David Limon

More about the translator

Translated by David Limon

Messages on the Way / Sporočila na poti

Planet Earth: full of trams, subways
and buses, people on the way
to each other;

full of lights shining in the dark,

messages written from the night:

what other ideas would we have?
what else would ever come?
Translated by David Limon
Planet Zemlja: poln tramvajev, podzemnih
in avtobusov, ljudi na poti
drug k drugemu;

poln luči, prižganih v temo,

sporočil, pisanih iz noči:

kaj drugega naj bi se nam posvetilo,
kaj drugega kadarkoli prispelo?
T a ci – tu rn ity / R e dk o - b es edn ost

Don't get agitated, not at all,

but how not to, I skip whole pages and linger
in one paragraph all day, both at once.
My Master and Margareta, what can I do
in the proximity of your precise elaboration?

I can hide nothing within myself,
on the contrary, I see myself,

disarmed,
like pure, diluted taciturnity.

I give my love to the uninterrupted air
I need to write nothing down when I write
(that fate, the most beautiful, is equally beautiful
for all) love

comes back to me as love
speaking and writing like uninterrupted
air that interrupts every sadness –
eloquent lawyer,

that exhausted silence – I am happy that it does not all
depend on me, that actually very little does –

that which has always been
no one patches up –

because there is nothing to patch, as

in childhood, when you succumb to the film
of your life with the thought: who
even are you, from where did you come –

this time is no different from others,

there is no reason for it not to be

light and easy.
Translated by David Limon
Ne vznemirjaj se, sploh,

ampak kako, preskakujem cele strani in se zadržujem
v enem odstavku cel dan, oboje naenkrat.
Moj Mojster in Margareta, kaj sploh lahko
v bližini tvoje natanke domišljenosti?

Ničesar v sebi ne morem skriti, nasprotno,
še sama vidim,

razorožena
kot čista, razredčena redkobesednost.

Svojo ljubezen dajem v nepretrganem zraku
nič mi ni treba napisati ko pišem (ta usoda,
najlepša, je enako lepa za vse) ljubezen

se mi vrača v moji
govori in piše kot nepretrgan
zrak ki pretrga vsako žalost -
jezičen dohtar,

tale upehani molk - srečna sem, da ni vse odvisno
od mene, da je pravzaprav prav malo –

tega, kar je od vedno,
nihče ne zakrpa –

ker ni nič za zakrpati, kot

v otroštvu, ko si se prepuščal filmu
svojega življenja z mislijo: kdo
sploh si, od kod si se vzel –

ta čas ni drugačen od drugih,

nobenega razloga ni, da ne bi bil v njem

lahek.
Permanence / Stalnost

Here you are only a traveller;
this world is but a bubble, that bursts.

The more you know this, the more you are free of
incandescent beautiful clutter:

the nomad’s tent of spring gardens and
succulent weather,

cupolas of clouds,
basking in themselves as well as others,

the tooth of time, that seems honey gold like stubble
or like the rainbow of the peacock’s tail, when gilded with rust
and silvered with turquoise patina.

You are ever freer of the beauty dictates
of the ageing generations,

the soft writing of freckles and hairs, that come
and go, as if not there;

that sweet warm wind that is carried here from Africa
and brought to Gubbio small grains of the Sahara.

Don’t be afraid to be leaving, to leave

apparent graves,
the overgrown life of stones and cypresses;

the soft air is this body

springs and winters (cooling
suburbs, slow canals that flow
in November),

muted cardboard.

Within you are the chattering lights of roads and towns

and their solitude of desert wind.
Translated by David Limon
Tukaj si samo popotnik;
ta svet samo mehurček, ki se razleti.

Bolj ko to veš, bolj si prost razžarjene
lepe navlake:

nomadskega šotora pomladnih vrtov in
sočnega vremena,

kupol kopastih oblakov, ki se
kopajo v drugem in sebi,

zoba časa, ki se zdi medeno zlat kot strnišča
ali mavričen kot pavji rep, ko zlati z rjo
in srebri s turkizno zelenega volka.

