Mother's Clouds (Mates Makoni)

by Zinta Aistars



To my mother, who has so often told me of the beauty of clouds in the sky over Latvia, where she was born.

This poem has been published on "Poetry Life & Times, October 2003 issue, along with an interview with Zinta.


Mother would insist:
back home, across the expanse
of ocean and gulf of time,
the clouds had a different shape.
They are, she said, a glowing white
tower with the full soft curves
of a woman’s blossoming heart.
They rise to the corners of the sky,
she said, light as the fluff of a dandelion.
They sail, she said, like old Viking ships,
rocking slowly into the sunset,
weighted with gold.

My sister and I would wink and smile
at Mother’s fancies, colored, surely,
by distance of space and time,
charmed by a remembered childhood,
the softening of memory that caresses
like a mother’s hand her baby’s cheek,
safe as a father’s hand clasping hers,
sweet as a first love perfumed
by forgetfulness, wistfulness, desire
to keep the past – pure in its perfection,
and billowing white.

Crossing the expanse of ocean,
my own years leaving a first fine crease
at the corners of my eyes, the color of hers,
my sister’s jawline softening, like hers,
we lie in the green fields of our mother’s
childhood. We gaze up at her sky,
ceiling of her innocence. And the clouds,
great billowing ships, breezes
filling their glowing white sails,
glinting against the sea of sky,
rock lightly in their buoyant voyage
over space and time, until
we can almost hear
the slap of canvas at filling sails
bellying into the outer curve
of the horizon of our daughters’
and our granddaughters’ next sunrise.

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Latvian translation:

MATES MAKONI


Mate zvereja:
tur majas, tevu zeme, pari
okeanam un laika dzilumiem,
makoniem cits vaigs.
Tie mirgo balti, vina stasta,
pacelas augstos tornos ar pilnigiem
un maigiem apveidiem
ka sievietes maiguma parplustosai sirdij.
Tie aizpeld lidz pat apvarsniem,
vina stasta, ka pienenu pukas.
Tie aizpeld, vina stasta,
ka seni Vikingu kugi,
lenam iesupoti saulrieta,
smagi ar zeltu.

Masa un es saskatamies smina –
ai, mates aizsapnosanas berniba,
iekrasoti bernibas kosam krasam,
apburta vina atminam kas glasta
ka mates roka berna vaigu,
dross ka teva roka saturot saveja,
salda ka pirma milestiba,
aizmirstibas sasmarzinata,
velmes saturet bijuso baltu
un muzam neaizskartu.

Merot okeana plasumu,
manas pasas gadi atstajot
pirmas vieglas pedas
acu sturisos, vinas krasa,
masas vaigam ievelkoties, ka vinas,
mes gulam mates zalos laukos,
mates berniba. Mes skatamies debesis,
vinas nevainibas jumtos. Un makoni,
milzu kugi, baltam buram
mirgojot debesu jura,
veigli peld, lidz liekas
varam saklausit buru piepusanos
preti supojoties apvarsnim
meitu un mazmeitu nakosiem saulrietiem.

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(Photo of clouds over the Daugava River in Latvia by Julita Klusa.)