EN / SLO

Isabella Panfido

Italy

From Venice, has a degree in Russian Language and Literature. She is a freelance journalist and contributes to the cultural pages of Il Corriee del Veneto, she also writes for Italian art and literature magazines. For some years, she has prepared and conducted the only radio program in Italy dedicated to poetry for Radio 24 Il sole 24ore. She has published the book Casa di donne (House of Women; Marsilio edizioni, 2005–2006), the booklet A pelo d’acqua (On the Water’s Surface; Premio Firenze 1997). Her poetry has been translated into English. She has published a fiction book for children Il mistero delle tredici foto (The Mystery of the Thirteen Photos, 1999). Specifically, she has worked with the poetry of Boris Pasternak, Osip Mandelstam, Anna Achmatova, Tony Harrison and the dialectal poets of the Veneto area of the twentieth century. Isabella Panfido has translated poetry from Russian and from English. She handled the republication of Poesie dialettali (Dialectal Poems) of Ernesto Calzavara (2006) and prepared and translated the integral version, unpublished of ‘Memorie di una contadina’ (Memories of a Peasant Woman) of L. Tolstoj and T. Kuzminskaja (edizioni Casagrande ’08). She compiled the book of youth writing Io sono, io sogno (I Am, I Dream; edizioni Santi Quaranta, 2008). Isabella Panfido ideates and organizes, for public and private organizations, cultural events and cycles of meetings on contemporary Italian and foreign poetry.

(Some poems from' PANTONE', section of ' The grace of damage', unpublished.)
(Nekaj pesmi iz zbirke Panton, razdelek Milina škode, neobjavljene.)


Dopo l’ultimo sole, nel mio inverno,
resta imbrigliato dietro le palpebre
un grumo  palpitante che non è luce
ma come una ferita
svela luce alla carne.

L’abbaglio nella temporanea cecità
illumina il fondo
intatto
come l’ innocenza di una bestia

e svela la grazia del danno.


ENGLISH:

The last sun of my winter then
stays entangled under eyelids,
a pulsing throb that is not light,
but like a wound throws light on flesh.

That temporary dazzled blindness
illuminates the core
unharmed
like the innocence of a beast
and reveals the grace of the damage

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy, Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.
 

After the last sun in my winter,
It stays entangled behind my eyelids
a throbbing knot that is not light,
but like a wound
reveals light straight to the flesh.

The glare in the temporary blindness
enlightens the core
untouched
like the innocence of a beast

and reveals the grace of the damage.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.

SUOMEKSI:

Tuskan hedelmät

Talveni viimeinen auringonsäde
jää välkkymään suljettujen silmieni taakse
kuin sykkivä valtimo, joka ei ole valoa
vaan kuten haava
joka paljastaa lihan suoralle valolle.

Häikäistymisen tilapäinen sokeus
valaisee sisuksen
koskemattoman
kuin pedon viattomuus

ja paljastaa tuskan hedelmät.

Kääntänyt Esa Hirvonen, Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

Po zadnjem zimskem soncu,
mi je za vekami obtičal
utripajoč vozel, ki ni luč,
temveč svetlobo zliva
v meso
kakor rana.

Luč v začasni slepoti
razsvetli nedotaknjeno
dno
kakor pri kakšni nedolžni zveri.
In razodene milost poškodbe.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Verde d’Islanda.

Da un seme della inestinguibile memoria,
dalla terra nuova e terribile, gemma
l’insegna di una vita preclusa a noi
e a noi soli rivelata, verde
contratto tra ghiacciaio e vulcano,
spasmo d’estate
nel parossismo di nero e bianco,
dove ogni passo, parola o sguardo
ingoia la gola aperta del pianeta.

ENGLISH:

Icelandic Green

From a seed of inextinguishable memory,
from the new and awesome earth, sproutst
the seal of a life to us precluded
and to us only revealed, green
contracted between glacier and volcano,
spasm of summer
in the paroxism of black and white,
where every  word, glance or step
swallows the open throat of the planet.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

ISLANDSKO ZELENA

Iz semena nejasnega spomina
v novi in strašni prsti vzkali
seme življenja, za nas, prezgodnje
in razkrito samo nam, zeleno,
utesnjeno med ledenik in ognjenik,
drhtenje poletja
ob izbruhu bele in črne,
ko vsak korak, besedo ali pogled
pogoltne odprto žrelo planeta

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Bianco

Incide, nell’ossessione della febbre,
la mente una lenta lama di luce
che dilaga  in infinito schermo
vibrante  bianco
inghiottitoio del respiro
e mi invade di insostenibile candore. 


