Artikel
“Fire in Poetry”: Drushkininkai Poetic Fall
18 januari 2006
Kornelijus Platelis, the founder and inspiring organizer of the Drushkininkai Poetic Fall, addresses the audience from a lectern placed next to the Persian rug. Meanwhile, the two poets at the coffee table are pulling faces and mimicking the speaker behind his back, much to the amusement of the audience. The evening promises to be a colourful one, which is surprising in itself, considering the serious mood prevailing during the festival so far. It began with a round table discussion of the festival theme "Fire in Poetry", in which foreign guests could participate with the help of simultaneous translation. In a subtle, tentative argument, the well-known poet Sigita Geda explored the implications of the theme, and a literary scholar followed this up with a detailed account of Lithuanian fire poems past and present. A serious, attentive mood also marked the well-attended poetry readings.
Poetry and freedom of expression are highly treasured commodities here, in a society whose Soviet overlords between 1945 and 1980 discouraged any artistic expression which deviated from the social-realistic model with threats of imprisonment or deportation. Lithuania did not regain its independence until 1992, and the country still seems to be suffering the after-effects of the Russian ‘occupation’. This festival was founded around the same time the country became indepent, and has since become one of Lithuania’s chief literary events. Every year Lithuanian poets, well-known and up-and-coming, come to the Drushkininkai festival in droves. In recent years more and more foreigners have been invited, to provide the much-needed ‘cultural exchange’ after decades of cultural isolation.
The festival seems not yet fully equipped to receive guests from abroad, however. This was most apparent during the readings. Most Lithuanian poets presented their work without translation, and in the festival catalogue all Latvians, Estonians, Russians and other nationals could only be read in their own language. For the benefit of their non-Lithuanian confrères, most foreign poets resorted to English paraphrases or any English, French or German translations they could lay their hands on. The real exchange took place in the corridors and the festival café.
A neatly coiffured lady and a young man in a blazer and bow tie perform something resembling a song festival act on the Persian rug. Next, one of the poets behind the rustic oak coffee table holds a lengthy speech. Judging by the audience’s response he must be quite funny, but he does not seem to have much experience working with an interpreter. From the summary – interspersed with giggles – that the interpreting girl manages to salvage from his unstoppable flow, I gather that we are now about to hear the results of the poetry writing contests held during the festival: for the best anonymous poem, the best anonymous poem about fire and the best anonymous poem about "fire in water (comic)". In each contest there are five Lithuanian winners, who read their own poem and some others for good measure.
Time for the next surprise. Two boys hold a sheet stretched between them, behind which a woman puppeteer, speaking in rapid Lithuanian, appears to be portraying highlights from the festival. The spectators are roaring with laughter, and as I seek out the faces of my foreign colleagues I notice that, like myself, most of them are smiling politely at the funny intonations and pathetic gestures of the puppets. From behind the sheet are now heard the words "Mother Mary and Jesus!", spoken loudly several times over. The Irish poet John F. Dean looks up in surprise: apparently the "Show of Fire and Words" presented on the first night of the festival is being mimicked here. On that night, poets were invited to board a festive, torch-iluminated pedal boat on the nearby Lake Druskonis. From the dark waters they were to recite fire poems, using a wireless microphone. The poets on shore could use a PA system to broadcast their own poetry across the lake in the intervals left by those embarked. In the meantime, "fire-makers" set fire to giant sculptures of straw, cardboard and wood. All of a sudden, amidst the recitations, John Dean’s cold-benumbed voice was heard thundering across the waters: "Mother Mary and Jesus! Where am I? I can’t swim!" Whereupon he recited a magnificent poem about a department store destroyed by fire when he was a boy.
Loud applause, shouts of approval. The puppet show is over. The Persian rug is rolled up to clear the floor for dancing. And, completely drowned out by B.B. King, a long succession of young, serious, and by now often very drunk Lithuanian poets take the lectern to read from their own work.
"How did you like the festival?" says Kerry."I think it’s great," I tell him. "Good ambiance, interesting poets. I had an excellent time. I only wish I’d had the good sense to learn Lithuanian before I came."
Drushkininkai Poetic Fall
Lithuania, 4-7 October 2002
A poet’s impression of the Drushkininkai Poetic Fall festival in Lithuania.
