“Guests can enjoy the ‘full prisoner experience’
… including death threats…for $16 a night”
Daily Mail, 08.07.13
Sveiki, anglis.
Welcome to Karosta.
You know Winston Churchill?
No matter. You want tour?
You must sign paper, confess everything.
A little joke, anglis.
Hotel very clean.
Not like old days.
Yes, I am here in war.
Krievi, Vācu, karavīru
Germans, Russians
soldiers come.
Much blood, shit.
Much pissing on mattress
like ‘full prisoner experience’
it says here.
You want this, yes?
Please. Swear at me.
Call me bloody Yid, yes?
Call me fucking Latvian cunt
smash nose with fist
break legs
shoot in guts.
I die not too quick.
Maybe you don’t want?
Sorry for bad words.
Someone comes.
I go home to Ogre,
near Riga, you know.
Many Germans buried there.
I talk with them.
Just talk.
Time’s up, as you say.
Iron gates shut now.
Arlabunaki, anglis.
Sleep well.
Brutal, effective and chilling. Well-chosen form.
Ooof!
Great poem!
Martin – erm – I have trouble with this as I have some dear Latvian friends and have been to Latvia and know one side of the story – and this poem enforces for me the fact that if you connect with a person who knows a subject then you are already half way there – and if you shout at somebody who knows something different/has a different point of view than it doesn’t matter what techniques are employed you will never touch them – I will re-read it and perhaps change my point of view – Latvia for me was very down at heel – people averted their eyes and perhaps I should post the poem I wrote when I returned … oh – and on a positive note – well done for the language – I have nothing against swearing or anything like that – language is to be celebrated – the Russians took the Latvian language away letter by letter until they could not communicate unless they communicated in Russian (but I am sure you know that) and it is something that has stuck with me ever since – nobody should be scared of expressing themselves – thank you
GMT + 2 hours/Eastern European Summertime
When the alarm clock rang
I was building you a wishing-well
– lined with gold and silver
smiling voices in a blue satin room
from the other side of the water.
But ripples break friendships
like time distorts history
and pine trees will never grow
on the salty lips of a stagnant puddle.
Here is my spade
together we can watch the rain falling
and some time from now
you will be ready, again
to hope for the future.
SLD
8.11
To my Latvian friends. A full explanation of this would be longer than the poem itself. This is a brief explanation. In Latvia we visited a palace. In the gardens was a pool with a fountain. The still water reflected the sky. I took a photograph. Something was missing. There were no coins in the fountain. Nobody had made a wish. Nobody was smiling. With a little knowledge of your history I can begin to understand a small amount. I feel sad. When I returned home I dreamt I was building you a wishing-well. It was full of coins – your wishes.