ENGLISH:

White

A slow , blade of light carves the mind
in the obsession of fever
and unlimited spreads in a screen
vibrating white
swallow-hole of the breath
and invades me with unbearable candour.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

BELA

V vročični obsedenosti v glavo
reže počasno rezilo luči
in se razliva po neskončnem zaslonu,
utripajoče belo,
požrešno dihanje
me zavzame z neznosno nedolžnostjo.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Rosso

Nel canto di casa, il più sacro,  
è l’angolo rosso dell’icona,
i labbri della ferita che conosco
la sola, la vera intimità intatta
il patto assolto.


ENGLISH:

Red

In the corner of  Home, the holiest,
is the red nook of the icon,
the lips of the wound that I know
the one, the real intact intimacy
the pact honoured.

(Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.)


V SLOVENŠČINI:

RDEČA

V najbolj svetem kotičku hiše,
je rdeč prostor za ikono,
ustnice rane, ki jo poznam,
edina, resnična nedotaknjena intima,
molčeč sporazum.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Nero

Nel nero si compongono le vite,
che non lutto pronuncia ma pienezza
e tutto come un padre accoglie.
Come una luce che è stata ed è 
solo nel buio per sempre  tua.


ENGLISH:

Black

It is in black that lives compose and settle,
 pronouncing not loss but fullness
and like a father gathers all.
As a light that has been and is
only in the darkness forever yours.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

ČRNA

Črna združuje življenja,
ne pomeni žalovanja, ampak obilje,
kakor oče, ki vse sprejme z veseljem.
Ali luč, ki je bila,
in je za vedno tvoja samo v temi.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Grigio.

Il giorno nuovo si è fatto, mio quieto non amore,
se già distingui la grana del grigio
nel buio ancora fresco, ancora non parola,
nella  pasta molle di luce
che disegna i margini alle mani
e distende il bordo scuro della bocca
nell’ipossia pigra del risveglio.
 
La pianura breve del  giorno
si anima di gesti garbati
e figuranti
e paradisi e inferni
perduti finalmente.


ENGLISH:

Grey

The new day has formed, my quiet non-love,
if  you make out the grain of  grey
in the dark as yet still fresh, as yet no word,
in the soft paste of light
that outlines the edges of the hands
and stretches the dark rim of the mouth
in the lazy hypoxia of awakening.

The brief plain of the day
is enlivened by courteous gestures
and walk-ons
heavens and hells
ultimately lost.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

SIVA

Nov dan se je prebudil, moja tiha ne-ljubezen,
že je videti zrna sivine
v še vedno sveži temi, še vedno niti beseda,
v mehki kaši luči,
ki izrisuje robove dlani
in razgrinja temno ladjo ust
v lenobnem pomanjkanju kisika prebujenja

Kratko ravnino dneva
oživljajo vljudni gibi
statisti
in paradiži in pekla
končno izgubljeni

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Ocra


Giorni di fine estate, spiccati
come grani d’agosto, agri.
Nelle mani il secco senza eco
del commiato è terra magra
come intorno alla sofora
in cerchio calcinato 
l’erba dell’anno muore   
nel nettare di una intempestiva fioritura.

 
ENGLISH:

Ochre

Last days of summer, sour
like grapes picked in August.
The emptiness of hands with no
echo of farewell is barren soil,
so beneath the Sophora
the year's grass dies,
in a limed circle,
amid the nectar of untimely blossom.

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy, Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


Ochre

Days of summer’s end, picked
like grapes in August, sour.
In hands the dryness without echo
of farewell is arid soil,
like around the Sophora
the year’s grass dies
in a limed circle
in the nectar of unseasonal blossom.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

OKRA

Dnevi ob koncu poletja, izjemni kakor
pšenica v avgustu, polja.
Suh občutek praznega odmeva
ob slovesu v rokah je izsušena zemlja
okoli japonske sofore,
v krogu iz apnenca
trava poletja premine
v nektarju prezgodnjega cvetenja.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Rosso ciliegia

Al di là del confine, a pochi passi,
so
che i ciliegi sono in fiore adesso
è alito bianco, come di nuvole stracciate,
nelle minime valli di Slovenia
so
che diventeranno fitti di rosso
per le bocche di chi torna.


ENGLISH:

Cherry Red

Over the border, a few steps away,
I know
the cherry trees are in bloom,
their white breath, embroidered mist,
in the little valleys of Slovenia,
I know
they will thickly redden for the mouths
of those who return.

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy.


