The wooden Christ - Faustas Kirsa

In his fathers' home, a farmer who's a hundred 

Carves a wooden model Lord that works some wonders.

On the face of Jesus he inscribes his misery 

When they sent his son to prison in Siberia.

He cuts deep, the wood dust drops, the god doll gazes

Anguished god indeed, created by its maker.

He, to crucify himself his heart and torments, 

Spears the side of God and spikes the palms and insteps.

Then he twists a crown of thorns to grave the forehead; 

White the wood the old man gouges, goads and tortures.

With the hands at rest upon the knobby kneecaps. 

Wooden Christ himself is born, alive, and painwracked.

Chips pile up to ease the heart, for Christ is risen, 

Christ himself is risen from the old man's chisel.

Now the godwright glows, and now he sees the miracle : 

Round the head of Christ are lightrays in a circle.

When he stripped the final splinter from the icon. 

You could hear the lips of the creator speaking:

"God, I don't believe this piece of wood requires 

Labor out of me to bring about a miracle.

''God, you wipe my tears dry, turn my pain to sweetness 

Through your agony with both your temples bleeding.

''If you do perform them— miracles, I beg you: 

Save the innocent, but punish persecutors!"

And, when he had borne the statue to the church, why

All the people of the land returned to virtue.

And, his lips against the wound of Jesus' passion,

He himself begged mercy for his youth's transgressions.

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Faustas Kirsa (1891 – 1964) Lithuania

Translated by Theodoie Mdnechuk

Source: Green oak: selected Lithuanian poetry by Algirdas Landsbergis, Voyages Press, 1962