Elegy At The Window

the moon
as though marinated.

A family
on the fourth floor
playing the gramophone.

From the street
floods twilight
and coolness.
I feel
like a seaman in Bergen harbor
who looks through binoculars
seeing ice.

But . . . nevertheless I dream
that I am in Paris,
where one can kiss on the streets.

You are a midinette,
I — a mediocre poet;
we sit in a smoky room
and drink the cheapest
French wine.

You smile
about my fanciful life.
It's that time
when the last Sunday goers
return home from the seaside.
flicker on in the squares
above the lindens.

But we
haven't even a linden,
only the old myrtle
and needle memories
in the vase on the table.
And I am as sorrowful
as a village girl
who has lost — her favorite cat...

Translated by Inara Cedrins
(Contributed by daniel on Tuesday, April 5th, 2011)
See All Poetry


My translation of selected poems by Aleksandrs Caks, titled Between Two Rains, is available at http://www.amazon.com/Between-Two-Rains-Aleksandrs-Caks-ebook/dp/B00C10SNZG.


Also By Aleksandrs Caks


Latvian Literature

Baltic Literature

European Literature