We were cutting logs together
planks from the demolished byre
thick blocks of books
page by page splinters shredded
bark my uncle at the saw
saint anthony, father and myself
merely making ourselves useful
it was snowing left and right
soggy mittens clouds of sawdust
we filled the shed mother came out
saint anne came down from heaven
and said I'll take just a splinter
for kindling saint anthony said
take several you can see how much
we have cut I see mother laughed
uncle laughed the holy father laughed
the saw was struck dumb the cattle
lowed the lake stopped lapping
as we ascended into heaven
--- Sigitas Parulskis
Anthony Weir, Translator
From Dissident editions
www.beyond-the-pale.co.uk/index2.htm
