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It gives one a good idea about how the fish live

when you play water like an instrument.

How did I get here?

How did I get here, tell me, how did I get here?

This story is about everyone, that's right.

There is no road, no road to just arrive.

And even today, when we came here to Setomaa,

then we just crossed the river Piusa.

We also stopped, and purchased strawberries and cucumbers.

And then a man came over and asked us...

how did you get here? Are you going to the Folk Festival?

He seemed the sort of person, sceptical of such a gathering.

We offered him strawberries

but he said "No, I don't eat grass."

Then we offered him a cucumber, a pickle’

and he said "No, I told you, I don't eat grass."

Then he looked at me and asked, "What are you doing here,

did you come to show off your wife?"

I said "Yes, I'll go on stage, take a bow and then show my wife!"

And then he started asking, things got a little more heated,

he started asking to take her with him.

So are you giving her to me?

I didn't agree to that, but luckily we didn't fight.

And then...

That's how I got here,

that's how we arrived, the two of us.

I understand that Setomaa has its own laws,

but men, don't even try it.

I only came to show you my poet.

WALKER ON WATER

I found a poem I had written a few days ago.

I had completely forgotten that I wrote it.

Hold on, let me show you. - Yes, of course.

Am I the only one?

I could easily be the only one right now

who is so in love with Tartu.

From somewhere on the second floor,

a medieval-looking woman scatters cigarette ash on my head,

but I smile softly, no problem.

My body has not cooled down yet,

it is still as hot as a cigar spark whirling in the wind.

In the autumn fog in a medieval street I am the only one.

I don't know if I'll use it somewhere

but it's good when something starts to happen.

Somehow to overcome oneself, to get something on paper

and then try, I don't know,

to close an eye, even if you feel that some spot is still itching.

But then you think it's much better

if I put it on paper with that itching spot

than not to write down anything at all.

I just think how mum and dad liked to dismantle the sentences.

Sometimes something didn't fit, the depth of some thought,

or the depth of meaning, and then they had to take everything apart.

Start everything from the beginning.

First of all, to argue philosophically,

about what depth, what dimension is missing, and then start again.

It was very interesting to listen to.

Yeah.

It seems... I guess, it was an exciting game for a child.

I recall that at some point I realized they were playing.

They're adults, but in fact they're still playing.

Just like children.

But you probably started writing...

on that stormy night, as a child, for the first time.

First of all, was the hate letter I wrote to Piret.

Something happened, and I was furious with her

I made a poem and pasted it on her door.

I don't even remember.

Our aunt recently said, that she remembers this poem.

It was so full of power, and she's sorry it's gone missing.

I like such moments the most,

when Eliisa shows me something she started to work on,

or I have shown her,

and then for an evening, or half a day and half the next day too

we're discussing just one detail.

And then as a result of this discussion,

in fact, we change just three words

or write one more line.

Eliisa changes her poem and I change mine.

But it is crucial.

Yes, then it's done.

Yes, a complete sense of closure.

And the road there has been very interesting.

At some point, Eliisa and I became a pretty good team

also writing letters to boys.

Remember?

Shortly before the time of emails.

Well, we read to each other...

The letters we received.

And then we thought things through.

And then we discussed it. - What missile should we send back.

Then you come up with a very good bombshell

and you just have to use it, although it's not really fair,

since you have consulted with your sister.

I don't know, that's the way things are between men and women.

Very often there is teamwork behind it.

Everyone can express their ideas now, to share what is necessary.

That is true, but it's still unclear what to begin with.

I don't know, let's start with "Birches, Birches"?

That would probably be the safest.

It's not so terribly sad.

The arrangement is pretty nice. - Yes, it's beautiful.

It's still relatively energetic compared to some songs.

In fact, I had one more option to read from "Maternity Leave"

traditional fragments of foremothers, I don't know if you remember.

This would characterize Estonian family life somewhat.

Okay.

It's after a meal, isn't it? Then they all digest quietly.

You and your digestion...

And then comes the "Walker on Water."

It was lovely, cloudless summer's day,

your sailing ship ready to sail away.

I came to see you off with tears in my eyes,

and bitter pain of parting filling my heart.

When I got your card from Barcelona,

I had it framed by a goldsmith in town.

But on the road, rushing towards me, came

my neighbour Mari with the very same card.

