when I was younger
\nI understood no art
\nit wasn’t even possible
\nfor I grew up inside it
\nwas a part of it<\/p>\n
I was born in the soviet union<\/p>\n
a commie with an artist’s soul was taking refuge
\ntogether with other war-despisers and artists
\nin zurich<\/p>\n
there \u2013 in the midst of cafes and cabarets
\nthere \u2013 in the midst of wine craze and opium passion
\nin the city of erotic charges
\nand electric discharges
\ndadaism was born<\/p>\n
and Lenin \u2013 that artistic soul \u2013
\n(for haven’t there been enough
\nclowns and artmakers
\nclairvoyants and charlatans
\namong them bloody dictators) \u2013
\nthere Lenin saw Duchamp<\/p>\n
you know \u2013 Duchamp
\ndadaist postmodernist ready-made-man
\nRose Selavy<\/p>\n
he put a pisspot on the stage
\nand called it a fountain<\/p>\n
and Lenin looked
\nand saw
\nthat it was good<\/p>\n
something like that
\nsomething as beautiful
\nsomething as mighty and special
\nhe too wanted to create<\/p>\n
and he did
\nhe created a pisspot as big as a state
\nand we \u2013 estonians \u2013 looked at it
\nfor twenty years from the outside <\/p>\n
and then
\nthen for half a century from the inside
\nstraight from the heart of art<\/p>\n
I know
\nthere was no communism
\nnot in the Soviet Union at least
\nonly dadaism there was<\/p>\n
Lenin and Duchamp
\nbonded by friendship
\nand in the sewers of eternity<\/p>\n
that pisspot
\nas big as one sixth part of the planet
\nhad a fatal influence on my sense of art
\nI still can’t get rid of that feeling
\nas if I lived in a book or a movie
\nas in a gigantic pisspot<\/p>\n
and that soon the hand of an evil artist
\nshall flushshshsh!!! me down<\/p>\n
(translated by Karl Martin Sinij\u00c3\u00a4rv)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Metrics and Ethics (Meetrika ja Eetika)<\/strong> a philosophical question metrics and ethics should together make metrics is life’s pulse its syntax life’s constant pulsing and ticking rhythm beaten out by this is the true metrics ethics is when I can still stay human ethics is a mere teaching with a platonic aspiration it is a republic at a watershed (Translated by Eric Dickens)<\/p>\n <\/p>\n there \u2014 in the midst of cafes and cabarets and Lenin \u2014 that artistic soul \u2014 By J\u00c3\u00bcrgen Rooste<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23361","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23361","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23361"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23361\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23361"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23361"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23361"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\npart 1<\/p>\n
\nas eventide falls
\nlukewarm whisky sloshing
\nin a smeared glass
\nan old-fashioned, eight-faceted one
\nlike a vase where the spirit
\ntakes its proper form and blooms like
\nan aarrrring thorny flower \u2013 a flesh-eating plant
\nhallelujah<\/p>\n
\nethrics
\nsomething that deals with the overworldly
\nsomething that deals with the rotten core of society
\nand with a man and his abandoned woman and their love
\nwhich was young like a cut willow wand
\nseeping still its acrid sap
\nhallelujah<\/p>\n
\nit is how the platonic cardiogram passionately
\nwrites itself on your wrist and temples as sentences
\nwhen you touch another person’s wrists and temples
\nand every pulse is a copy of that very pulse
\nand an echo and yet again a unique rhythm
\nrhythm of the body rhythm of the bodies rhythm of many naked and lustful bodies rhythm of heavenly bodies and a whirring rollercoaster of solstices<\/p>\n
\ncarbon atoms
\nannual rings in tree trunks
\nbroods of foxes between flood waters
\nthe hardened heart of a civil servant that missed his bus
\nthe departure of the shore swallows and the return \u2013 always the return
\nstubble growth repeated to the point of bluntness and a young girl’s
\na mere girl’s first menstruation
\nthe coca cola company’s seasonal advertising campaigns
\nstories in scandal sheets and tabloids of murder and infidelity
\nand the overall decaying souring and rotting of everything
\nwhich is like an unbroken unstoppable bouncing electro beat
\nand even in its most hideous forms proclaims life itself<\/p>\n
\nhallelujah<\/p>\n
\neven when god’s throne is empty even when I have no
\nwork no home no days off or public holidays
\nethics is when a lion attacks a lamb and some infant animal’s mother
\ntries to save its life against overwhelming odds
\nrather ethics is a teaching in
\nwhere we should draw borders and lines
\nsometimes doing nothing
\nnot interfering, indifference saving one’s own skin staying silent
\nmay be terribly unethical<\/p>\n
\nwhose spark in every human being is of course unique
\nand in that case undeniably right but which nevertheless
\nhas demanded from mankind itself to be made a legacy
\nin the form of culture and laws like we today have laws
\neven culture<\/p>\n
\nin the waning of former ages and worlds
\nhallelujah <\/p>\n![\"jurgen-rooste2\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/05\/jurgen-rooste2.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong>
\nJ\u00c3\u00bcrgen Rooste <\/strong> was born in Tallinn in 1979. He studied Estonian linguistics at the Pedagogical University there and has worked as editor of the cultural weekly Sirp<\/em>. He has also been the head of the Estonian Institute in Helsinki and a member of the creative group Tallinn Young Creators. In 1999, Rooste published his first collection Sonetid<\/em> (Sonnets<\/em>), which was awarded the Betti Alver Prize. His subsequent books have included Veri valla<\/em> (Blood Wide Open<\/em>, 2000), Lameda taeva all<\/em> (Under the Flat Sky<\/em>, 2002), R\u00c3\u00b5\u00c3\u00b5m \u00c3\u00bchest koledast p\u00c3\u00a4evast<\/em> (Joy of a Dreadful Day<\/em>, 2003) and Ilusaks inimeseks<\/em> (To Be a Beautiful Person<\/em>, 2005). In 2000 he compiled an anthology of punk poetry Tagasi pr\u00c3\u00bcgim\u00c3\u00a4ele<\/em> (Back to the Scrap Heap<\/em>) and was one of the translators of Allen Ginsberg’s collection America<\/em>, published in 2003. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"jurgen-rooste21\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/05\/jurgen-rooste21-150x150.jpg\")
a commie with an artist’s soul was taking refuge
\ntogether with other war-despisers and artists
\nin zurich<\/p>\n
\nthere \u2014 in the midst of wine craze and opium passion
\nin the city of erotic charges
\nand electric discharges
\ndadaism was born<\/p>\n
\n(for haven’t there been enough
\nclowns and artmakers
\nclairvoyants and charlatans
\namong them bloody dictators) \u2014
\nthere Lenin saw Duchamp…<\/p>\n