Vse bolj si prost diktature lepote
starajočih se generacij,

mehke pisave pegic in dlačic, ki pridejo
in gredo, da jih nič ni;

tega sladko toplega vetra, ki ga nese sem iz Afrike
in je v Gubbio prinesel drobna zrna Sahare.

Ne boj se zapuščati, zapustiti

navideznih grobov,
obraslega življenja kamnov in cipres;

mehek zrak je to telo,

pomladi in zime (ohlajujoče se
predmestje, počasni kanali, ki tečejo
v november),

tiha lepenka.

V tebi so klepetajoče luči cest in mest

ter njihova samota puščavskega vetra.
Eyes of the Butterfly / Oči metulja

  (The spiral rotates,
          shakes up
  and    cleanses:
you have nothing

other than what you are

and what sleeps in italics?   )

some kind of butterfly in the sun, drawn into
paradise images, that
knows not what to do with the quick
layering of spring, the palette

of leaps, wings that only wait to
learn

what does the butterfly know

of the images that it grows into
of the protection offered by
colours
layered upon colours

and what of dreaming in colours?

when the breath blows to it
hidden deep in the growth

its freedom spreads across the paper
like the tremble

of the drawer;

tingling in the flickering of claps,
laying one upon another,

those wings: the impulse of fingers,

laid down

on paper.
Translated by David Limon
  (Spirala centrifugira,
          premetava
  in    spira:
nimaš kaj

razen tega, kar si

in kaj spi v poševnicah?    )

nekakšen metulj na soncu, v rajske
podobe risan, ki
ne ve, kaj narediti s hitrim
plastenjem pomladi, paleto

preskokov, kril, ki samo čakajo, da se
naučijo

kaj ve metulj

o podobah, ko rase vanje
o zaščiti, ki jo nudijo
barve, ko se polagajo
v barve

in kaj o sanjanju v barvah?

ko zaveje dih do njega
skritega globoko v rasti

se njegova svoboda razteza čez list
kot trepet

risarja;

ščemenje v migljanju ploskev,
ki se polagajo ena na drugo,

ta krila: vzgib prstov,

ki se polagajo

po papirju.
How on Earth to Fill the Days / Kaj sploh početi do konca življenja

camminare cambiare
walk into the distance
wherever you are, look through
and walk through

where everything sheds and echoes:

branched cracks in the façade

shutters from which fall layers
of pastel blue

the lacing of curtains that imply
the shaded rooms behind the windows

and the afternoon shadows of trees that
fall with evening:

what else to do other than stay in place?

I watch my daughter’s smiling lunate
eyes and words echo through the air

when I describe to her the possibilities
that life offers
Translated by David Limon
camminare cambiare
stopati v razdalje
kjerkoli si, gledati skozi
in stopati skozi

kjer se vse lušči in odmeva:

razvejane razpoke v fasadi

polknice, s katerih odpadajo plasti
modrega pastela

sklekljane zavese, ki nakazujejo
senčne prostore za okni

in popoldanske sence dreves, ki
padejo z večerom:

kaj sploh početi razen stati na mestu?

gledam hčerkine nasmejane lunaste
oči in besede odmevajo skoz zrak

ko ji orisujem možnosti, ki jih ponuja
življenje
New Barefoot Experience / Nova bosa izkušnja

Lay down love
from point to point

into the same point

(for the same point)

the diameter is unlimited

and originates there,
where the needle pierced it

where the needle went is the thread

is one point
sewn into the other;

go beyond all distances,

write them down
into a point
Translated by David Limon
položi ljubezen
od točke do točke

v isto točko

(do iste točke)

premer je nezamejen

in izvir tam,
kjer je šla skoz igla;

kjer je šla igla, je nit,

je ena točka,
všita v drugo;

prestopi vse razdalje,

zapiši jih
v točko
Like a Face That Goes Through Water Five Times (water cupped in the hands) / Kot obraz, ki gre petkrat skoz vodo (ki se pretopi skoz vodo, zajeto v dlani)