You deceiver, what have you done to me?

It's so hard to think or talk of it.

I tore the frame from around your card

and threw all your letters into the fire.

It had a completely different feeling right now. Absolutely.

The violin gives something that you...

For me, somehow it brings out this pain,

this beautiful pain.

If there is only an accordion, it could seem too funny.

Or sound like a march. - Yes.

In fact, it is probably such a spontaneously born ensemble.

Me and Kati and Sofia had such small children.

Small, well, three-four-five, that age.

There was so little time available after them

and when we wanted to get together ourselves, it was a huge...

need, actually, to do something creative.

Not to be a servant all the time.

Since it was in the air all the time, a song was being born, for example,

then it was much easier to do the everyday work.

That's how I want to live all the time.

I gave a creative writing course in Viljandi

and all the time I felt I myself wanted to write

What a creative writing teacher I am, when I give tasks to others,

and do not do them myself.

Although it was quite difficult

to come up with a new task at the same time

when you are still doing the previous thing.

I had the task of lyrics

and I actually wrote it in one breath ―

"The Very Last Days Without Snow".

When I wrote it, I still didn't understand

that something was in the air, some great sadness,

such an irreversible...

Some energies were in the air, beautiful and sad.

And the snow still had not come,

though you could feel that soon the ground will be white,

that everything is somehow redeemed or different.

But everything is still black and muddy and it still doesn't end.

Then, in fact, two weeks later, my father died unexpectedly.

Then this song haunted me for a long time,

all this time until spring.

But I didn't want it to be such a song of mourning.

However, it was born with some kind of...

with a feeling that it was accidentally

expressing something from a time

that could not even be captured afterwards.

Then it would all have been too meaningful.

The very last days without snow...

Parks are all swept clean of leaves.

Ships full of men, women, children

sail out of the harbour to sea.

My mood is as dark as the clouds

and I really have little to say.

Ships moving out of the harbour

pass me by as they sail away.

I must have been 27 years old.

I graduated with a master's degree and the same day someone told me

that a nature reserve guard is needed on the island of Mohni.

It seemed to me the most exciting offer,

to accept with my fresh masters with master's degree.

We moved there by boat

and it was so nice to unload rocking chairs and books onto the beach.

Somehow it was a legendary coming and a legendary going as well.

Mohni is there.

The island has its side towards us so it looks very small.

But when you look at it from there, it appears long like a dachshund.

It was like a fairytale life.

There was no electricity in the beginning

and of course no shop.

There were no other people.

These old, abandoned houses

and a high wall around our house enclosing the garden.

Then I wondered why it was needed,

but when the first autumn storms came, I realized that

otherwise it's not possible to go outside, it's so windy.

The kick-sled rides were very beautiful.

One day we saw

how two swans were frozen in the ice.

They had become ice sculptures.

An absolutely incredible sight, why didn't they fly away?

Why did one wait for the other and why were they both frozen?

It's also interesting with people.

People staying together in very difficult situations.

Even if all the textbooks say

that there have long been signs that you should break up

and it's no longer healthy to stay together, you will still stay.

I couldn't leave because everything was frozen,

there was such an ice soup,

and I had promised to stay until spring.

In one sense, there was an atmosphere of paranoia

about an affair that had developed

already in the second half of the year.

That I didn't really believe for a very long time.

That's probably the good faith of a young person,

such a bright hope that it could not be true.

My mother saw me at a poetry performance,

I was able to get off the island for a moment,

I performed somewhere in Tallinn.

My partner was also in the audience

and my mother came to me afterwards, startled, and said,

Kristiina, you seemed like a nun.

What has happened to you?

You no longer allow yourself to be natural and free and happy.

My mother is quite the clairvoyant in some situations

and she really began to investigate.

Because in fact, what happened was

that my partner was terribly jealous of me on a lonely island.

In fact, what could be funnier

than having someone insanely jealous of you on a lonely island.

It should be a paradise for the jealous,

since nothing can happen there.

It turns out that a person does not

have to be jealous of a given moment.

He may also be jealous afterwards,

of all sorts of glances, words, silences,

flushed cheeks,

of any gestures,

when he sees that I've been inspired by something.

The interesting thing is that I was so full of that desire,

to express myself,

and I did not accept any other job offer.

I felt the calling to write.