Cherry Red

Just beyond the border, a few steps away,
I know
the cherry trees are blooming today
it is white breath, like cloudy rags
in the least valleys of Slovenia
I know
they will thickly redden for the lips
of whoever returns.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

ČEŠNJEVO RDEČA

Komajda čez mejo, le nekaj korakov čez
vem
zdaj tam cvetijo češnje,
v beli sapici, kot raztrgani oblaki
v majhnih dolinah v Sloveniji
vem
odebelile se bodo, rdeče
za ustnice njega, ki se bo vrnil.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Ambra.   Cimitero ebraico


A Praga, indolente e sciatta
tra spoglie di magia,
sotto una piccola pietra  
emersa tra le radici di sambuco
ho scritto una preghiera in nero di matita.

Era l’estate del novantasei,
l’ultima quieta prima dello smottamento,
a Rabbi Low, distillatore di tempo e desideri,
chiedevo l’alchimia elementare
di convertire in rame il piombo dei pensieri

Ma la mia pietra gentile si è perduta
se ogni giorno è sterro di memoria
e il danno affiora intatto
come un insetto in ambra .

 

ENGLISH:

Amber. Hebrew Cemetery

In scruffy and indolent Prague,
among the magic spoils,
beneath a stone, lifted from roots of the alder,
in charcoal, I wrote a prayer.
It was the summer of '96,
The last mild one before the landslide,
of Rabbi Low, distiller of time and dreams,
I asked the essential alchemy,
how leaden thoughts turn copper.

But my gentile stone was lost,
when each day unearthed memories,
and the harm emerged intact
like an insect in amber.

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy, Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


Amber.  Hebrew cemetery

In Prague, lazy and loose
among the spoils of magic,
underneath a pebble
lifted from  roots of the elder
in black, I wrote a prayer.

It was the summer of ’96,
the last mild one before the landslip,
from Rabbi Low, time and wishes distiller,
I asked the basic alchemy
to turn the lead of thoughts to copper.

But my Gentile pebble probably got lost
when each day digs up my memory
and the damage emerges intact
like an insect in amber.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

JANTAR, ŽIDOVSKO POKOPALIŠČE

V Pragi, ravnodušni in nemarni
v magičnih preoblekah
sem pod majhnim kamnom
med koreninami bezga
s črnim svinčnikom napisala molitev.

Poleti leta 1996,
v zadnjem mirnim obdobjem pred plazom,
sem rabija Lowa, očiščevalca časa in želja,
spraševala o osnovah alkimije,
kako svinec misli spremeniti v baker.

Toda moj prijazen kamenček z nagrobnika se je izgubil,
ko dan za dnem vedno znova na plan izbrskam spomin,
se rana pojavi ohranjena
kakor žuželka v jantarju.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


Avorio

Nicchie, strettoie, inarcamenti
nel corpo della casa disertata,
dai serramenti pieghe d’aria africana
depositano sfalci di intenzioni
sulla vernice opaca del parquet.

Cercarsi un canto acuto,
sotto la norma dei muri,
spalmare il disincanto
sull’intonaco avorio
ad affresco.

Educo al vuoto la curvatura  della mano:
mi incanta la perfezione
di questa geometrica perdita di senso.


ENGLISH:

Ivory

Niches, narrowings, arches
in the body of the deserted house,
from the shutters folds of African air
deposit the mowing of intentions
on the dull varnish of the parquet.

Seek out a tight nook,
under the normality of the walls,
spread out the disenchantment
on the ivory plaster
in fresco.

I teach emptiness to the curve of my hand:
enchanted I am by the perfection
of this geometrical loss of meaning.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

SLONOKOŠČENA

Niše, ozki prehodi, ukrivljene linije
v gmoti opuščene hiše,
v valovanju afriškega zraka
spuščajo pokošene načrte
na neprozoren lak parketa

Iskanje ostrih kotov
v objemu zidov
nanesti najvišje razočaranje
na slonokoščen omet
freske.

Praznino proučujem s krivuljo roke,
očara me popolnost
te geometrijske izgube pomena.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.


(From 'The house of women' ('CASA DI DONNE'), Venice, 2006)
(Iz Hiše žensk  (Casa di donne), Benetke 2006)


San Martino

Meno di un sentiero, solo il pensiero o la bizzarria
di attraversare la foschia nell'improbabile estate di novembre.
Dietro si intravede a stento la cova di una sosta,
poco più di un odore.
Un cerchio vago d'erba pwesta, intorno è già brinato.
Avanti la terra è dura ma cede al passo
il suolo smosso in piccoli grumi
ed è il rumore impercettibile, noto,
della terra che resiste e accoglie
come il ritorno a casa dopo una lunga assenza.


ENGLISH:

Saint Martin

Less than a path, only the disorientation
of traversing the fog, a summer interlude in November.
Behind, one barely sees the imprint of a nest,
little more than a scent,
a vague circle of flat grass, around it frosted over.
Up ahead, the ground is flat, yet yields to the foot,
loose clay in small heaps,
thus it comes, the imperceptible tone,
of the earth that resists, and embraces,
like returning home after long absence.

