Bullseye

After weeks without any good natural light to shoot in, I’ve decided to look for shots that would show the sun’s absence. This one seemed like a good start. Though silhouetted bare branches are a familiar late-fall image, I liked how, in this one, the branches meet the wires, one of which bisects a timid December sun.

This image brought to mind the work of Lithuanian poet Sigitas Geda, whose poem “An Unfinished Drawing on the Street” I used to introduce my post “Streets of Vilnius (I).” His short, incisive lines powerfully render the dismal Baltic winters. Ironically, the notion of the sun as “the eye of a big bull” in his wonderfully titled “What I Whispered into the Ear of a Girl When She Didn’t Listen to Asclepius 2000 Years Ago,” seemed a stronger reminder of the sun’s recent absence. I hope you enjoy the poem, beautifully translated by the American poet Kerry Shawn Keys, as well as my photo.

WHAT I WHISPERED INTO THE EAR OF A GIRL WHEN SHE DIDN’T LISTEN TO ASCLEPIUS 2000 YEARS AGO

lie down you
unfortunate girl
look
on the graves
there blooms
the ox-eyed
sun’s
sign
telling us
the sun
in the sky
is also just
the eye
of a big
bull
impregnating
the earth
just
by a
look

(© 2002 Sigitas Geda / Kerry Shawn Keys, Biopsy of Winter, Vaga)

Bullseye, 2012

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