Maybe to draw, or to see where my life is going.

I remember wearing a long apron,

with some lace at the bottom, a red polka dot apron.

I was a bit like an ancient mother on that island.

I liked how my apron just flew in the sea breeze.

I was engaged in folk songs.

Somehow, I actually expressed myself creatively on that island.

The book "Protected Area", it was just born so easily,

I didn't think, I just wrote with joy or I was somehow in full sail.

I think’ he just couldn't stand it.

Why should a woman need sails?

Or such a flying apron?

Or the idea that she writes a book?

She's already putting it together

and already she composes, all the floors full of poems,

using as much space as there is in the lighthouse.

And she's actually writing about

what's in the air there on the island.

I had just broken up with Hannes' father

and Hannes was not yet born.

And it was not showing yet, that I'm expecting him.

And somehow, I felt that I'm completely alone

and only I knew it, that Hannes was about to be born.

And one more knew, whom I had just left.

I came to Käsmu, because mum and dad were in Käsmu.

Mum said, come here, you have to come here.

Talking to my mother, there in the bog, I suddenly realized

that mum and dad are my friends.

I don't have to step back

into a destructive relationship.

Just not to be alone.

I can count on my mother and father.

Mum probably remembers, we had cauldrons in the back garden.

Probably a farm cauldron or some such archaic cauldron.

It was upside down by the fence

and a cauldron of the neighbour's girl was there.

We had an agreement after school, where we were in the same class,

that we meet at the cauldrons.

I stood on my cauldron and she stood on hers.

She had a bigger cauldron, and I totally envied her,

how can her cauldron be so big?

They were doing well, and I guess they still are,

they had ham sandwiches, and sausage sandwiches.

We didn't buy things like that, we had salted lard

and pea soup, and such simple farm foods.

Then I was very envious, and then sometimes...

I wasn't, I spoke from the heart too,

I said, let's make a deal,

I'll bring you foreign chewing gum, you bring me a ham sandwich.

Because my aunt sometimes brought me foreign chewing gum.

Then we exchanged things.

These commercial transactions took place here.

A sticker for a sausage sandwich.

Like a starving kid from Nicaragua, when you look at it now.

But I remember the feeling of hunger from childhood.

I remember when the translation of a book was halfway through,

then there was nothing in the house but bread and butter.

At some point, for example, mum and dad translated a book

for half a year, even longer.

Then it could happen that the money for the previous book ran out

and then there was no Cultural Endowment

or other such institutions.

Then you had to live like this, from one royalty fee to another.

But it made us very creative, then we ironed the bread

and did all sorts of other things.

Fried potatoes with salted dill.

We had such recipes.

In some ways, I think my poetry and my prose are very contradictory.

A bit like written by two different people.

And then sometimes reading them

alternately somewhere at a poetry evening,

I feel strange myself.

How is it possible that I have written both of them?

But on the other hand, the themes coincide.

I would say that Kristiina's topic is...

trying to formulate...

the conflicting feelings of a woman

and the complex landscape of the soul and human relationships

sharper or deeper than is often done, or has been done.

Especially by men.

Kristiina knows how to mix surrealism.

You could see it even when she was little.

Once Kristiina read her poem to us and it was like this:

Last night, the moon was overshadowed

The shadow of the earth fell on the moon. - Shadow!

The shadow of the earth fell on the moon.

That's how the moon was overshadowed.

I don't have that ability

and I admire this ability in Kristiina.

You cannot learn to write surrealistically or surreal poetry.

It either comes or doesn't come, and Kristiina had it already as a child.

It was scary, when I first came here to this house

and there were pictures of hanged men on the walls

and pictures of poisoned men and Amazonian women.

Like by the piano in the living room,

the women are holding such large musical

instruments and they are blowing them.

All these women looked a bit like Kristiina,

she has drawn them after herself.

By reading her poetry, I have understood,

and as I got to know her, that it is not so dangerous.

But still.

That she writes it and then calms down?

But still.

Let's have some...

We all know that nobody likes it when good food gets cold.

Ly, we did so well today, let's share this big piece.

My child clambers on the windowsill

With one hand I keep him from falling with the other I write

Morning has started up tea drunk, porridge eaten

lilacs gone to seed the peonies' last buds open up

In the night their scent came into my room

My child slept his mouth covered with bread crumbs.

