Arvis Viguls (Lettonie, 1987)		La Poésie en ce temps Qui nous sommes Une asbl, pour quoi faire ? L'équipe 31 mars - 2 avril 2017 15-17 avril 2016 24-26 avril 2015 25-27 avril 2014 12-14 avril 2013 20-22 avril 2012 01-03 avril 2011 23-25 avril 2010 24-26 avril 2009 11 mars 2009 18-20 avril 2008
	Biographie		Arvis Viguls is a poet, translator and author of articles and radio programmes on Latvian literature. His debut book Istaba / The Room (Riga, Satori, 2009) was awarded the Poetry Days Prize and The Annual Latvian Literature Award as a debut of the year and won the author a creative grant from Ventspils International Writers’ and Translators’ House. His second book 5:00 (Riga, Mansards, 2012) was awarded The Anna Dagda Award and shortlisted for The Annual Latvian Literature Award. Arvis Viguls translates poetry from English, Spanish and Russian (Whitman, Lorca, Brodsky and others).
	Poème		Grāmata Citai pēc citas es pieskaros savām rētām, manai vienīgajai kamuflāžai, lai atcerētos, kas esmu. Es vairs neprotu mest krustu – šis ir mans pēdējais rituāls. Vissenākā ir tā uz kreisā pleca – no vakcīnas pret bakām – apaļa, it kā tur kāds būtu nodzēsis cigareti. Tās bija manas pirmās kristības. Man ir daudz sīku skrambiņu ap visiem desmit roku pirkstiem – pa vienam uz katru bausli. Bērnībā man patika naži. Tolaik nebija citu rotaļlietu. Es mēdzu izlikt savā priekšā uz galda visus asos priekšmetus, ko varēja atrast mājās, un devu tiem vārdus tā, kā dod vārdus dēliem. Zirga vecumu nosaka pēc zobiem, sāpju vecumu – pēc rētām. Un tomēr es vēl esmu pavisam jauns. Šeit – un tas jāsaka čukstus – vēl ir daudz brīvas vietas. The book One after another I touch my scars, my only camouflage, so I can remember, who I am. I don’t know how to make the sign of the cross anymore – this is my last ritual. The oldest one is on my left shoulder – from the smallpox vaccine – round, like someone put out a cigarette there. That was my first baptism. I have many fine scratches all over my ten fingers – one for each commandment. As a kid I liked knives. In those days there were no other toys. I used to put all of the sharp things I could find at home in front of me on the table, and give them names like they give names to children. They determine a horse’s age by its teeth, the age of pains – by their scars. And yet I’m still very young. Here – and it must be said with a whisper – there’s still a lot of space left. (Translated from Latvian by Jayde Will)