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy, Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


Saint Martin


Less than a path, only the thought or the weirdness
of crossing the fog in an improbable summer of November.
Behind one barely sees the spoor of a rest
just a bit more than a smell.
A vague circle of bent grass, around it frosted over.
Up ahead the ground is hard but yields to the foot
the soil gathered up into small mounds
thus it comes the imperceptible, known sound
of the earth that resists and embraces
like going back home after a long absence.

Translated by Barbara Gemin & Isabella Panfido.


V SLOVENŠČINI:

SVETI MARTIN (INDIJANSKO POLETJE)

Manj kot steza, samo misel ali nenavadnost
hoje po megli v nepričakovanem poletju sredi novembra.
Zadaj se malce vidi vdolbina za počitek,
komajda kaj več kot vonj.
Krog potlačene trave, okoli že pokrit s slano
Spredaj je zemlja trdna, vendar popušča pod korakom
razrahljana zemlja v drobnih grudah
in neslišen, znan zvok
zemlje, ki se upira in sprejme
kakor ob vrnitvi domov po dolgi odsotnosti

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.

Literary association IA

The 9th Golden Boat Poetry Translation Workshop 2011

The 9th Golden Boat International Translation Workshop 2011

IN MEDIA:

Primorske novice, 4. 9. 2011

Radio Slovenija, Program ARS, Kulturna panorama, 3. 9. 2011

This year's traditional 9th Golden Boat International Poetry Translation Workshop 2011 will be held from 28th August to 4th September in Škocjan in the Karst in Slovenia. This year's guests come from eight countries: Pamela Uschuk and William Root from USA, Martina Hefter and Jan Kuhlbrodt from Germany, Jonáš Hájek and Jana Šnytová from Czech Republic, Esa Hirvonen from Finland, Dražen Katunarić from Croatia, Amir Talić from Bosnia and Herzegovina, Isabella Panfido from Italy, Catherine MacCarthy from Ireland, Alja Adam, Tatjana T. Jamnik, Marjan Strojan, Špela Sevšek Šramel, Slavo Šerc from Slovenia. The workshop will be led by Iztok Osojnik. As every year, the workshop is dedicated to nurturing live contacts in the West European, Central European and Slavic triangle, linking towns and major European literatures of the east and the west, co-organizing festivals, symposia, meetings and workshops, the international recognition of Škocjan as a modern literary hub and the encouragement and dissemination of original poetry and translations in Slovenia and abroad. The successful promotion of Slovenian poet Srečko Kosovel in the UK and the USA will soon be followed by a new monograph on Kosovel in Polish and the international publication of a new wave of Slovenian classics (Cankar, Strniša, Detela). The Golden Boat participants will present their work on two free, public readings: 1st September at 8 p.m. in Škocjan in the Karst and 2nd September at 7.30 p.m. at the Trubar House of Literature in Ljubljana. For more information see www.ia-zlaticoln.org.

The Golden Boat Workshop is organized by the Literary Association of IA in collaboration with Cultural-Artistic Association of Polica Dubova, Tourist Association Škocjan, Cultural Association Vilenica, magazine Monitor ZSA, KUD France Preseren, Regional Community Alps-Adriatic and journals / publishing houses Apokalipsa and Poetikon.
The workshop is supported by Slovenian Book Agency, Krka, d. d., Škocjan Caves Park, publisher Pighog Press (England), FILI (Finland), Inn at Vncku, Cuisle Limerick  Festival (Ireland), SKD Sežana, Trubar House of Literature, Okarina, d. o. o., Association Triglav-Rysy (Poland).

PROGRAM
Sunday, 28th August - arrivals
19:00 – Welcome dinner

Monday, 29th August
9:30 – Working session
13:00 – Lunch
19:00 – Dinner

Tuesday, 30th August
9:30 – Working session
13:00 – Lunch
14:30 – Excursion (Škocjan caves)
19:00 – Dinner

Wednesday, 31st  August
9:30 – Working session
13:00 – Lunch
15:00 – Walking excursion
19:00 – Dinner

Thursday, 1st September
9:30 – Working session
13:00 – Lunch
18:30 – Dinner
20:00 – The Golden Boat reading Škocjan

Friday, 2nd September
9:30 – Working session
12:30 – Lunch
14:00 – Departure for Ljubljana
19:30 – The Golden Boat Reading at the
 Trubarjeva hiša literature (Trubar’s House of Literature) in Ljubljana

Saturday, 3rd September
9:30 – Session on translating poetry
13:00 – Lunch
15:00 – Excursion to Tomaj
20:00 – Farewell Dinner

Sunday, 4th September
Departure after breakfast

Zlati Čoln 2010