All at once I knew that this bundle of responsibilities

entwined to me by a hundred arms

is my life

And I was happy as my child slept

and the scent of peonies drifted through the mosquito net into my room

That's how it was.

There are a lot of poems in this book just as it was.

Nothing has been added or taken away.

For example, right now I feel

when I'm completely alone with Hannes for a long time,

when Silver is away somewhere and my mom can't come either,

then I feel this huge...

maybe now not so often, but for years I felt such anxiety.

It's a single mother's angst.

I just couldn't control it.

I can explain to myself that this is not really the case,

everyone will be back soon and then I'm not alone anymore,

but there is such... a bitter anguish,

that I have to manage everything alone.

This is absolutely normal, but you can't

explain it to yourself at that moment.

I remember when...

you adopted Hannes, and when the judge said

that Hannes now has both a mother and a father,

then from somewhere deep inside me

two big tears of a single mother flowed out.

Then I felt like they had flowed out of me forever.

I will never have to shed those tears again.

But still, when I think about it

then tears well up in my eyes again,

they're a bit eternal too.

You can only think of how...

I don't know.

How to keep them clear,

so that they do not become cloudy or bitter.

Want some endearments?

What? - Endearments.

I don't know these weird words.

You taught me them yourself.

I forgot already.

The sun sinks in the corner of my eye.

Like a tear.

We're not going to be Agnes and Gabriel.

Yet the sun is setting.

You can't do anything...

The wind picked me up

from behind the farm house.

The wind picked me up,

a timid traveller.

We are now in Länspää,

Länspää cape is over there, the West End.

And there at the end is Idapää (East End).

There were old farms here which are still visible.

I remember the day when we moved in here.

It was a real celebration.

I guess these were yours?

Yes! Oh, I've been wondering where they were.

Some slightly embarrassing poems too.

Let me see that first one.

Here are most of my "Protected Area" poems.

Look at that, so few changes.

It came like this here, no need to change anything that much.

This was the first rocking chair that came with me to the beach of Mohni.

Then I sat there between the rocks in a rocking chair.

Excellent!

You see, Hannes, there are still mum's things too.

Hannes asked if I still had anything to show him,

of what was here when I was on the island?

I was so used to the lighthouse flashing at night.

When I woke up, I counted ―

two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ―

and everything is lit up.

And when I went to the mainland, then I missed this flashing light.

Somehow this uninterrupted darkness was so unusual.

Hannes, come here, let's take a family picture, let's gaze upwind.

And the dog looks into the distance too, stay still!

The lighthouse must also stand out. Wow!

Like this and the lighthouse between us.

Look at the distance, Hannes, where the camera is.

Let's look up, a bit proudly. Very good!

During this island life, I spent most of the time searching for myself,

developing my creations,

and tried somehow to cope with this woman's work in the household.

If you can't go to the shop

then you have to invent all sorts of ways to preserve things.

First, clean up the basement and wash all the walls with vinegar.

It had not been done for ages.

To beat the mould.

To brine the eggs

and soak the cheese in olive oil with pepper and salt,

so they are edible for months.

Because although it is only 4.5 kilometres to the mainland,

as soon as there is white foam on the crests,

then it's no longer sure if it's possible or not.

Even now, when we came in the morning, it was quite a rough ride,

and now everyone on the island is waiting and can't get back.

These things happened dozens of times here,

where you are no longer responsible only for your own life

or for your loved ones or guests,

but at one point you have 30 people stormbound here.

Then you bring out everything you have.

To make something from the last of it,

and oatmeal made with water already tastes terribly good,

with just a drop of oil.

It is then eaten with pepper and salt

and at lunch with sugar and a drop of jam.

In the evening, you eat it again, then it's fried and with smoked fish.

Just to have different flavours.

I developed this thriftiness a lot.

I visited second hand stores when I went to the mainland

and bought all new clothes, because they are worn out quickly here,

somewhere something is torn and breaks and fades.

We used bridal veils as mosquito nets. Such things.

Very soon this island began to inspire.

When nothing happens outside, maybe it suddenly snows,

but you have to wait for it several months.

Or maybe the sea turns into an ice soup.

Then these external things seemed so huge,

that they began to resonate inside you.

I think I met with my very old self on this island,

or so to speak, my timeless self.

