Triin Soomets

Triin Soomets is graduated from Tartu University as an Estonian philologist and member of Estonian Writers´ Union since 1999. She has 8 poetry books in he account her Poems have also been published in German, English, Dutch, French, Slovenian, Finnish, Galegian, Polish, Swedish, Portuguese, Russian, Hungarian, Albanian, Latvian, Romanian and Spanish
The awards s
he got are  - The most alive book, by cultural newspaper Sirp 2004, Juhan Liiv annual prize 2000 and was nominee of year award of Estonian poetry 2006, 2004


What’s left is to play —
In a white shoe
red wine,
a west wind, a shipwreck,
the bloated corpses of sailors.
Blind, irretrievable connections,
the sea sways in the graveyard
darkhaired and young.
What’s left is to forget —

Translated by Miriam McIlfatrick


The worst contracts
are made with oneself
and they last
hide seconds and big events
determine the lines of your mouth
how you prop your head on your hand
who you begin to love
who asks you the way
what you watch
what you see
what you feel
what you die into
like there should be a contract deadline
just like a day of death


I would give you my heart, but I can’t find
anywhere even the scent of its buttercups,
I have lost it somewhere, where one wanders
under golden trees in dark rain with eyelids damp.

I would give you a night, but I can’t find
the star whose rising would announce the end of the day,
in the morning you’ll have to keep your lips on mine,
take me in the middle of a sunny day.

I would give you myself, but I can’t find
anywhere even a footprint sunk in the sand,
you’ll have to catch winds and follow shadows


A solution
wait, an easy rule
an impossible equation
stretch out your hand, you yourself
wring the last sweet tear from my heart
a dark drop of never turning back


I would like to do something real; something big,
I said. Let's go to my place,
I have a case of vodka, you replied
and at any other time I would have come
till now I still haven't done anything
real other than save a fly
from a bottle of strawberry cider, where it was swimming
its hairy legs kicking around, I did that more
for myself than for the fly, which stayed bewildered
on the edge of the green leaf
under the too open sky, a shivering

Translated by Jayde Will, Jüri Talvet and Harvey Hix


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