words I saw something white far away The weather changed overnight My eyesight’s weakening The world is a single event I opened the Russian-Chinese dictionary I’ve thought that I thought about death I don’t have a land or a sky of my own

THE SOUL RETURNING (1973-75)

The Soul Returning

POEMS WRITTEN IN ENGLISH

I remember it well Fatherland / homeland I feel sorry for you white paper A lullaby that never ends After many bitterly cold days God is smile Something stirring Karl Barth, Paul Tillich, Karl Rahner Coming home Om svabhavasuddhah sarva dharmah Wild geese flying overhead

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