Winter, don’t ever be over. So that Spring
never has to show up, and no armies can
come marching in on us, while they’re still waiting for Spring. Wild
forest creatures will stay calm asleep, dreaming of
Winter, don’t ever be over. All will stay shut in
at home, sleeping all the while, with the vile evildoers, tramps
and wheeler dealers all frozen stiff, all will be drinking
with prostitutes, like children in their innocence
until the Spring,
which is never to come.
Don’t show up, Spring. Keep all your
blossoms, smells, kisses and crusts—
I want to stay calmly drinking my wine
with old friends—while it’s still winter,
while the armies haven’t marched in yet—
O snow, keep on snowing, as deep, impenetrable,
cold, as in the winter of 1812,
until it’s Spring,
that’s never to come.
Translated, from Lithuanian, by Vyt Bakaitis
JONAS MEKAS has often been called "the godfather of American avant-garde cinema."