Jernej Županič

- Slovenia -

Jernej Županič (Ljubljana, 1982) is a Slovene translator, poet and novelist. He studied contemporary literature and philosophy at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana. He has authored one poetry collection, titled Tatar (Tatar, LUD Literatura, 2016) and two novels, namely Mamuti (Mammoths, LUD Literatura, 2018) and Behemot (The Behemoth, Beletrina, 2019).

Županić's only poetry collection so far is also a unique poetry collection – a surprise, a novelty in the temple of contemporary Slovene poetry. Nominated for best literary debut in 2017, the collection does not belong to any of the two prevalent currents of Slovene poetry, it is neither narrative nor linguistic. It combines these two worlds and results in an enigma: yes, we understand what is being written, but the meaning remains mysterious. Where narrative poetry develops a strong bond to »outside« reality, Županić's poems develop a strong bond to, well, themselves. The greatest advantage of Tatar is the fact that is not obsessed by authenticity or by experience at all. The images are not subjugated to draw an inner life or an experience, they are not burdened by metaphorical value – they are, simply, alegorical. They function as concrete abstractions, without political content, as well as without irony. The poems are driven by an easy delight, even joy, far from the metaphysical »weight of it all«.

Exactly because Tatar does not aspire to eternity, because it is in a way devoid of all meaning and authenticity, even of all metaphysical categories, because it is not driven by emotions or desire,... all that is left to it is simply a delight in being. It is not meant for the author who is not present anyway, nor for the reader, despite being comprehensible. It is happy with itself and does not call for a fight, an understanding or any type of communication. It is a pure aesthetic phenomenon, building it's own aesthetic world where motifs – often repeated – become more and more concrete with each new turn.

More about the poet

Poetry

The Hittite / Hetit

Summer jumps
from corner to corner.

Books don’t
write themselves, but now they’re written.

I guide the towline right past here.

The gendarmes pick their arms
so as to slaughter themselves.

A fierce wind
goes across
straight valleys
with no mercy.

A shadow of fire goes across the sun.

This bronze
heart of mine protects a heart more savage.

They think I’m one of them
but I am fateless.

Every evening the long tails of peacocks.

A path without a railing,
but what if a child
were to fall down here.

The village is clean when it contains no people.

Farmers shepherd every day.

I’m bronze, why am I bronze.
Poletje skače
z ogla na ogel.

Knjige se ne
napišejo, ampak zdaj so napisane.

Vleko napeljem, da gre mimo.

Orožniki izbirajo orožje,
da se bodo lahko poklali.

Čez ravne doline
gre hud
veter, nima
milosti.

Čez sonce gre senca ognja.

Bronasto
srce mi čuva divjejše srce.

Mislijo, da sem njihova,
ampak jaz nimam usode.

Vsak večer dolgi repi pavov.

Pot brez ograje,
kaj pa, če kak
otrok dol pade.

Vas je čista, ko v njej ni ljudi.

Kmetje pasejo vsak dan.

Bronast sem, zakaj sem bronast.
Fossils / Okamnine

Take lungfish,
if they may
find themselves in a fishnet or on a plate.

A symphysis with prongs that are too short, unflexed,
oh no, that’s not the one,
oh no, it wasn’t this one
that found its way into the stomach.

Take lobsters on a table,
with all their pincers, sharp
as if they wanted to cleave off everything there is.

In what kind of tavern have
you
been put together.

Those who don’t know you,
don’t know where
you’re from.

Those who breathe don’t
pay for air,

the innkeep asks for nothing.

We say to him, put it all on the table,
keep,
you donkey of a
man.

We say to him,
fish are a rotten travelogue.

Take bunched-up vertebrae,
but who can pick them clean
as Saint Simon the Swimmer?

If we can bathe
in these tears,
we’ll bathe in the tub at home as well.

If the enamel is not
a sediment
of something marine, something male.
Denimo pljučne ribe,
če se
lahko znajdejo v mreži in krožniku.

Simfiza s prekratkimi roglji, nenapeta,
to že ni ta,
ta se že ni
znašla v tem želodcu.

Denimo rake na mizo,
z vsemi kleščami, ostrimi,
ki bi hotele vse odrobiti.

V kakšni oštariji so
te
sestavili.

