I.

the green-edged
pond has grown into the moss
like a slab
trees rising up in
all directions
and the smell of a beardless old age all around
wouldn’t you like to smell like it does

yes we’d like to smell like it does
but the smell of the water is stronger than we
it is as strong as the light under the trees
and the wind over the tree tops
is it that we’re guilty in that

no we ain’t guilty in
the light and the wind
but we’re guilty in
the fear we have
and in our becoming so old
that we must touch everything with our own hand

we’re guilty in
not being able to comprehend
tell me what should I do

and you’ll tell
and you’ll smile in spite of your words

II. The Voitka Brothers

a ray of light will pierce the thicket
and reach the domain of the green moss
it will shed light on pines and soft stones
and into the open interior of the bunker

the bunker is empty its tough bunks
are ready and willing for sleepers
they offer safety warmth and silence
in an underground cathedral

a tooth brush on the sleeping bunk
was left here unrinsed
may be the brusher was in a hurry
or he just couldn’t go to the brook

all around you can feel the breathing
of dicranum and feathermoss
they rise tender and unnoticed
in the path of the fox

he comes from in between the whortle stems
circling and sniffing twisting his neck
then rising his head looking towards the thicket
with the gaze of the danger world

ferns hover and rustle
somebody went through with a rifle
there’s a smell of iron and leather
sweeping through the air vibrating

the bankers will gather in the capital
at a cocktail party with komsomol nostalgy
they will abolish their income taxes
and fly away to the iles joyeux

no I’m not going to tell you
how far from the capital lies the mossy patch
no the capital is so close
and that’s why you feel so cozy in the forest

III. Pine-Matters

A pine is very beautyful.
(Paavo Haavikko)

1.

Now you see, this pine has been nicely folded
and lives above the head.
It has a translated servant inside.
It runs exactly towards an average distance between
my eyes, and something has gone wrong,
I shall correct it at once.
Now there are people among us who have different faces than we do.
For instance old people. And their friends.
The pine is characterized this time by a very long hair ribbon
and a lash on its back,
an English medal on its asshole.

2.

A pine has been built in such a way that beside it
there cannot be another pine.
In fact, there is, but farther. Then
on must take between two fingers one’s thinnest hair.
Horses are thankful to you.
Their eyes are like a night-blooming cereus.
It trickles in from the enormous cracks on the head
lights a cigarette dress attention you short one.
In this sense a pine is universal, but its
structure isn’t any tree-diagram but
a monastery’s library,
old Jorge Luis Buñuel.

3.

We two came advancing in a long corridor.
That was a Sumerian schoolteacher.
In his ears there were lizards.
We smiled.
He promised that he would give us a bitter lesson, enlightening
vestal virgins.
We paid close attention to it.
What did he say he didn’t say.
On both sides of the road there are identical bushes.
Who the devil planted them here, only this pine
knows.

IV. Crumbling

Crumbling, the meat comes loose from the bones
and floats freely in the room, semi-transparent
like jellyfish, pink, fibrous.

I look through the meat, the internal organs slowly
unravel after the meat, along with the meat, the skin
has been torn into ribbons that flap

in the draft. I open several windows
and it all disappears out the windows
into the yard and onto the eaves, to hang in the tree branches.

The crows arrive, the old couple of our yard,
and tear the meat and intestines, peck the skin full of holes,
well, they know small birds
in high pines look down, the blackbird

scratches at length, the finches start their clear
tale, the freeing, crumbling,
clattering of bones
in the depths of the room.

V. Bones

Bones. All were stacked nicely,
leg bones, finger bones, ribs, thigh bones,

a stack of skulls separated from the rest, grander
and larger. A bit of water shone at the bottom

of a wide, square hole. The water mirrored the sky of gallows hill,
a restless, swirling pre-thunder sunset

sky, a young tanned boxer set free from the guard’s station.
Ten people stood between the piles of bones

unmoving. Let’s lie to the guard, said one, let’s say
that we were here for the excavation, archaeological

trainees, we came back when we were freed from work
and we will go away immediately. Hearing this story, the boxer

sniffed the air, snorted, looked around stupidly, and turned back
to the station. The disappointed guards

discussed it between themselves, unlocked the gate,
and recommended that they leave. Slowly, thoughts and gazes

still on the bones, they left. The gates of gallows hill
clanged shut, the puss lake remained unfound,

this place, where the torn off body parts, tongues, eyes, intestines,
and chopped off hands had been thrown,

and other things too, left behind when, once again, someone had been
pulled onto the wheel or torn into four. There were other possibilities,

but in place of the hollow, square seat of the hill that had been removed
grew the high black walls of the imposing, shining bank.