I had met her before

and that was one of the reasons I came here.

I wanted to meet her for a longer time.

And that longing is actually still there.

I don't know what will become of this life?

Maybe this kind of wildness is still temporary in our lives.

Even then, it may not be common, but separate.

Some part is common, some part is separate.

Would you like a more lonely life?

I will definitely have that loneliness, and you will too.

But... to stay in one place

and wait for the little dot coming across the field?

Would you like that?

You pointed out that you would like to.

With so much romance that...

I am constantly waiting for you from Germany

and the Czech Republic and...

The little dot? - Yes, like a dot.

I wait for this dot every night. - That's enough for you?

With you, yes.

No, we can't cut the tallest, it's too beautiful.

Let's take the next one.

This one? - Yes.

No, it's too small. You can't climb there.

Yes, he can!

Do you believe in me, children? - Yes!

Shall I fetch it? - Yes!

Are you sure? - Yes!

Hey, the helmet is pretty good,

it moves like an icebreaker through the branches.

You need glasses, eye patches.

How can he saw in such a way, how does he hold on?

With the other hand!

Don't cut the branch you're sitting on.

It's falling!

Let's go check it!

Oh, how big.

I measured it! - Well?

Exactly one finger, one broom and one crutch.

That's exactly how much.

I'll take the length of the broom. - Let me take a finger.

Yes, you put your finger.

I don't remember if the broom was tight.

The top can be slightly adjusted.

So, productivity is... - Formal presentation, please.

When we had a wedding on this farm,

then a few weeks later we came here, to help.

In a week, yes. To clean up everything.

I was making a poem in my head, we drove to the yard

and I couldn't wait to get my computer out

and get behind the desk, to the other side.

I saw there was some kind of obstacle in the way

and I just thought how to get around it quickly.

These were old customs. - Who taught you that?

This knowledge is from the times of our

mothers and fathers, and their stories.

I threw a broom or a brush on the stairs.

I think it was a broom? - Yes.

A broom on the stairs and for Silver I left a basket...

It was kind of natural to me.

Yes, a basket with wood.

With log wood.

And then they came.

But Silver took the basket.

Silver took the basket, but Kristiina rushed in.

Straight over it. - Like flew over.

I jumped over.

I flew over the broom.

But you have to fly.

Such great embarrassment followed.

So painful and awful.

What do they think of me now? What does Anni think of me now?

What a terrible disappointment I was.

That's why I don't dare to live in the country.

Wait, why?

Such a traditional diligence, I know I can't handle it.

If I want to do the job I'm doing right now,

then I am absent-minded, I have to be absent-minded.

In this sense, distracted.

But I think you have both sides very strong.

Both spiritual-poetic and practical activities.

So you jumped over the broom, that doesn't prove anything.

You also have such skillful hands in practical life.

You can handle everything.

Mum, you once said so beautifully about Kristiina,

that she comes again and goes again.

Throws everything in the suitcase and she's gone.

Concentration, how can there be such concentration,

that you immediately switch back to mental work,

while you're in the middle of practical life ―

take care of the child, make food, the house is a mess.

I feel like I'm always bothered by the mess,

if I clear up the mess, then I can sit down at the table

and make plans, or read, or do some writing.

But Kristiina has a rare ability,

that is your strength and that's why you achieve a lot.

In a way, I've learned this from Kristiina

that you don't have to have a tidy table.

You just have to write down the essence of your idea.

In order of importance?

You have to start.

Otherwise, you just won't ever find that moment.

...longingly the moon shines, whispers of love on your lips,

Petals from the bird cherry tree fall into our hair.

Longingly the moon shines, whispers of love on your lips,

Petals from the bird cherry tree fall into our hair.

Let's dance some more on this evening road.

Rejoice, my dear, we still have our whole lives before us.

What is this thing

that starts to sing

when I'm all alone

in an old manor or in a school hall?

Everyone leaves the home.

Some joy starts tickling from inside.

What is this thing

that starts to sing?

It cannot be written down,

it cannot be said out loud.

I have tried to paint it,

but it's already fading away.

What is this thing

that starts to sing

when I get there over the moors

with my broken car.

The house is waking up.

Maybe I can sleep for a couple of hours.

Two hundred years ago...

I said we should come in separate cars.