Kdor te ne pozna,
ne ve, od
kod si.

Kdor diha, ne
plača za zrak,

krčmar nič ne zahteva.

Rečemo mu, vse daj na mizo,
birt,
oslovski
človek.

Rečemo mu,
ribe so gnil potopis.

Recimo z nagrbančenimi vretenci,
ampak kdo jih zna tako obrati
kot sveti Simon Plavalec?

Če se lahko skopamo
v teh solzah,
se bomo tudi doma v banji.

Če emajl ni
usedlina
česa morskega, moškega.
Jaguar / Jaguar

He is swift as a jaguar.

“What do jagulars do?” asked Piglet.

There’s no core in the core’s core.

I grab her breast,
but she doesn’t grab me back.

He has a consciousness that dashes around like a TGV.

“What do railmen do
when there’s no engines?”

He has a wife and car back home.
Together they sit on a level edge.

Jaguar the
car is swift as a jaguar.

Many things are woven out of men,
many things I know.

What is the body’s core, I ask myself.

Dainty hands make daintiness
and never tire.

A bird chirps.

Jaguar the cat jumps high.

“What do all these people do that
I see underneath these raincoats?”

Asked Piglet.

They do nothing.
On je hiter kot jaguar.

»Kaj pa delajo jagularji?« je vprašal Pujsek.

V jedru jedra ni nobenega jedra.

Za jedre prsi jo
zgrabim, ona pa mene ne zgrabi.

On ima zavest, ki šiba kot teževe.

»Kaj delajo železničarji,
ko ni lokomotiv?«

On ima doma ženo in avto.
Vsi skupaj sedijo na gladkem robu.

Avto
jaguar je hiter kot jaguar.

Iz moških je spleteno marsikaj,
kar mi je znano.

Kaj je jedro telesa, se vprašam.

Mične roke delajo mičnost,
niso nikoli utrujene.

Ptič čivka.

Mačka jaguar skoči visoko visoko.

»Kaj delajo vsi ti ljudje, ki
jih vidim pod dežnimi plašči?«

Je vprašal Pujsek.

Nič ne delajo.
Dead Horse Town / Mesto mrtvih konjev

In dead horse town,
all the horses are dead.

It’s still quite early.

He falls off his back and on his back.

He has stirrups and spurs on his hands.

The town is unravelling the bottoms of barrels.

A wonderful sadness is born again.

Giddy-up, into a gallop, so that
we may survive ‘til lunchtime.

Again again.

The smoke smells of smoke,
it’s still quite early.
V mestu mrtvih konjev
so vsi konji mrtvi.

Precej zgodaj je še.

On pade s hrbta na hrbet.

On ima na rokah stremena in ostroge.

V mestu parajo dna sodov.

Spet se rodi krasna žalost.

Hajd v galop, da bomo
preživeli do kosila.

Spet spet.

Dim diši po dimu,
precej zgodaj je še.
One Can’t Climb where Everything Is Flat / Ne da se plezati v ravnini

Before someone with a chest
of bronze.

Vestals with swift times.

Wheels find no purchase,
they’re waterwheels.

An unregulated river full of unregulated
birds.

Father, the miller,
doesn’t like to show his hands.

Before someone who
is always perched in their nest
at the hunting grounds.

Before the days
when herons were still young.
Pred nekom, ki ima prsi
iz brona.

Vestalke z urnimi časi.

Kolesa ne najdejo opore,
so mlinska.

Neregulirana reka, polna nereguliranih
ptic.

Oče mlinar
ne mara kazati svojih rok.

Pred nekom, ki
čepi ves čas v svojem gnezdu
na lovišču.

Pred dnevi,
ko so bile čaplje še mlade.
The Duck King / Račji kralj

I have a fistful of strong water.

A narrow summer, reserved
for sons of ducks.

The rise and fall
of the aspidistra.

Poles with nests
of those like me.

If I were anybody
else, I’d be anything else.

I have a hand
in rotting solutions.

A duck king on a flying throne.

I open water from the door.

Eggs
burst into
larvae, into a nation.

I am a pilotless man.
Jaz imam pest močne vode.

Ozko poletje, rezervirano
za račje sinove.

Vzpon in padec
aspidistre.

Koli, na katerih gnezdijo
taki, kot sem jaz.

