Barbara Jurša

Translated by Barbara Jurša

1. ENGLISH PATIENT / ANGLEŠKI PACIENT

   

   

   ENGSLV

   I don’t know who I really am is.

   I only know that they have found me him

   crashed in the desert,

   all in flames,

   with antlers of fire

   out of which I was rushing my his skin.

   I only know the desert

   which I have has walked through and mapped,

   the desert with the cave of swimmers.

   The desert which is sand which has been

   left behind by a shattered clepsydra,

   when Caliban’s tempest hurled itself

   into the sails, so that it, together with the ship,

   also took away the sea.

   Burnt beyond recognition,

   I am lying here in a room painted with

   a forest which in the flickering

   dusk of quiveringly boastful, quiveringly irascible

   candlelight gives an impression of being

   real, as though it will venture forth

   tooth and nail and one of the leaves

   on the painted trees will start to sway

   if a moth lands on it,

   the moth circling Ponge’s candle.

   Everything I have has brought

   with me through the flames, through the fire,

   is a copy of Herodotus’s Histories,

   which I have has added to,

   cut out pages from other books and glued

   them into it

   or made my his own footnotes.

   The spaces of the house in which I am lying

   are linked to a staircase

   which in many places leads nowhere,

   as the war left it without numerous

   steps which have been at some

   points replaced by books.

   If I could descend them,

   I would be thumbing through into walking or else

   falling into the reader’s gaps.

   In order to escape this prison,

   I should, with the needle of a compass,

   tattoo a map onto my skin.

   Translated by Barbara Jurša

   Ne vem, kdo zares sem on.

   Vem samo, da so me našli njega

   strmoglavljenega v puščavi,

   vsega v plamenih,

   z rogovjem ognja,

   s katerega sem si je pehal kožo.

   Poznam samo puščavo,

   ki sem jo je prehodil in kartografiral,

   puščavo z jamo plavalcev.

   Puščava, ki je pesek, ki ga je

   za sabo pustila razbita klepsidra,

   ko se je kalibanski vihar zagnal

   v jadra, da je skupaj z ladjo

   odnesel še morje.

   Požgan do nerazpoznavnosti

   ležim tukaj v sobi, poslikani z

   gozdom, ki v migotajočem

   polmraku bahljave, jezljave

   svečave, daje vtis, kot da je

   resničen in da se bo za noht

   podal in zanihal eden izmed listov

   na naslikanih drevesih,

   če bo na njih pristala vešča,

   ki obletava Pongovo svečo.

   Vse, kar sem je prinesel

   s sabo skozi plamene, skozi ogenj,

   je izvod Herodotovih Zgodb,

   ki sem jih je dopolnjeval,

   izrezoval in lepil zraven strani

   iz drugih knjig

   ali pa pripisoval svoje opazke.

   Prostori hiše, v kateri ležim,

   so povezani s stopniščem,

   ki marsikje ne vodi nikamor,

   saj je v vojni ostalo brez številnih

   stopnic, ki so jih na nekaterih

   mestih nadomestili s knjigami.

   Če bi se lahko spustil po njih,

   bi se zalistal v hojo ali pa

   padel v prazna bralska mesta.

   Da bi lahko pobegnil iz tega zapora,

   bi si moral z iglo kompasa

   v kožo vtetovirati zemljevid.

    

   Seganje (Cankarjeva založba, 2017)

2. INSOMNIA / INSOMNIJA

   

   

   ENGSLV

   When it grows dark, I watch black fishermen on boats driving large logs; to each log is attached a strong line with a hook. In order not to scare the fish away, they use long wooden poles instead of oars, and they push off the bottom and onwards with them. They look for bushes growing in the water, under which sheatfish dig their burrows into the bank and wait for prey. That is what they told me when I first asked them about their strange activities. When they come to the right spot, they stop the boat inaudibly with one move, take a dead bird out of the bucket, most often a sparrow, put it on the hook and submerge it into the water by the bush, together with the log. Then they depart inaudibly, with one move.

    

   When the dawn breaks, the whole surface is full of shifting logs, reeling at the water’s nape. Some logs momentarily disappear under the surface, only to be thrown back with full force. In time, black fisherman arrive and go after them with their boats. They pick the logs from the water, with lines they pull heavy sheatfish into boats, and the fish are just as large as the fisherman, if not larger. The morning is cold, this is why my throat is burning. There is a strange feeling in my mouth, which is dry, as though all saliva was soaked up by the feathers of the dead bird I feel between my teeth. The pain in my mouth is growing unbearable, I want only to go into the black burrow. I am propelling myself towards it with all my strength, but the dead bird in my mouth pulls me back to the surface again and again. The burrow is drawing me in ever more strongly, but the buoyancy of the dead bird in my mouth is even greater. I strain with all my power, and then I am amazed by the ease with which the black fisherman drags me into his boat, although I am much larger than him.

   Translated by Barbara Jurša

   Ko gre proti mraku, hodim gledat, kako črni ribiči na čolnih vozijo velika polena, na vsako od njih je pritrjena močna vrvica s trnkom. Da ne bi preplašili rib, namesto vesel uporabljajo dolge lesene štange, s katerimi se odrivajo od dna in potiskajo naprej. Iščejo v vodi rastoče grme, pod katerimi si somi skopljejo rove v breg in čakajo na plen. Tako so mi povedali, ko sem jih prvič vprašal po njihovem nenavadnem početju. Ko prispejo na pravo mesto, neslišno z enim gibom ustavijo čoln, iz vedra vzamejo mrtvo ptico, največkrat je to vrabec, in jo nataknejo na trnek, potem jo skupaj s polenom spustijo v vodo ob grmu. Nato z enim gibom neslišno odrinejo od tam. 

    

   Ko se dani, je vsa gladina polna premikajočih se polen, ki potoglavijo po zatilju vode. Nekatera za trenutek izginejo pod gladino, potem jih spet z vso silo vrže na površje. Čez čas pridejo črni ribiči in se s čolni odpravijo za njimi. Iz vode pobirajo polena, z vrvicami vlačijo težke some v čolne, vsaj tako veliki so kot oni, če ne še večji. Jutro je hladno, zato me skeli grlo. V ustih imam nenavaden občutek, suha so, kakor da bi vso slino popivnalo perje mrtve ptice, ki jo čutim med zobmi. Bolečina v ustih postaja neznosna, želim si samo v črni rov. Z vso silo se poganjam proti njemu, vendar me mrtva ptica v ustih vedno znova potegne nazaj proti površju. Rov me vse močneje vleče vase, a vzgon mrtve ptice v ustih je vseeno močnejši. Napnem vse sile, potem pa se čudim, s kakšno lahkoto me črni ribič zvleče v svoj čoln, čeprav sem veliko večji od njega.

    

   Seganje (Cankarjeva založba, 2017)