12 article(s) translated from Estonian

At the Manor, or Jump into the Fire

She hoped the pianist would take the other cabanossi for himself. Who knows what Bulgarian horsemeat it was made of—what reason would she have had for trusting Statoil more than anyone else?...

[I wish there was a god]

I wish there was a god who would see to it                that we who work in Finland as bus drivers small-town...

A Dog’s Life

The dog ran round the corner, his fur shaggy and matted, and stayed there, sheltering from the wind and panting heavily. From a distance it looked as if he was leaning his shoulder against the...

Evening Fare

This is a smart time, I think as I sit and eat a sandwich in the kitchen. Tomorrow is sorted, the hayracks ready, the tools even stowed in the shed, your magnificent culinary creation needs one more...

Four Prose Poems

Förby    We have no dipping moon over a metropolis’s hills. We have no breeze caressing the parchment of an aging poetess that would cause her to say: “It comes...

what do you write about

what do you write about? asked the Jordanian poet. about love, I answered. there isn’t anything else, is there. yes, agreed the Jordanian poet, there really isn’t anything else. when he...

Death among the Icebergs

Conchita Suárez had come to Tartu from Chile to study Estonian language and history. Her arrival here was not entirely a matter of chance. In point of fact, her grandfather had been forced to...

Mice in the Wind

Victor didn’t throw out the empty bottle, but did the proper thing and left it beside the banister, so that the housekeeper or the first early riser rushing out to work would get it. Afterward...

“Idleness Is Often Empowering . . . ”

Idleness is often empowering, recreating oneself— just as the moon gradually grows full once again, a battery surely and steadily recharges, so everything, everyone must have time for...

“The sparks from your firesmoky eyes”

The sparks from your firesmoky eyes kept the room warm for hours, days, weeks, and months. I recognized that feeling: the glow. I recognized that feeling. Although it happened in...

“The reader casts his shadow over the poem”

The reader casts his shadow over the poem. What did you actually say: The vase is here or The sky is blue? All possibilities bloom in language, the mind hears but what it wants to or...

“I don’t carry your picture in my purse”

I don't carry your picture in my purse; it burns anyway under my eyelids. Every expression, gesture, intonation, without my even wanting it, is etched— most clearly, your back,...