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 JUHANI AHVENJÄRVI
CLAES ANDERSSON EVA-STINA BYGGMÄSTAR TOMAS MIKAEL BÄCK AGNETA ENCKELL MARTIN ENCKELL TUA FORSSTRÖM PENTTI HOLAPPA JOUNI INKALA RIINA KATAJAVUORI JYRKI KIISKINEN TOMI KONTIO JUKKA KOSKELAINEN LEEVI LEHTO HEIDI LIEHU RAKEL LIEHU LAURI OTONKOSKI MARKKU PAASONEN ANNUKKA PEURA MIRKKA REKOLA HENRIKA RINGBOM PENTTI SAARITSA HELENA SINERVO EIRA STENBERG ANNI SUMARI ILPO TIIHONEN SIRKKA TURKKA MERJA VIROLAINEN KJELL WESTÖ (ANDERS HED) |
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MERJA VIROLAINEN (b. 1962) has published four collections of poems, Hellyyttäsi taitat gardenian (Because of Your Tenderness You Break a Gardenia, 1990), Tervapeili (Tar Mirror, 1995), Pilvet peittävät sisäänsä pilvet (Clouds Encompass Clouds, 2000) and Olen tyttö, ihanaa! (I'm a Girl, Wonderful!, 2004). She has also written a book about shamanism and witchcraft and a play called Täyttymyskomedia (Fulfilment Comedy, 1993). Virolainen has also worked as translator, translating Keats, Shelley, Dickinson and Indian modern poetry among others.
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 THE ROUGH FRICTION OF OPPOSITES |
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Bottles clink, glasses break,
Suzy Quattro follows you onto the porch:
“At the age of thirteen they all get mean.”
Ash has already found his way into another bra.
The moon is biting my belly,
my back feels like it’s about to break.
Under the night sky, the wind speaks,
David Bowie starts up:
“There’s a star man waiting in the sky.”
I suppose I, too, will get to the moon,
Ash, weightless, may still
roam around on me.
Then, will I still remember
how the ashtray altars
smoked at our little shindings,
how I feel sorry now
for everyone who suffers,
everyone who gets kissed
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  Still
Bottles clink, glasses break What´s the use of prolonging,... You put out my heart, like a cig... Bear Park That pimply-faced Narcissus Friend, against my will This parting of ours, how many... Quietly sighing like sand I close my eyes and open again Oh back, shimmery parchment This time next year No, he didn't grow yet Afterwards everyone leaves Say, my sagacity, goodbye I am the last poem There are no neon lights in Hels... 1. By speaking from close by Nothing has been When a curlew cries Mother's scent is powder Grandma, your tissue-paper face... Autumnal night pauses as I pause
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