To speak like an Estonian forget
A C Clarke

your Indo-European roots. Rootle
in bogpools. Pool your plosives, dentals
gutturals, fricatives so all your sounds
hammer the ear. Hear the wild longing
in drawn-out vowels, calling the language
back to its earth. Earth every thought in words
solid and trenchant as plough-shares that furrow
hard soil into a seedbed. Sense the flavour
of every word before you free it, roll
its hardness, roundness, fullness in your mouth.
Taste its acidity, that sweet sharpness
of wild berries. Bury forever
the memory of Slavic sibilants hissed
through clenched jaws, jackbooted languages
that once subdued your utterance. Utter
pure Finno-Ugrian, unite your voice
to a million voices finding their tongue.