VI. Death In A Keg

long ago in Venevere village, a master
didn’t pay a departing farm hand with money,
but instead gave him a loaf of bread, a keg of beer,
and a stock of mutton for his journey

by evening the farm hand reached the edge of an old forest
he sat atop a hill and cried out: please come,
whoever is hungry, and help me
eat what I was paid for seven years’ service

a small gray man jumped out of the earth
who are you? I am the old boy from the underworld
no, said the farm hand, I’ve never heard of you
and I give no food to the unknown

within an instant another small man appeared
this one more seasoned, with a longer beard
who are you? I am the old man of the heavens himself
yes, said the boy, I’ve heard of you

you are the chief master of heaven and sky
you give much to some people and little to others
I served seven years, and already you are here
and already you want your share, I will give you nothing

the farm hand called out a third time
and a middle-aged man appeared
who are you? you know I am death
I know, take meat, bread, beer

with you I am happy to share
because you create justice
you take equally from everyone
I want us to eat and get drunk together

when the food was eaten and the keg empty
the boy asked: can you tell me, death
how it is that you always find your way in
through closed doors and windows?

this is easy, boasted the drunken man
you see, the mouth hole of this keg is small
still I can easily pass through
and in the wink of an eye death was in the keg

immediately, the boy plugged the keg
went to the coast of Võsu and drowned it with stones
thereafter in the Siimuna Parish of Venevere
there was a lack of death for seven years

children and young adults were thriving
but the old were in great pain, longing for release
feeble, groaning, moaning – death, dear death
why have you forsaken us?

after seven years had passed, fishermen in Võsu
found a keg washed up in the sand
water had worn the ropes away
and waves had slowly pushed it to shore

when the plug was removed, a bony man
leapt from the hole, heartily thanked the fishermen
and hurried back to his work, he took a scythe
from a haymaker and slung it over his shoulder

in the keg starvation had wrung the flesh from his bones
until in time he came to look as he does now

to this day, if someone in Venevere longs for death
it is said that maybe death is in the keg once again.

[Simuna tale, told by Gustav Mägi, 1906]

VII.

I went down to the seashore, but the wind
was too strong. I lay flat
on a rock.

Sea swallows versus the wind. Pages
skitter backwards.
A warm sweater.

Yesterday I returned through a juniper grove
between the dry sunset pines,
the dance of syrphus flies.

They hung in the air in one place,
angled north to south, humming
like high-voltage power lines.

I thought the sound was high-voltage power lines.
Then I saw the transparent bodies
on long elliptical wings

creating a pattern in the air
on three or four vertical planes.
Nearly vertical.

Then a burst of confusion, buzzing, col-
lisions, for a split second an indistinct bundle
formed in midair, directed inward

until suddenly, balance restored. On the same
planes, at the same points, with the same
rhythm, having changed places.

A motionless dance in the air. Dissected
diagonally by sunlight from between the pines,
like veins of smoke through a teepee.

I watched for ten minutes. Then I
moved on, came back later
but never found the place.

VIII. The Moon Shines, The Corpse Rides *

in the night, a widow sat
behind her spinning wheel
thinking of her dead husband

suddenly the door swings open
a man steps in, hello wife
give me something to eat

the woman serves pea soup
and boiled eggs
the man eats, but oddly

he takes the peas out of the soup
cuts them in half and eats only the shells
he eats the eggs shells and all

the door is ajar
neighborhood children peer in
that is not a good man

he hastens and says, put your clothes on
we’re going for a sleigh ride
they climb into the sleigh, he pulls out a human paw

he offers it to his wife: eat
but she
laid it on the sleigh bottom

he coos:
the moon is shining, the corpse is riding
do you fear, my lovely-dear-darling?

no, she answers, why should I fear
when my beloved is at my side
the man cries out: paw, where are you?

on the sleigh bottom, answers the paw
why didn’t you eat, asks the man
don’t worry, I will, she replies

he coos:
the moon is shining, the corpse is riding
do you fear, my lovely-dear-darling?

no, she answers, he cries out:
paw, where are you?
under her ass, answers the paw

why did you put it there and not eat it
don’t worry I will
they’ve come to a tavern

the man enters, the woman stares, seeing
that he runs like a dog across the floor
under the tables, through corners

and gnaws on bones
unnoticed, she places the paw close to her heart
in the sleigh again, they ride swiftly on

he coos:
the moon is shining, the corpse is riding
do you fear, my lovely-dear-darling?

why should I fear, says the woman,
when my beloved is at my side
paw, where are you? near the heart

answers the paw, so he believes
she ate it at last
they reach a cemetery

the man digs a grave, the woman stands on the edge
when she can no longer see him over the earth
she undresses and arranges the clothes on a cross

then runs stark naked
to the priest
to tell her story quickly

the man reaches out from the grave
to embrace his wife and draw her in, and screams
my god it’s hard!

he rushes to the priest to get the woman
utters an inhuman shriek through the door
then screams return what belongs to me!

the priest pulls the wedding band
from the finger of the unclothed woman,
slips it onto a ploughshare
slides it into the oven and heats it

then passes it through the door to the husband
who grabbed the ring and rushed off
with such a clamor of hell and fury

that the priest’s door jamb fell off
and the chimney tops collapsed

* “Corpse” is a literal translation of the Estonian word “kooljas,” but doesn’t convey the entire meaning. The kooljas is associated with an old tradition of placing the corpse of the dead in a sauna, a place of purification, and also a place where two worlds were believed to intersect (the worlds of humanity and spirituality and the living and the dead). Legend had it that when the two worlds overlapped, a corpse would temporarily return to life to complete unfulfilled tasks.

[Jõhvi Parish tale, put in writing by D. Timotheus, 1889]

(I and II translated by the author.
III translated by H. L. Hix and Jüri Talvet.
IV and V translated by Brandon Lussier and Eva Liina Asu-Garcia.
VI, VII and VIII translated by Brandon Lussier.)