Če bi bil kdorkoli
drug, bi bil karkoli drugega.

Jaz imam roko
v nagnitih raztopinah.

Račji kralj na letečem prestolu.

Jaz odprem vodo iz vrat.

Iz jajc
se usujejo
ličinke, ljudstvo.

Jaz sem brezpiloten človek.
A la Fish / Na ribji način

All fish are fishy.

Everything is
either fish or not-fish.

Have you caught any,
standing stoically by the water that is not a fish.

Every not-fish you catch
increases the probability that the next thing you catch will be
a fish.

All not-fish are non-fishy –
that’s self-evident.

Every fish you catch
increases the probability of catching a not-fish.

Every not-fish in the cauldron
a chance at poisoning.
Happy times,
everyday times,
all times.

All times are temporal.

Happy times are temporal and happy.

It all follows.

Every fish you eat
is cooked a la fish.

If you get poisoned and die
you are a not-fish.

If you don’t get poisoned and don’t die
you are a not-fish,
but still a la fish.

Everybody can cook
a fish according to their taste.

All fish are fishy,
including the one in your stomach.

At some point in time, every fish ceases being a fish.

Fishiness is an emergent property in the world
that always passes.

Everybody who has ever eaten a fish
has died.

Every fish is poisonous and every
not-fish is poisonous.

I haven’t died yet
and you haven’t died yet.

We haven’t eaten fish,
we clever fish-catchers
who throw them back with mutilated mouths.

Every poison mutilates the mouth.

Socrates drank poison and died.

Everybody who dies had drank poison.

Everybody who dies had eaten fish or not-fish.

I haven’t eaten anything.

Nobody has ever died.

I am a not-fish
and if I catch myself by the collar
that makes it that much more probable that the next thing I catch
will be a fish.

I have never died.

We’re clever fish-catchers,
we know
we shouldn’t catch
anything
fishy or non-fishy.

I have never caught a fish.

Nobody who has not died yet
will ever die.

Nobody will ever be a fish.
Vse ribe so ribje.

Vse na svetu je
bodisi riba bodisi neriba.

A si že kakšno ujel,
ki stojiš stoično ob vodi, ki ni riba.

Vsaka neriba, ki jo ujameš,
zviša verjetnost, da bo naslednje, kar ujameš,
riba.

Vse neribe so neribje,
to je jasno.

Vsaka riba, ki jo ujameš,
zviša verjetnost, da boš ujel neribo.

Vsaka neriba v kotličku
čas za zastrupitev.
Vesel čas,
vsakdanji čas,
vsak čas.

Vsak čas je časen.

Vesel čas je časen in vesel.

Vse to sledi iz tega.

Vsaka riba, ki jo poješ,
je pripravljena na ribji način.

Če se zastrupiš in boš umrl,
si neriba.

Če se ne zastrupiš in ne umreš,
si neriba,
a na ribji način.

Vsak zna pripraviti
ribo po svojem okusu.

Vse ribe so ribje,
tudi riba v tvojem želodcu.

Vsaka riba nekoč neha biti riba.

Ribjost je emergentna lastnost v svetu,
ki vedno mine.

Vsakdo, ki je kdaj jedel ribo,
je umrl.

Vsaka riba je strupena in vsaka
neriba je strupena.

Jaz še nisem umrl,
ti še nisi umrl.

Nisva jedla rib,
midva pametna ribolovca,
ki jih mečeva nazaj z raztrganimi usti.

Vsak strup raztrga usta.

Sokrat je spil strup in umrl.

Vsak, ki umre, je spil strup.

Vsak, ki umre, je jedel ribe ali neribe.

Jaz nisem jedel nič.

Nihče ni še nikoli umrl.

Jaz sem neriba,
in če se ujamem za ovratnik,
bom zato verjetneje naslednjič ujel
ribo.

Jaz nisem še nikoli umrl.

Midva sva pametna ribolovca,
veva,
da ne smeva ujeti
ničesar
ribjega ne neribjega.

Jaz nisem nikoli ujel ribe.

Nihče, ki še ni umrl,
ne bo umrl.

Nihče ne bo nikoli riba.
The Tourist / Turist

He is like a speck on a black sky
and is insignificant
but doesn’t know how to be insignificant.