The day comes (and after it days, day by day),

when you’ve had it up to here with this fucking civilisation,
that in each war kills ever more civilians,
this culture that neither raises nor nurtures anything living:

whoever has dark skin is always begging outside the shop,
as if the door is always closed to him;

here migrants are regularly hunted by soldiers;

and the single mother, who is barely
getting by, will again be late for her child.
Translated by David Limon
Pride dan (in za njim dnevi, dan za dnem),

ko imaš do vrh k., p. in glave te civilizacije,
ki v vsaki vojni pobije več civilistov,
te kulture, ki ne goji in ne neguje ničesar živega:

kdor je temne kože, vselej berači pred trgovino,
kot da so mu vrata vedno zaprta;

migrante tu redno lovijo vojaki;

in mama samohranilka, ki se komaj
prebija, bo spet zamudila po svojega otroka.
Opening into a Perennial / Odpiranje v trajnico

We wrap ourselves in warmth and wrap ourselves in cold

and cars slide by, sometimes with us inside.

Look, children on overhanging
swings and sometimes the playgrounds are completely empty,
what do you think of that,

days that unnoticed
slip across the beds, time in shop windows
and litter,

in summer sweatiness/winter chill,
in an abundance of light/lack of light,

what a fine line arches between them?
Translated by David Limon
Zavijamo se v toploto in zavijamo v hlad

in avti zdrsijo mimo, včasih z nami v njih.

Glej, otroci na previsnih
gugalnicah in včasih so igrišča čisto prazna,
kaj misliš o tem,

dnevih, ki neopazno
zdrsijo prek postelj, času v izložbah
in smeteh,

poletni prepotenosti/zimski prezeblosti,
obilju svetlobe/pomanjkanju svetlobe,

kako tanka črta se boči med obema?
Majenca (Dolina) / Majenca (Dolina)

It seems to you that you see each flower and scrap of litter.
With the years, eyes
see better: they see that things softly shed.

The acacias hang there coolly, the acacias lose

their edge. They filled
the groove at the bottom of the car windscreen, smothered

the wipers.
Translated by David Limon
Zdi se ti, da vidiš vsako cvetko in smetko.
Z leti oči
vidijo bolje: vidijo, da se stvari mehko prelivajo.

Akacijam visi dol, akacijam odpadajo

robovi. Napolnili
so špranje na dnu avtomobilske šipe, obsuli

brisalce.
Majenca (Dolina) / Majenca (Dolina)

It seems to you that you see each flower and scrap of litter.
With the years, eyes
see better: they see that things softly shed.

The acacias hang there coolly, the acacias lose

their edge. They filled
the groove at the bottom of the car windscreen, smothered

the wipers.
Translated by David Limon
Zdi se ti, da vidiš vsako cvetko in smetko.
Z leti oči
vidijo bolje: vidijo, da se stvari mehko prelivajo.

Akacijam visi dol, akacijam odpadajo

robovi. Napolnili
so špranje na dnu avtomobilske šipe, obsuli

brisalce.
Foreign / Tu je

I live abroad. This is my air. Here I was born.
Here I can feel my roots – I see through the thin
veil of the world. I could be a man – an official,
locksmith, taxi driver… I could be anyone.
My face can be effortlessly coloured by the raindrops
that smudge make-up. And I like to present myself to them.

Here there is the feeling that I live at the end of the world.
Here the world is and is not. As in dreams, as in childhood, it disappears

at the edge.
Here is there, near and far.

Here are mountains with the horns of goats. Wild springs,
which reach far inside.
Where there is no distance, no blackness,
just the ink of black holes.
Translated by David Limon
Živim v tujini. To je moj zrak. Tu sem se že rodila.
Tu lahko čutim svoje korenine – vidim skoz tanko
kopreno sveta. Lahko bi bila moški – uradnik,
ključavničar, taksist … Lahko bi bila kdorkoli.
Moj obraz zlahka prebarvajo dežne kaplje,
ki zamažejo šminko. In rada se jim nastavim.

Tu je občutek, da živim na koncu sveta.
Tu svet je in ga ni. Kot v sanjah, kot v otroštvu, na robu

izginja.
Tu je tuje.