We have talked about this, we should go

to the performances in separate cars.

That then there is room to gather yourself.

When two people go to perform and they are together all the time,

nothing good comes of it.

It would have been just fine, but...

this last phone call really tested my limit of tolerance.

That our rooms are messy and we will have guests?

I told you yesterday,

we will not have any guests. - Relatives are not guests.

We're in this pre-move state. - Relatives belong with us.

But it's very good to talk about it here,

if we go to a concert in separate cars, of course you'll get lost.

If we had come in two cars, then we wouldn't have a chance

to talk about this important topic.

But then maybe we would've done a better concert.

Now we were able to talk about important issues.

I also say that my ideal relationship is

when two people exist together

but at the same time they also have their own space...

For example, going to the theatre to watch a show,

they enter through different doors,

and then in the meantime glance at one another.

Like the old lord and lady of this manor,

Timotheus von Bock and Eeva von Bock,

they really walked like this every night,

a candle was lit here, on the porch of Võisiku manor,

and then they went for a walk.

The lord of the manor walked there, two kilometres through the forest

and the lady walked there.

And then, on the chapel road, far away,

two kilometres further they got together,

and then they walked back here, holding hands.

That's what I'm saying. - Towards the candle.

We'd go to a concert in different cars...

But they needed a little rest from each other,

because they were always together,

although in different parts of the house.

We're not together?

We follow our own paths all the time, it's good for us to meet in the car.

We are together, we really need a break sometimes.

I actually wanted to say that I wish you would tell me

that you are happy that I stand for myself.

Don't get angry.

I'm not, I just said

that this particular guest was just too much for me.

Because nobody blames men if everything is messy.

It is still expected that the woman would be responsible for all this.

And people are...

Our home... collapsed.

It was a bit too much. We always come and...

We come and go all the time,

put things away, and somehow we find new things.

I think homes should be like cars.

Just like cars are,

you throw things in the car, then leave that car and take another.

You just don't have the courage to have such a home.

To keep the home in order?

You don't have the courage to have a car/home like this.

You want it to be comfortable and pleasant

and every guest who arrives also wants to feel comfortable.

Guests are used to being cared for, by both the host and the hostess.

If we can't currently offer this, we should not invite guests.

Everyone understands that. - We didn't invite them.

When we go to Tartu, we have a lot of rooms,

we can make up for it nicely.

I'd like to see.

I will show you. - Can you keep it tidy?

The servants will.

Let's go now, you go here and I go there.

We'll meet at the car. - I'll just go straight.

I want to take a break from you. - All right, take your time.

Since my wife is in the audience today, then I have no other choice,

but to dance with the most beautiful lady in the audience.

To drop you a hint, Kristiina,

the main thing about our flat foot waltz

is that we have tried to dance this

on the ground, for hundreds of years,

but when we dance together, then you're like flying around.

Now try to dance very low and not so jumpy.

Let's keep in mind 500 years of bagpipe playing,

where our feet are on the ground.

I've seen this kind of dance on the National Geographic channel.

Hello!

How long has this been on sale? - Not long at all.

About a month, three weeks. - Just three weeks, yes.

Have you lived here for a long time? - We've lived here for 16 years.

It's all our work and effort.

But look around.

Who is there on that post?

Is that a little bird? Look, up there?

Take a look. Oh...

A beautiful green river.

A pretty good place, Hannes?

The boys always go there first.

How deep is it? - At first it's like this...

Oh, quite deep. - But then it gets shallow.

Hannes! - Let's go in, Hannes!

It's so nice here.

No insulation on the outside? - No, we haven't done anything.

We didn't want to ruin the house. - Yes.

But can you live here in winter?

Yes, it's liveable. But of course you

still have to wear sweaters and socks.

A hot place to check out.

Silver already said that we should make a prepayment.

Within five minutes.

I'm trying to think, how it would be to wait for Silver here.

Holding a baby,

Silver, why don't you come already, he is still in Tartu.

The lake freezes quietly. A bunny is on the river, running over the ice.

Let's walk there over the bridge, and look at this place from a distance.

In a sense, we have decided that you...

The city suits you best.

Let's say that spending winter in the city is more like our thing.

This latte-mum ideal, going with the child,

perhaps with a bicycle cart as they are so fashionable now,

you go to the next cafe, take your favourite latte or cappuccino,

read the newspapers during the child's nap

and speak with 3-4 acquaintances,

it is also a very tempting reality.