Two men and a girl seat themselves at a rustic oak coffee table, placed on a large Persian rug which serves as a podium. The men are well-known Lithuanian poets, says American poet Kerry Shawn Keys, the girl is an English interpreter. “A student of mine. It’s her first interpreting job”. Kerry is a translator and an adviser of the festival. He lives in Vilnius and teaches creative writing at the city’s university. We seat ourselves at one of the long white-clad tables covered with flowers, garlic-soaked bread and bottles of Alita brandy, in the Dainava Centre’s immense dining room turned into festival hall. We are awaiting the start of a special surprise show, the grand finale of the festival which has taken place for the past three days at this health resort set in the pine forests of southern Lithuania. Our faces and those of our four hundred fellow guests take on all colours of the rainbow in the light of the disco ball hung from the ceiling for this occasion. Kornelijus Platelis, the founder and inspiring organizer of the Drushkininkai Poetic Fall, addresses the audience from a lectern placed next to the Persian rug. Meanwhile, the two poets at the coffee table are pulling faces and mimicking the speaker behind his back, much to the amusement of the audience. The evening promises to be a colourful one, which is surprising in itself, considering the serious mood prevailing during the festival so far. It began with a round table discussion of the festival theme "Fire in Poetry", in which foreign guests could participate with the help of simultaneous translation. In a subtle, tentative argument, the well-known poet Sigita Geda explored the implications of the theme, and a literary scholar followed this up with a detailed account of Lithuanian fire poems past and present. A serious, attentive mood also marked the well-attended poetry readings.
Poetry and freedom of expression are highly treasured commodities here, in a society whose Soviet overlords between 1945 and 1980 discouraged any artistic expression which deviated from the social-realistic model with threats of imprisonment or deportation. Lithuania did not regain its independence until 1992, and the country still seems to be suffering the after-effects of the Russian ‘occupation’. This festival was founded around the same time the country became indepent, and has since become one of Lithuania’s chief literary events. Every year Lithuanian poets, well-known and up-and-coming, come to the Drushkininkai festival in droves. In recent years more and more foreigners have been invited, to provide the much-needed ‘cultural exchange’ after decades of cultural isolation.
The festival seems not yet fully equipped to receive guests from abroad, however. This was most apparent during the readings. Most Lithuanian poets presented their work without translation, and in the festival catalogue all Latvians, Estonians, Russians and other nationals could only be read in their own language. For the benefit of their non-Lithuanian confrères, most foreign poets resorted to English paraphrases or any English, French or German translations they could lay their hands on. The real exchange took place in the corridors and the festival café.
A neatly coiffured lady and a young man in a blazer and bow tie perform something resembling a song festival act on the Persian rug. Next, one of the poets behind the rustic oak coffee table holds a lengthy speech. Judging by the audience’s response he must be quite funny, but he does not seem to have much experience working with an interpreter. From the summary – interspersed with giggles – that the interpreting girl manages to salvage from his unstoppable flow, I gather that we are now about to hear the results of the poetry writing contests held during the festival: for the best anonymous poem, the best anonymous poem about fire and the best anonymous poem about "fire in water (comic)". In each contest there are five Lithuanian winners, who read their own poem and some others for good measure.
Time for the next surprise. Two boys hold a sheet stretched between them, behind which a woman puppeteer, speaking in rapid Lithuanian, appears to be portraying highlights from the festival. The spectators are roaring with laughter, and as I seek out the faces of my foreign colleagues I notice that, like myself, most of them are smiling politely at the funny intonations and pathetic gestures of the puppets. From behind the sheet are now heard the words "Mother Mary and Jesus!", spoken loudly several times over. The Irish poet John F. Dean looks up in surprise: apparently the "Show of Fire and Words" presented on the first night of the festival is being mimicked here. On that night, poets were invited to board a festive, torch-iluminated pedal boat on the nearby Lake Druskonis. From the dark waters they were to recite fire poems, using a wireless microphone. The poets on shore could use a PA system to broadcast their own poetry across the lake in the intervals left by those embarked. In the meantime, "fire-makers" set fire to giant sculptures of straw, cardboard and wood. All of a sudden, amidst the recitations, John Dean’s cold-benumbed voice was heard thundering across the waters: "Mother Mary and Jesus! Where am I? I can’t swim!" Whereupon he recited a magnificent poem about a department store destroyed by fire when he was a boy.
Loud applause, shouts of approval. The puppet show is over. The Persian rug is rolled up to clear the floor for dancing. And, completely drowned out by B.B. King, a long succession of young, serious, and by now often very drunk Lithuanian poets take the lectern to read from their own work.
"How did you like the festival?" says Kerry."I think it’s great," I tell him. "Good ambiance, interesting poets. I had an excellent time. I only wish I’d had the good sense to learn Lithuanian before I came."
Drushkininkai Poetic Fall
Lithuania, 4-7 October 2002
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