Simonas Bernotas was born in Kaunas in 1993. Now he lives in Vilnius and studies Lithuanian philology and Spanish language at Vilnius University. His poetry has been published in the literary journals Šiaurės Atėnai, Literatūra ir Menas, Metai, and the anthologies Poetry Spring and Slinktys.
Anna Halberstadt has published many works in the field of psychology but has found poetry to be a more adequate and condensed way to expand on the same themes—growing up as a child of Holocaust survivors in a country still struggling with past trauma, living in three countries (Lithuania, Russia, U.S.), and immigration. Her creative work has been published by Alabama Literary Review, Alembic, Amarillo Bay, Atlanta Review, Bluestem, Caliban, Cimarron Review, Cosmonauts Avenue, Forge, Good Men Project, Hawaii Pacific Review, Lilith, and elsewhere, and translations of her poems in several Lithuanian journals. Her poetry in Russian was published in the international anthology “Nash Krym” (KRiK, New York) in 2014. Her translations have been published in St.Petersburg Review, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. Her collection of poetry “Vilnius Diary” was published in the Mudfish Individual Poet Series in 2014. Her collection in Russian “Transit” was recently published by West-Consulting, Moscow.
Anna Halberstadt has published many works in the field of psychology but has found poetry to be a more adequate and condensed way to expand on the same themes—growing up as a child of Holocaust survivors in a country still struggling with past trauma, living in three countries (Lithuania, Russia, U.S.), and immigration. Her creative work has been published by Alabama Literary Review, Alembic, Amarillo Bay, Atlanta Review, Bluestem, Caliban, Cimarron Review, Cosmonauts Avenue, Forge, Good Men Project, Hawaii Pacific Review, Lilith, and elsewhere, and translations of her poems in several Lithuanian journals. Her poetry in Russian was published in the international anthology “Nash Krym” (KRiK, New York) in 2014. Her translations have been published in St.Petersburg Review, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. Her collection of poetry “Vilnius Diary” was published in the Mudfish Individual Poet Series in 2014. Her collection in Russian “Transit” was recently published by West-Consulting, Moscow.
Labyrinth
Bang
Labyrinth
I am living in a labyrinth that I’ve not gotten used to yet Streets seize me corridors seize me and spit me out Into a place where I have not yet found myself Walls get narrower suffocating me Tunnels intersect my eyes remain my eyes And they often don’t get it right While reading names it does not matter If the print is too fine or writing is familiar Yes I have some thread yes I have some crumbs Thread from a cloth of my soul with a hole Even if it had been most precious is eaten by moths And no longer wearable I already can see people Whispering to one another The crumbs Before even landing on the ground Get swallowed by birds and birds get swallowed By cats and cats by their shadows I often get lost turn left when I need To turn right I don’t believe in map directions they are superficial They don’t register changes So I stay in the middle of nowhere Lost looking at the reflection in a store window At the reflection in a car at the reflection And no longer getting it Which one is more me.
Bang
I was at the wheel of a pink limo in the back seat—a corpse of a mafioso or some other type of jerk with a headshot wound and in the luggage compartment a bunch of green dollar bills I was waiting for you. I was puffing on a cigar releasing snake like circles of smoke the jerk in the back seat blinked moved smiled at me I shuddered wanted to speed up pushed on gas realized it was not worth resisting swallowed one snake it bit me on the tongue I was bleeding it seems the dollar bills blossomed I sensed the bloom from my seat behind me police patrol lights I elegantly pulled out a pistol one bullet left white highway lanes merging not far a red light blinking so bright that it blinded me I crashed into a speeding by me racketeer’s Mers and I died. Oh, if only things had been so simple the cop who had followed me was smeared with doughnut filling right next to his badge I wanted to offer him some cleaning powder but I was dead already and for the dead it’s really hard to talk so he started filling out a protocol omitting to mention the dollar bills then took the gun and shot himself or maybe not how would I know–I was lying on the road all covered with blood among broken glass from the limo windows and still without a doubt. In my head.