No need to think, I don't know, that I need to plant the tomatoes

or you need to rake something quickly.

Here you can walk to the highway with the child and back,

you'll see three cars.

But I'm happy with today in that sense,

that I was able to surprise Silver in such a way

that he didn't even know where we're going.

And it impressed you so much,

that you literally immediately made an offer.

It was nice to see my husband in that moment,

fighting for our home.

With money we don't yet have.

Of course, you are the reason why we live in the city.

Well, the idea was that I, as a city girl, so to speak,

will find a country house

and you will find a townhouse today, as a country boy.

Then let's look at the extremes, between which we waver all the time.

The main thing is that we can't get our passion right.

We can't get our common passion in place.

For example, Jaan went to Vilsandi,

his passion was to live in a sauna there

and this thing developed into a great and beautiful home.

There is also, for example,

a man and a woman who share a common passion,

that we're going to raise horses.

But we have such an open passion. An open wound.

There I felt more productive, in the woods.

I felt spiritually more productive.

What awaits you now? - There are still many things today.

I have to conduct "Isamaa" and for me this is the most...

It's emotionally difficult.

It's just something you don't even dare to touch.

But...

it must be done in a way that it would touch others.

This air is such that you just want to breathe it in.

It is such pure golden energy.

Even if it's only for a while,

like a light mist from a champagne cap,

if you smell it like a flower for a moment,

you are already filled with that power.

I'm so scared it'll be awkward when I climb up there.

It won't be. - Really, I'm scared.

I'm used to smaller audiences. - I'll hold your hand.

Hold my hand. - I'll hold it tight.

It helps.

Good luck to you. - Yes, thank you.

The title song of today's song festival "Touch".

Authors Kristiina Ehin and Tõnu Kõrvits.

Conductor Hirvo Surva.

Touch me if you will with your fiery features,

make it beautiful ― painfully so.

Please let the blue black and white of your eyes

touch me again I pray you.

Do you feel how the heavens’ highest roads

before us lie ever open.

When we come together, when we take the time,

leaving our troubles behind we can sing.

Touch me with the power of your goodness,

of all things the only treasure,

bless if you will with your smooth, sleek hand

my own fate rough and tattered.

...I wish you all the best for today...

Do you feel how the heavens’ highest roads

before us lie ever open.

When we come together, when we take the time...

It made a circle!

Look, it's going to heaven now.

Touch me...

Made another circle.

Look, it comes down again. Circles there.

Hirvo Surva!

Thank you for touching us, so it is beautiful and painful.

Kristiina Ehin and Tõnu Kõrvits!

I think that when women become mothers, they start to feel some...

great connection with the women before them.

Apparently, it's also new every time. This has happened to me twice.

With Hannes,

I hid a little from the twists and turns of life and love

at my parents in Rapla at that time.

But with Luike,

I've had such a privileged life next to Silver.

Silver has been such a caring and good father.

Maybe being a mother is too hard to go through alone.

That moment when you wake up next to your baby for the first time

and you have become a mother, there at midnight.

And suddenly you feel like this enormous...

all-encompassing happiness and worry all at once.

They are so intertwined.

And you listen ― is the baby breathing, is the heart beating?

And will the baby start eating?

And at the same time your heart beats with immense happiness.

And you feel that connection

with your foremothers who have felt

exactly the same and even more.

I have noticed in my family that

the most interesting stories are born when men are alone

or when women are alone.

And when the women have cleaned everything up,

somehow they still have fun doing it together,

but the way they want to be together,

it seems to feed some kind of very important nerve or root in them.

Sometimes as a child I...

I've been lucky enough to sit on someone's lap somewhere

and I remember the stories they told.

Such stories of childbirth and stories of having children.

And stories of love.

They have been very interesting.

I remembered a moment of motherhood,

I heard from another room

that my daughter was very confused,

she had promised a boy in

kindergarten that she would marry him.

They had promised each other.

But then another boy came to visit, my friend's son

and they came up with the idea to get married.

Then I suddenly felt

that I have not heard my daughter sounding so confused.

She said, you know, Mihkel, I remembered now,

I promised to marry Egon instead.