Tu so gore z rogovi gorskih koz. Divji izviri,
ki segajo daleč navznoter.
Kjer ni nobene razdalje, nobene črnine,
samo čisto črnilo črne luknje.
Omnia / Omnia

Your language sensitivity charms me in
a moment. Outside the feeling for time I am again
open to everything that needs to be supplemented
with my windy existence.

My clumsiness is my elegance
and each beginning escapes into a beginning.
We shall never be concluded, we shall always read
telegraph poles. For the earth travels:

on pedals, on shoes,

with distances that touch

in distances from which we touch.

As we travel, it would be good also
to live:
anonymous, alert,
trusting (omnia mea mecum
porto, the only saying I carry with me).

Because gentleness is a space inside us –
not in ranks and not accomplished.
A space: rubbish dump, compost heap? – where something lives
and pushes forward.

And still we keep trying, in perfect ways,

we can find enjoyment, for a moment, go through:
breathing, cycling through
the town,
painted colours, that
are rinsed off, added.

To love like that, for moments.

Be dissipated like that in the blue sky.

To bathe like that in solar phases,

this finality that never ends.
To be born elsewhere, different.

To live like that: only there, where we
embrace through sleep.
Translated by David Limon
Tvoja jezikovna občutljivost me je v hipu
očarala. Zunaj občutka za čas sem spet
odprta vsemu, kar je treba dopolnjevati
s svojo vetrno eksistenco.

Moja nerodnost je moja eleganca
in vsak začetek se zateče v začetek. Nikoli ne
bova zaključena, vedno bova prebirala
telegrafske drogove. Ker zemlja potuje:

na pedalih, na čevljih,

z razdaljami, ki se dotikajo,

v razdaljah, iz katerih se dotikamo.

Tako kot potujemo, tako bi bilo dobro
vedno živeti: anonimni, budni,
zaupljivi (omnia mea mecum
porto, edini rek, ki ga nosim s sabo).

Ker je nežnost prostor v naju –
to nepostrojeno in nepostorjeno.
Prostor: smetišče, kompost? - kjer nekaj živi
in žene.

In še vedno poskušava, na popolne načine,

lahko zadrživa, za hip, užijeva, greva skoz:
dihanje, kolesarjenje skoz
mesto,
barve, ta
izpiranja, nanose.

Tako ljubiti, za trenutke.

Tako biti razsipan v modro nebo.

Tako kopati se v sončnih menah,

teh dokončnostih, ki se nikjer ne končajo.
Rojevati se na drugem koncu, drugačen.

Tako živeti: samo tam, kjer se
objemamo prek sna.
Orpheuseurydice / Orfejevridika

when it all flows
into the dark, when my voice moves
into it
together with houses, walls, all that holds

the love, that I only
intend to succumb to

is seeking me slowly, but certainly;

there it is, where is my voice, that
ripples through the dark.

I don’t know, where my
heart is, but I close
my eyes and follow the voice.
Translated by David Limon
ko se vse pretaka
v temo, ko se moj glas premika
vanjo
skupaj s hišami, stenami, vsem, kar drži

me ljubezen, ki se ji šele
nameravam dati

išče počasi, a gotovo;

tam je, kjer je moj glas, ki
valovi čez temo.

ne vem, kje je moje
srce, a zaprem
oči in sledim glasu.
Lesson: eine Jüdin? / Učna ura: eine Jüdin?

Yesterday the children asked me from when till when
the Second World War lasted. Today, the pretty Ahsen,
beside a tray showing a view of Stockholm (on the tray
Turkish tea) explained how her friends got it in Germany.
Anna Frank wanted to be a writer and that she
also became. It constantly shakes me how lovely people can be:
Otto Frank, when asked after the war about
“Germans”, would always ask “Which German?”
Translated by David Limon
Včeraj so me otroci vprašali, od kdaj do kdaj je trajala
druga svetovna vojna. Danes mi je lepa Ahsen
ob pladenjčku z veduto Stockholma (na pladnju
turški čaj) razlagala, kako so ga njeni prijatelji dobili v Nemčiji.
Anna Frank je želela biti pisateljica in je to
tudi postala. Vedno znova me pretrese, kako lepi so lahko ljudje:
Otto Frank je, ko so ga po vojni spraševali o
»Nemcih«, vsakič vprašal »kateri Nemec?«.
Stairs and Places (Kosovel Centre, Sežana) / Stopnice in kraji (Kosovelov dom, Sežana)

I sit on the stairs, something is above
and something is below.

