i
everyone can utter I and be right,
I, so and so, promise, I love, I am deceived,
what i have spoken, felt, what lies i told –
i did not lie about one thing, that i am I,
a boundless monosyllable that started up at night
and seemed to feel there was something lacking;
and what is lacking? Feeling just like that
i shall never be right: i am I, not you,
even when you have stolen me and are dreaming now,
when your hot breast is heaving, lips are trembling,
you have already uttered, letting me loose,
and why not me? and you? and all the rest?
you
splitting, when one tries to clear it up,
the world allows us to address it: YOU, world,
the Almighty Lord, and rain, and a high-school girl
are equally deceived: YOU are everything
i can collect you glance by glance and spread
like a heap of scattered manuscripts, and every word
– fire, bliss, pronoun – will be the doorless home
for you to enter and to settle in.
to leave, to stay, you are not a photo,
not the past, not a recollection, even not the pain
alive in me, this blossom here,
not yet open, a waking storm – not you, but YOU
he
HE is that what remains from us,
a glance breaks away from a glance, a number from a memorial
HE am coming back hunched, downhearted
and the running bird that has drunk from a kiss – it is me
HE hushes and darkens, and starts guiltily hearing a word,
the third everywhere and always, he disappears at midday,
what you have is no comfort, it is not he, runaway, almost worthless,
he is not who sings and dances and whom, the invisible,
you desire to shelter in your soul – you and me, but HE
only breaks away from us and tingles, and irritates eyes,
simply permeates the dream and crushes it into grating gravel
and thrusts a sooty mirror towards me
we
WE is the pretend both of us,
we pretend to accept everything and say WE,
i and someone else, you and someone else are senseless,
crumbs, not to mention everything, if without us
the slow watch has never said WE to the fast watch,
but my sleeplessness says with your dozing lips:
we, invisible, we, inaccessible, our breath is we
and children, unlike us, our eyes
take some things to heart, but they do not see
how we part, hurry, lock the door, retire into
ourselves, where we shall never have to pretend
that we accept everything into the world of the holy dual number
Braziūnas, Vladas. Poems: Personal pronouns: i [aš; p. 116–117]; you [tu, p. 117]; he [jis; p. 117–118]; we [mes; p. 118]; last night I dreamed for the first time [šiąnakt pirmąkart sapnavau; p. 118–119]; Vilnius Classicism [Vilniaus klasicizmas; p. 119–120]; the old man and the sea [senis ir jūra; p. 120]; "starlings and little birds of hollow…" [„špokai ir mažieji uoksų paukšteliai …”; p. 121]; a bifurcate candlestick received as a presentdovanota dviguba žvakidė; p. 121–122]; everything will be a dream about [visa bus sapnas apie; p. 122]; the root [šaknis; p. 122–123] / Translated by A.Danielius // Vilnius: Lithuanian literature, culture, history. - 2001. - Summer. - P. 116–123.
www.culture.lt/vilnius/vilnius2001-1/116psl.htm