I went into the room, I squatted down to them

and I said, you know, now it's like this,

that you Luike, can change your mind until the last minute.

That's the way it is.

You still have decades to think about who you want to marry.

And tonight too, you can change your mind if you want.

You don't have to keep that promise right now.

Then their eyes lit up and they began to play again.

They were married for a moment and saw all this madness,

and they had a very exciting game.

To encourage your child like this, and give her that knowledge for life

that whatever happens, we can always change our mind.

This is the freedom of our soul, both as women and men.

Mum!

Mum, I want to play with some kids.

Then we have to organize it soon.

What child do you miss the most right now?

Mihkel!

No, actually Elo-Kats... no, I miss Mihkel.

Eliisa, take a look, is it okay?

Yes, very nice. Is it straight behind?

Now it's straight. It's not even, is it?

Just put one more.

I can add a bit here as well.

Look. - Yes, indeed.

At the moment, it is so difficult for me to find poems

that I would choose for performances.

I can't see these poems clearly anymore.

There's a story behind each of them.

Sometimes I would like someone else to choose 20 poems for me

and I would recite them.

What did you find there?

This one is good. - But for example...

someone once said, criticized,

that why you flaunt yourself in such a way,

why do you have to say

that I am the only unringed bird of my species?

Why do you have to say that my body burns like the midday sand?

I smell like tar and exhaustion.

My heart is a big river mussel.

Slowly and painfully a pearl is growing in it.

What is this "me-me-me"? Someone asked me that.

But this poem is not about my ego

the poem is actually about something else.

Of course.

In this seashell or clam,

a grain of sand goes between that mollusc and starts to rub

and it is terribly painful for this living organism.

And this torment actually transforms into a pearl.

What have been the main objections

when your poetry has been criticized?

I've read some myself, but...

how much have you taken it to heart,

when something negative is said

and what do you think of these things yourself?

Maybe you want to say something?

I have noticed that some of my writings

can step on someone's toe.

Accidentally.

In that sense, unintentionally.

I never meant to hurt anyone.

To show the opposite sex their place.

I love men too much for that.

Well, I mean...

If you love one man, then through it

you also love the nature of masculinity.

In fact, this is what I mean.

In that sense, I don't have this

feminist and Amazonian militancy,

I never had it.

I just think that there have already been historically

great misunderstandings between women and men.

And we have to talk about them

and bring up the subject again and again.

We can't do otherwise.

Sometimes these misunderstandings become utterly absurd.

Like in my story "Daughter of a Surrealist."

For example, this part.

When I saw the Surrealist's daughter for the fourth time,

she was sitting on a tree combing her long silky hair.

I looked up at her and said she was so beautiful.

I smiled and she smiled back.

I said that I thought she was really very beautiful.

I added very loudly, to make sure she heard,

that I've always wanted a woman just like her.

I was wondering what else to say.

I said that I wanted such a mother for my children as well.

I got into quite a flow with my words.

When I looked at the tree again, she wasn't there anymore.

She had fallen and broken her rib.

When I drove her to the A&E, she cried inconsolably and said:

"Please don't say things like that to me, it's more than I can bear."

And straight after that she asked with tears in her eyes:

"Say some more, please."

When the Surrealist's daughter woke up in the morning,

she was in one piece again.

The moon was still in her arms and she smelled of lilac.

She told me she was pregnant from the blood of her own dragon

and soon we would have two pairs of three-headed twins

who would all look exactly like me.

Our three-headed twins dealt with

completely different things in life than

the Surrealist's daughter and I did.

They were not attention-seekers like us.

They learned to be completely inconspicuous.

And in that way they really found their true selves,

along with deep love and peace of mind.

Actually, I want to wriggle with laughter at this point,

for that last part was what...

well, and also to cry out of compassion,

as this part got stuck in the teeth

of the critic who pointed it out to me as an example where,

the three-headed twins I imagined.

Then how could they be modest in life

and reach peace of mind.

It was then used as an example for the author,

that I might one day understand the mania of my ego

and stop it and try to be completely modest.

It always hurts when it comes to my image.

I've heard all sorts of things about my poetry, and it doesn't even...

but when it comes to my personality,

then I think I don't want to, I have no intention whatsoever

to answer anyone's idea of a poet.

My life is too short to waste on that.

I want to live much more colourfully and more... honestly.