Along twisted threads buttons
hold on to my coat:

I don’t know where with time they will end up.

Most stairs lead somewhere

And it’s true that each sewn button for some time
holds onto some coat,

just as every place holds onto others
along some paths: but if we’re completely honest, no

path leads anywhere other than here.

Stairs wind around pillars and fences
hang on posts until they tire.

In the cloakroom all the clothes are available
but I take none,

just as I omit all the words, while some
are nevertheless written:

life is fiction and each future
bright and big in the eyes of my daughter,
who jumps for joy.

Her jumps completely mix above and
below.
Translated by David Limon
Sedim na stopnicah, nekaj je zgoraj
in nekaj spodaj.

Gumbi se po zavitih poteh niti
držijo mojega plašča:

ne vem, kje bodo sčasoma pristali.

Stopnice večinoma nekam vodijo

in res se kak prišit gumb nekaj časa
drži kakega plašča,

kot se vsak kraj drži drugih
po nekih poteh; a če smo čisto iskreni, nobena

pot ne vodi nikamor razen sem.

Stopnice se vijejo okrog stebrov in ograje
visijo na drogovih, dokler ne opešajo.

V garderobi so vsa oblačila na voljo,
a nobenega ne vzamem,

kot izpuščam vse besede, medtem ko se neke
vseeno pišejo:

življenje je fikcija in vsa prihodnost
svetla in velika v očeh moje hčerke,
ki skače od veselja.

Njeni skoki povsem pomešajo zgoraj in
spodaj.
Between Stigma and Syntagma / Med stigmo in sintagmo

for Urša

how should I
write
even more
directly

even the soldier who sticks his bayonet
into the very heart of the enemy
has not touched
the periphery of the power
that deprived both
of their own bodies
and drove them into a fatal deadlock
across no man’s land

how should I
write
even more
personally

even the anchorite
who shreds every thread
never achieves absolution
even though desert does not
provide any sense
what senses command
is like crass jewellery
already embedded in the throat
with stigma and syntagma itself

how should I
write
as we remain silent
on the midnight roof
of your apartment block

to give voice to the murmur
and grind of machines
on the belly of which
we fall asleep at dawn
Translated by David Limon
Urši

kako naj za
pišem
še bolj
neposredno

niti vojak ki zabode bajonet
v samo srce sovražnika
se ni niti dotaknil
oboda oblasti
ki je oba spravila ob last
svojega telesa
in ju pognala v mrtvi tek
čez nikogaršnje ozemlje

kako naj za
pišem
še bolj
osebno

niti eremit
ki pretrga sleherno nit
nikoli ne doseže odveze
četudi v pušči ni česa čuti
je tisto kar velevajo čuti
kot kričeč nakit
že zraslo z grlom
in s samo stigmo sintagme

kako naj za
pišem
kot midva molčiva
na polnočni strehi
tvojega bloka

da bi dal glas mrmranju
in mletju mašin
na trebuhu katerih
ob zori zaspiva
Police Report on a Drowning Accident / Policijsko poročilo o najdbi utopljenca

this body
gave everything
to finally find
fulfilment

this river
was the only place
where it could
realise itself
Translated by David Limon
to telo
je dalo vse od sebe
da bi se končno
spet lahko izživelo

ta reka
je bila edini prostor
kjer se je lahko
uresničilo
MELEE OF MYTHOLOGIES / MNOGOBOJ MITOLOGIJ

"Beyond all this good is the terror." - Joy Division, Heart and Soul, Closer

III.

what does revolution demand
unquestioning commitment and corpses

what does prevention of revolution demand
unquestioning commitment and corpses

what does commitment demand
voting and outvoting

what are voting and outvoting
prevailing opinion and its terror

what is the cause of terror
agoraphobic democracy

why agoraphobic democracy
in fear of terror

why fear of terror
because bullets are mightier than the pen

who is brandishing a pen
whoever is stockpiling bullets

where does stockpiling bullets lead
to the piling up of corpses

and what do corpses testify

nothing besides a body nothing beside a body
Translated by David Limon
"Beyond all this good is the terror." - Joy Division, Heart and Soul, Closer