Rushing shadows dart
between the legs of guards.

If you look down from a plane, people are
tiny, but there are no planes.

Coffee-bearers on a heavy metal bridge
from ship to shore
are sunspots.

He is on vacation,
smoking a pipe
that dangles from his mouth.

The bell tower tolls
and dangles from the sky.

If you look down from up high,
everything stretches our far.

Every speck in the sky is a
separate avian person.

Flesh walks on many pairs of legs
that hang next to each other.

The ship’s belly is
strained with strained
anticipation, but there are no ships.

Nobody knows how to be a decent tourist,
how to sit motionlessly
and bleed.
On je kot pika na črnem nebu
in je nepomemben,
ampak ne zna biti nepomemben.

Drveče sence se poganjajo
med nogami straž.

Če pogledaš iz letala, so ljudje
drobni, ampak letal ni.

Kavonosci na težkem kovinskem mostiču
z ladje na obalo
so sončne pege.

On je na dopustu
in kadi pipo,
ki mu binglja iz ust.

Zvonik zvoni
in binglja z neba.

Če pogledaš z visokega gledišča,
se vse razteza daleč daleč.

Pike na nebu so vsaka svoj
ptičji subjekt.

Meso hodi z mnogimi pari nog,
ki visijo drug ob drugem.

Trebuh ladje je
napet od napetega
pričakovanja, ampak ladij ni.

Nihče ne zna biti dober turist,
sedeti nepremično
in krvaveti.
A Chorus of Brides / Zbor nevest

I don’t want anyone to worry.

There’s so much we have to do, so many
clothes to iron.

We’ll buy the thing
when it’s not as expensive anymore.

The first of the women will have an empire of the sun,
of twins,
blue helmets.

The second will have all the crowds.

The third will buy nothing.

Everybody wants to understand
what is,
and what always cares.

The saint’s helmet said,
“There’s nothing else.”
Nočem, da bi koga skrbelo.

Toliko dela imamo in toliko
oblačil je treba zlikati.

Predmet bomo kupili,
ko ne bo več tako drag.

Prva ženska bo imela imperij sonca,
dvojčkov,
modrih čelad.

Druga bo imela vse množice.

Tretja ne bo kupila ničesar.

Vsi bi radi razumeli,
kaj je
in čému nikoli ni vseeno.

Svetnikova čelada je rekla:
»Nič drugega ni.«
The Main Purpose / Osnovna funkcija

The main purpose of the bird
is to roar against the wind
to ward off the recession.

The main purpose of the river
is
to go to foreign lands
and bring back a wealth
of tongues.

I have a tongue for old wives’
tales,
for the diverting
of attention.

The main purpose of a tongue
is to lay floors
upon floors,
so that we have a place to stand.

I have fallen in a hole and remain in the hole even today.

A gouged-out floor
has no purpose,
it’s just there to fall into,
like I did.

I am the signal
that announces danger is approaching,
that air in the mine is running out.

I am the explosion
of meaning.

People aren’t boats,
they shouldn’t just float on water.
Osnovna funkcija ptiča
je rohnenje v veter
za odvrnitev recesije.

Osnovna funkcija veletoka
je,
da gre v tujino
in prinese bogastvo
jezikov.

Jaz imam jezik za prazne
marnje,
za odvračanje
pozornosti.

Osnovna funkcija jezika
je polaganje tal
na tla,
da imamo kje stati.

Jaz sem padel v luknjo in sem še dandanes v luknji.

Izdolbena tla
nimajo funkcije,
vanja samo padeš,
kot jaz.

Jaz sem ta signal,
ki sporoči, da se bliža nevarnost,
da v rudniku zmanjkuje zraka.

Jaz sem ta eksplozija
smisla.

Človek ni čoln,
da bi kar plaval po vodi.

Jernej Županič

- Slovenia -

Poetry

The Hittite / Hetit

Fossils / Okamnine

Jaguar / Jaguar

Dead Horse Town / Mesto mrtvih konjev

One Can’t Climb where Everything Is Flat / Ne da se plezati v ravnini

The Duck King / Račji kralj

A la Fish / Na ribji način

The Tourist / Turist

A Chorus of Brides / Zbor nevest

The Main Purpose / Osnovna funkcija