Latgalistikys kongresu materiali, III. 2011. - Latvijas Universitāte

The ironic overtone of the poem endows the figure of Anvs Tiļne
with a kind of ironic halo of Latgalian classic 52 echoed further in the text
in openly parodic references to literary discourse and literary theory and
criticism.
Further on, the narrator admits that actually he is the one who is
called Anvs Tiļne; yet he admits this as a kind of degrading fact:
GLUPAIS TIĻNE! NIU JAU DAGUOJS DA TUO, KA ASU TYS, KŪ
SAUC PAR TIĻNI! 53 (Seiksts, Lukaševičs 1996: 20)
The narrator’s identity is further expanded beyond any limited subjecthood
to a multitude of figures:
BET MAŅ VĒĻ VAJADZĒS PABYUT PAR TŪ, KAS IR PASAŽIRS,
PAR POTEŅCIALU LATGOLYS PAMATĪŠU PARTEJIS BĪDRU, PAR
EVENTUALU NEOFITU KAIDĀ SEKTĀ I VĒĻ PAR TŪ, KAS
MOTAINS STAIGOJ SAPLĀSTUOS IUZUOS. NASKAITŪT TŪ
VYSU, ES VĒĻ BYUŠU KASKAIDA KURSA STUDEŅTS I
VACUOKAIS DĀLS, KURS BAROJ SOVU MALNŪ SIMBOLISKŪ
MĀSTIFU. VYSI JĪ MANI GYUSTEIS I NAATRASS. PAR TŪ, KA ES
ASU TYS — KAI LĪPLOPA ĪBYRST APCIERPTAJĀ PARKA ZUOLĒ,
KAI TRUSTŪŠS SYLTUMS ATĪT I PALĪK IZ SORKONCEGLU
SĪNYS. I VĒĻ, KA LABI PASAUKT SVĀTŪ KRYŠTOPU I SVĀTŪ
APTUOMIŅI, ES VARĀTU BYUT TYS, KAI TEI SĪVĪTE IZLĪK RŪKU
DĀLAM IZ PLACA VOI KUR NAVĪN VACAJUOS GODSYMTA
SUOKU MUOJUOS KLUSI I POHMELISKI BEZSPĀKĀ RAUGOJĀS
KAIDS DZĀROJS. ES VARĀTU BYUT TYS VYSS REIZĒ. 54
(Seiksts, Lukaševičs 1996: 20–1)
young girl / was born from foam shower / with milk white cheeks / and a harp under
her arm / she stood by the stone and started to play / like a white sun / stags ran
around / fellows stood beside / there was a tremor in the air / a mole was squeaking
in the hole / strings were shining in her hands / like the sun in the sky’
52 Another ironic reference is provided here to the epic song by Juoņs Karūdznīks
(Eugenijs Ruško, 1921–2003) “cyrmaļauds” (people of lake Cyrma) that was produced
by the author in 10 copies in 1995.
53 ‘stupid tiļne! I have reached the brink to be the one who is called tiļne!’
54 ‘but I will have to be the one who is a passenger, a potential member of latgalian
party, an eventual neophyte in a religious sect and someone who wears long hair and
torn pants. Apart from all that, I will be a student of some year and the elder son
who feeds his black symbolical mastiff. All of them will chase me but won’t find
me. Because I’m the one — like a leaf falling into the cut grass in the park, like heat
that comes and stays on the red brick wall. And besides, arranging it with st. kryštop
and svātū aptuomiņi, I could be the one like that woman who pats her son on the
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