III.

kaj zahteva revolucija
brezpogojno angažiranost in trupla

kaj zahteva preprečitev revolucije
brezpogojno angažiranost in trupla

kaj zahteva angažiranost
glas in preglasovanje

kaj sta glas in preglasovanje
prevlada mnenja in njegov teror

kaj je vzrok terorju
agorafobičnost demokracije

zakaj agorafobičnost demokracije
iz strahu pred terorjem

zakaj strah pred terorjem
ker so šibre močnejše od peresa

kdo vihti pero
kdor kopiči šibre

kam pelje kopičenje šiber
v kopičenje trupel

in kaj spričujejo trupla

nič razen telesa nič zraven telesa
THE PEN’S AIM / O NAPERJENOSTI PERESA

this book too
can be a weapon

if you know how to aim well
and it is not sacred to you[1]

[1]    the charge goes deeper
      than any poetry
Translated by David Limon
tudi ta knjiga
je lahko orožje

če znaš dobro ciljati
in ti ni sveta[1]

[1]    naboj seže globlje
      od vsake poezije
INTERPELLATION or THE ANSWERING MACHINE / NA/GOVOR ali THE ANSWERING MACHINE

I.

in your stead I will walk where you dare not
in my shoes

II.

behind each voice lorelei
and you who mimic it

in every image thousands of suns
and you who cast a shadow

III.

every deception is uncovered
if not
it is not deception

IV.

you experienced the rape of initiation
believe it or not
it has already happened again
Translated by David Limon
I.

namesto tebe bom stopil kamor si sam ne upaš
v svoje čevlje

II.

za vsakim glasom lorelaj
in ti ki ga posnemaš

v vsaki podobi tisoče sonc
in ti ki mečeš senco

III.

vsaka prevara je odkrita
če ne
ni prevara

IV.

doživel si posilstvo iniciacije
če mi verjameš ali ne
se je že ponovilo
CONFESSIONS OF A VENTRILOQUIST/POSTCARDS FROM NOWHERE-AT-HOME / IZPOVEDI VENTRILOKVISTA/RAZGLEDNICE IZ NIGDIRDOMA

Your voice is mine.

I.

penis or swastika
money or life
we are faced with
impossible
choices
to root out from the obligatory order
and disassemble once more
all the figures
of the body
but no
with the choreography of the quadrille
that became the prescribed practice
of celebrating freedom
but rather with an epileptic gesture
that keeps establishing
the autonomy of anatomy
despite every ritual
for there is no language
that is not bodily
and no words
that are not already flesh[1]
bloody and anaemic
to the eye
and the photographic memory
of the ID card
punished
with a name or its confiscation
in a single
click
of a well-oiled mechanism
changing voice into sound
or vice versa
into language as a living organism
mercilessly bound
within its learned
gymnastics of grimaces
i become ever more bound
to the language of calligraphy
which with slow meandering
breaks through the ceiling
of written paper
in its eternal returning
to some other place

III.

supposedly
it has happened right next to me
life
or something similar
the sheer intrusiveness of its fact
was a kind of enlightenment
but
if you come from some hovel
in some shithole
the light of the world can only blind you

you’re then crying and screaming and flapping
all your limbs
in order to, with a real name,
embrace the inconceivable
which has just taken you over
but the language of the land
from which you have been exiled
and into which you are
together with them
exiled alone
is foreign to them

and the world
what does the world do then
the world
first thrusts a pacifier in your mouth
and because this never really suffices
it also puts words into your mouth
words
that only affirm
its way of presence

ah
I would give all the turns and overthrows
in existence or perhaps still to come
for just one dictionary
which would exclude all of our vocabulary
and all of our grammar

but such a dictionary
would probably be perfect
and I
who can only exist as murmur
in the existing dictionary of the world
could never
even write about that

[1] oh how limitlessly resentful
is the relevance of each measure
Translated by David Limon
Tvoj glas je moj.

