Igor Kotjuh / Poems
Translated from Russian by
P.I.Filimonov
***
Imagination draws – the hand can’t.
The tune is spinning – I can’t hum it.
Almost a lost person.
Hadn’t there been poetry –
I would have lost
my way.
***
a man would like to live a century
but his wishes do not coincide
with his possibilities
and that is how it always and
everywhere is
he goes
or, more exactly, he takes
his body outside
to stroll and do his business
fresh air strikes his face
his eyes notice last fallen leaves
passers-by will shortly overflow
the pavements
cars pass by at a high speed
sweets and news are sold at kiosks
observing the world around has
become the initial cause of the stroll
the harmony shatters
every little piece becomes
self-sufficient
soul and spirit
technics and tectonics
a man
burns out like a wire between them
***
late in the evening I dive to bed
the body on the sheet the blanket
over
it feels like I’m lying on the
bottom
of some sea or ocean
being a flat fish
a plaice or a halibut
departing day in front of me
in my thoughts is the following
one
I think it’s sometimes called
widening the mind
or seeing further than present-day
I can lie this way for a long time
thinking remembering forgetting
while the unseen flow of time
takes me further and further
into the soft weeds of dream
***
I
haven’t seen
the film “Prelude to a Kiss”, but I
have always admired the lightness
and the chasteness of this
title. Especially considering the
fact that the kiss itself is
also a prelude to something more serious.
So
a prelude to a kiss is the most
beautiful thing a
man can have, this is an elevated
state,
the sharpened feeling of beauty,
the wish and the desire
to live for the sake of an idea,
to sacrifice one’s comfort and selfishness
for intangible good, for feeling,
for art.
A prelude to a kiss opens the best
in man,
without demanding anything in
exchange for it. This is a forced freedom
and a voluntary slavery. Anticipation
of happiness.
A prelude to a kiss is sublime
psychology
and an abyss of meaning. A quality
emotion. This is
a classical work of music which
won’t leave you alone. It cannot
be comprehended
while entirely staying alive. A
prelude to a kiss is
a dream. That is why I will not watch
that film.
***
i like rock music
and the romantic feeling of
freedom
accompanying this music
however i am tired of substituting
strange guitarists
(you see they forget
they are having a performance
and go picnicking on the day
or leave for another town)
shortly before the concert
this is cruel and disrespectful
towards me
it is only out of love to that
wing-lending music
that i keep coming on stage
feeling nervous feeling shy
because of the bright light
trying to show my best play
it’s happened again tonight
an open stage in the woods
a festival of modern rock
i am languishing with a strange
guitar
moving from one pine tree to
another
searching for shelter
for a sudden rehearsal
my fingers are aching my palms are
sweating
what for what do i suffer it for
painful hours and minutes of
preparation
before the presenter announces
the name of the next band
the crowd will move and roar
when me together with the group
come onstage
thrilled by strange fame
a possibility to say my word
jesus how fearful it is
i cannot play the guitar at all
and i don’t have such a good
memory
so that i could put my dreams down
Psychology
She likes sleeping on her side
nestled as a shrimp. He
likes to sleep on his back, at his
full growth.
She touches her chin
with her fist. He keeps
his hands behind his ears.
(A textbook on non-verbal
behaviour
explains her posture as the one
expressing humbleness
his is an arrogant one).
She will enjoy a good night’s
sleep.
He will have nightmares.
***
Bleating,
croaking, puffing,
rain
and water humming in the pipes –
the
symphony of a fishermen’s village.
Everyone is pleased. And only one
man was missing Mozart.
This man is a foreigner.
***
A town on a few islands
on the north-western coast
of Norway, with a narrow bay
looking like a trout belly,
receiving ferries and cruise ships.
The streets
start from water and lead to
water.
Flocks of balconies are looking at
the sea.
The town of motley shadows, with
20, 000 people. In the working
time
it is noisy here: plants, shops,
bars…But on Sunday
the town sleeps until lunchtime,
the picture
fades. And only the pensioners
bustle about in their expensive
cars.
IDENTIFICATION ATTEMPT
Think of myself as an Estonian – the mother tongue is Russian.
Think of myself as an Estonian – the mother tongue is Russian.
Think of myself as a Russian – the temperament fails.
Call myself a European - a privilege of the chosen few.
A citizen of the world sounds too abstract.
What remains – to be just a human.
Will they understand it, though?
HISTORICAL
ISSUES
In the Soviet time
there was a Jewish issue. .
In the Estonian time
In the Estonian time
there is a Russian issue.
In European Union
there is an Arabic issue.
New day brings new rhetorics.
New day brings new rhetorics.
***
Finland is an unusual
country
Peaceful progressive
satiated
The air here doesn’t crack with ideas
The ideas here are handed inside the balloons
Finland is a search for medium
Between the abundance and modesty
Generously laid with stones
Its pavements and roads
Remind you of a soup
Where the body predominates
I think of it every time
When I find myself in Helsinki downtown
O sweet Finnish towns
Porvoo Kotka Lahti
You are doomed to be loved
As what else can you feel towards the place
Where street hubbub is as blessed
As is the baby’s first cry
The man feels at ease
in Finland
The man feels at ease
being a man in Finland
Here a foreigner
finds oneself on „ground zero“
This probably is
freedom
***
metaphysics start on Friday
metaphysics start on Friday
when a childhood friend
sees you off to the Kiev-Simferopol train
softly kissing you farewell on the cheek on the
platform
you are going to a literary festival
bottles perspired from cold
are jingling on the table
your fellow traveller is going to her daughter Marina
she is asking you: how is it there in Estonia
are Russians not badly treated?
no I say
thinking of my iPad
hidden in the bag
no they are not
all Estonian hotels for Christmas
were bought by Russians in summer already
the lady is sitting on the lower berth asking new questions
iPad below her wants to contain new poems
who am I?
a troubadour feeling glee from art
looking for encounters with new songs, faces and
streets
my wife and children are waiting for me in Estonia
(the reader likes to compile the author’s biography)
a flat overlooking the sea
(I prefer lakes but it doesn’t matter)
and constant self-immersion
Estonia, Estonia
a girl with a proud gait
looking to the West, then to the North
yet capable of stomping her foot
“you like feel at home both here and there”
my fellow-traveller remarks
I am nodding in reply
I like to be foreign everywhere
metaphysics start on Friday
when the day turns into evening
a conductor is walking along the corridor
showing his grey-haired chest to the world
and his companion
opening beer with a tea-spoon
a pumpkin turns into a carriage
Kaurismäki is looking for Finland
in France
Allen finds New York
in Paris
the restaurant
carriage flies into the midnight
you are going to conquer Crimea
you seem an Estonian
poet
you seem a Russian
poet
though your poems
don’t rhyme
you are travelling as
a stowaway in a compartment meant for the staff only
a text message comes to your phone
be positive
press OK
and read jokes