Epifanio
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Igasugune tagasiside on teretulnud. KONTAKT: augustkunnapu@gmail.com, august@epifanio.eu
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Articles in English

TOIMETAJA VEERG

EPIFANIO SOOVITAB

MINU RAAMATUKOGU
Lembit Sarapuu

MÄNGULINE RUUM: PIIRIDETA ARHITEKTUUR
Rebecca Jones and Nathalie Pozzi

VAESUSEST JA HÄBIST
Mai Sööt

DANIIL HARMSI OLEMUSEST
Tõlkinud Mehis Heinsaar

VAIMSUS ELUS JA KUNSTIS
Peeter Laurits

ARHITEKT STEINER VAATAB TULEVIKKU
Vilen Künnapu

HARRY PYE POSTKAART LONDONIST
Harry Pye

FILMOTEEGI LÕPP
Gert Moser

MINU PLAADIKOGU
Annie Rist

LUULET
Lauri Sommer

FOLKLOORA-LUGUD TALLINNAST
Nato Lumi

PÜHA GEOMEETRIAST
Jaanus Orgussaar

MEESKOND

Lauri Sommer

 

“Let’s go search for a secret”
little niece dragged me along to the loft.
Her aim (and somewhat mine, too)
was hidden nest of kittens
born into straw,
but it seemed that mommy-cat had
little by little
carried the secret off somewhere else.
Still, her deed doesn’t change
anything for us.
We still go search for a secret.

*
Cowslips half-open
lungwort blooms downhill and
the smile of a little girl atop
of the heap of dead grass
embarking on a
third loop with a wheelbarrow
towards the first fire of her life.

*
I’m in the midst of long bus ride
going through the spring land
along with the lingering story of sunset.
Before me in red cardigan
sits a Einstein-looking man (or woman).
All is so relative
and there’s 30 km to Tartu.

In Karula

I pedal along the alley slowly
in my headphones Bach’s Trio G-major hums
through the fair village of Karula.
Shop closed, note on the door:
“Sorry (health problems). Trader.”
Old man on the field
burning trash and grass in the barrel.
Sitting in park. Rustle of every summer.
Thuja smells.

*
In the cellar of Ugala theatre
were women whom Peeter had painted:
some golem, some in fragile veneer
some unfinished, some in lyrical comic strips
and ping-pong table where we played
as if in training 20 yrs ago.
Bit by bit we started to memorize.
Tricky serves. Topspin. Slice. Net-in.
Even movements and faults repeated
and warm buzz in the shoulders.
Women looked.
Ball traced white whirlwinds
amongst their auras.
Times fell into layers.
At first boys’ games.
Then loves.
Then art.
And today some hobby sports
umpired by angels.

*
Apples and egg wait on the kitchen table
sausages and potato in oven,
a piece of incense on the range
even when “nothing happens”,
“nevertheless”.
Movements, read words,
restless thoughts all day long.
Mist rises from the ploughed furrows.
In the middle of november carrot bed
is rare, but tasty.
Going indoors when it’s getting dark.
Old mirror
smiles dimly in the glow of the hearth.

Translated by author with a little help
from Tim Cleminson (Okayama, Japan)

Lauri Sommer
is a musician and writer. He lives in Tartu and Räästu. His texts can be found in the previous issues of Epifanio, as well as on the Internet site www.ounaviks.ee/kago