I.

penis ali svastika
denar ali življenje
postavljeni smo
pred nemogoče
izbire
izruvati iz zapovedanih zaporedij
in ponovno razstaviti
vse postave
svojega telesa
toda ne
s koreografijo četvorke
ki je postala predpisana praksa
praznovanja prostosti
temveč z epileptično gesto
ki zmeraj znova vzpostavlja
avtonomijo anatomije
napram vsakemu ritualu
saj je ni govorice
ki ne bi bila telesna
in ne besede
ki že ne bi bila meso[1]
krvavo in anemično
pred pogledom
in fotografskim spominom
osebne izkaznice
kaznovano
z imenom ali njegovim odvzemom
v enem samem
kliku
naoljenega mehanizma
spreminjajočega glas v zvok
ali obratno
v kakor organizem živo govorico
neusmiljeno zvezan
znotraj njene naučene
gimnastike grimas
postajam vse bolj zavezan
govorici pisave
ki naj s počasnim vijuganjem
prebije plafon
popisanega papirja
v svojem večnem vračanju
na neko drugo mesto

III.

baje
da se je zgodilo čisto blizu mene
življenje
ali nekaj podobnega
sama vsiljivost njegovega dejstva
je bila neke vrste razsvetljenje
ampak
če prihajaš iz neke luknje
v pizdi materni
te zna luč sveta zgolj oslepiti

tedaj jočeš in vpiješ in kriliš
z vsemi štirimi od sebe
da bi z resničnim imenom
zaobjel tisto nepojmljivo
ki te je pravkar popadlo
toda govorica dežele
iz katere so te izgnali
in v katero si
skupaj z njimi
sam izgnan
jim je neznana

in svet
kaj potem naredi svet
svet
ti v gobec najprej potisne dudo
in ker to nikoli zares ne zaleže
ti v usta položi še besede
besede
ki zgolj pritrjujejo
njegovemu načinu prisotnosti

ah
vse preobrate in prevrate
ki so ali pa morda šele bodo
bi dal za en sam slovar
ki bi izključil ves naš besednjak
in vso našo slovnico

toda takšen slovar
bi bil najbrž popoln
in jaz
ki lahko obstajam le kot šum
v obstoječem slovarju sveta
ne bi mogel nikoli
niti pisati o tem

[1] oh kako neizmerno zamerljiva
je merodajnost vsake mere

David Limon

Translated by David Limon

Messages on the Way / Sporočila na poti

T a ci – tu rn ity / R e dk o - b es edn ost

Permanence / Stalnost

Eyes of the Butterfly / Oči metulja

How on Earth to Fill the Days / Kaj sploh početi do konca življenja

New Barefoot Experience / Nova bosa izkušnja

Like a Face That Goes Through Water Five Times (water cupped in the hands) / Kot obraz, ki gre petkrat skoz vodo (ki se pretopi skoz vodo, zajeto v dlani)

Opening into a Perennial / Odpiranje v trajnico

Majenca (Dolina) / Majenca (Dolina)

Majenca (Dolina) / Majenca (Dolina)

Foreign / Tu je

Omnia / Omnia

Orpheuseurydice / Orfejevridika

Lesson: eine Jüdin? / Učna ura: eine Jüdin?

Stairs and Places (Kosovel Centre, Sežana) / Stopnice in kraji (Kosovelov dom, Sežana)

Between Stigma and Syntagma / Med stigmo in sintagmo

Police Report on a Drowning Accident / Policijsko poročilo o najdbi utopljenca

MELEE OF MYTHOLOGIES / MNOGOBOJ MITOLOGIJ

THE PEN’S AIM / O NAPERJENOSTI PERESA

INTERPELLATION or THE ANSWERING MACHINE / NA/GOVOR ali THE ANSWERING MACHINE

CONFESSIONS OF A VENTRILOQUIST/POSTCARDS FROM NOWHERE-AT-HOME / IZPOVEDI VENTRILOKVISTA/RAZGLEDNICE IZ NIGDIRDOMA