Vyt Bakaitis















Vyt Bakaitis, a native of Lithuania, has been living in New York City since 1968. A book of his poems City Country appeared in 1991 (Black Thistle Press, NYC), and con/structs, his book of visual poems and photographs, came out in a limited edition in 2001 (Arunas K. Photo+Graphics, NYC). He has written reviews of books and classical concerts in several languages including in World Literature Today and The Poetry Project Newsletter.Vyt Bakaitis has also published translations of poetry from several languages, including the anthology of 20th Century Lithuanian poetry he edited, Breathing Free: Poems from the Lithuanian (Lietuvos Rašytojų sąjungos leidykla, 2001). He has translated into English poems of Rimbaud and Celan,and his versions of works by the classic Romantics Hölderlin and Mickiewicz are included in World Poetry (W. W. Norton, 1998). His translations of the poems of Jonas Mekas were published as There Is No Ithaca (Black Thistle Press), with a foreword by Czeslaw Milosz, and as Daybooks (Portable Press at YoYo Labs) Deliberate Proof, a new collection of poems was published by Lunar Chandelier Press in 2010. His poems recently have been published in Vanitas, The Brooklyn Rail, Talisman and the online journal, Eoagh (http://eoagh.com/).


Author's statement, Fall 2012 (from a letter to the publisher):

We take it on faith that no archetype is lasting. That should be so as in the first instance it is. Behind the eyes, between the ears lies mind, or brain if you want to stay streetwise. But the mind is dimensional to pull and expand, extending consciousness, will, or world, taking in as well the otherwise assessable, unassailable, and finally unsayable whiff and feel. Some call it soul, and it would be an ocean to drown in, but for the flu that time imposes: a stuttering gasp to which the mind can only react in kind. Ears bring in the sound, but mind creates the music, as eyes can span formal drafts and constructs for the mind to construeMind is not alone but hosts a fullscale brawl of well-known if not always categorizable emotions. In spirit all conjoin. The senses set up signals for spirit to engender. Like the smoke from open fires the wind whirls into shape before our smarting eyes.”