Hana and Poetry (Hana is fed up)

by Katja Gorečan


Hana and Poetry (Hana is fed up)

as for poetry, hana would prefer to stay silent,

but I can’t

she started hiding and burying her poems in the ground

for them to maybe someday be discovered.

as for poetry, hana would prefer to scream.

what you love becomes disgusting in these parts.

hana will never say what she’s thinking,

because that would end her career as a poet.

hana thinks, but she won’t admit.

hana wants to read her poems,

hana wants to publish a book,

but hana will never succeed, because

hana is not a typical poet

(hana doesn’t know what a typical poet looks like but she knows it’s not her),

and, most importantly – hana has no connections.


 

hana has had enough.

she’s tired of fighting with poets.

why should she have to fight for her poetry?


 

hana likes to watch self-proclaimed star poets,

all made from the same mould.

every year they publish a book of poetry,

every year they perform thousands of times,

dispensing wisdom and faking love.

every year the same poets win awards,

or maybe a year goes by in between?

everywhere she sees the same faces telling her

what are you doing, woman child, you’re not welcome here

there’s nobody here but us atop the everlasting

parnassus, and until we die you have nothing on us

(or how civilization lost its faith)


 

then they drink and become aggressive

and get drunk on their male power,

which hana will never have,

so she should just get lost to where she came from.

she was thinking to kneel in front of them

and beg them

please read my poems they’re not bad, they really aren’t,

but today she’s still too tired and not strong enough.

someday your poems will be good, but never as good as mine.

 

 

hana won’t stop writing,

but will simply become apathetic to all the meltdowns and punches.

that’s exactly what we want.

that’s why I always like to punch where it hurts the most.

 

and this is the point at which hana divides poets between two categories:

the ones that stay human

and the ones that become beasts.

Hana in poezija (Hani se ne da več)

kar se tiče poezije, bi hana najraje ostala tiho,

vendar ne morem

svoje pesmi je začela skrivati in pokopavati v zemljo,

da jih bodo nekoč morda odkrili.

kar se tiče naše poezije, bi hana najraje zakričala.

kar ljubiš, se ti v naši deželi zagnusi.

hana ne bo nikoli povedala, kar si misli,

ker potem je njena pesniška pot končana.

hana si misli, ampak ne bo priznala.

hana hoče brati svoje pesmi,

hana hoče izdati kakšno knjigo,

ampak hani ne bo nikoli uspelo, ker

hana ni tipičen primer pesnice

(kakšen je tipičen primer, hana ne ve, ampak ve, da to ni ona),

in najpomembneje – hana nima vez.

 

hani je tega dovolj.

ne da se ji več boriti s pesniki.

zakaj bi se le morala boriti za svojo poezijo?

 

hana rada opazuje samooklicane pesniške zvezde,

ki so narejene po istemu kopitu.

vsako leto izdajo pesniško zbirko,

vsako leto imajo na tisoče nastopov,

na katerih modrujejo in hlinijo ljubezen.

vsako leto dobijo isti nagrado,

ali morda vmes mine kakšno leto?

vsepovsod vidi iste obraze, ki dajejo vedeti

kaj pa ti ženski otrok delaš tukaj nisi dobrodošla

to smo samo mi vrh parnasa

ki traja in dokler ne umremo ti nimaš za burek

(ali kako je civilizacija izgubila vero)

 

potem se ga napijejo in postanejo agresivni

in udari jim moška moč,

katere hana nikoli ne bo imela,

zato lahko kar izgine, od koder je prišla.

razmišljala je, da bi pokleknila prednje

in jih prosila

prosim preberite moje pesmi niso zanič zares ne,

ampak je danes še preveč utrujena in premalo močna.

nekoč boš imela dobre pesmi, ampak nikoli tako dobre kot so moje.

 

 

hana ne bo nehala pisati,

ampak bo preprosto postala apatična za vse izpade in udarce.

ravno to hočemo.

zato vedno najraje udarim tja, kjer najbolj boli.

 

in ravno tu hana loči pesnike na dva razreda:

pesniki, ki ostanejo ljudje

in pesniki, ki postanejo zveri.