EN / SLO

Radharani Pernarčič

Slovenija, 1979

Radharani Pernarčič je pesnica, koreografinja, plesalka in antropologinja. Diplomirala je iz etnologije in kulturne antropologije na FF, Univerze v Ljubljani (2005) ter iz sodobnega plesa in koreografije na SNDO, AHK v Amsterdamu (2007). V začetku 2008 je izšla njena prva pesniška zbirka Vesolje žalujko, Veter žaluzije. Objavlja v osrednjih slovenskih literarnih revijah, njene pesmi so prevedene v poljski, srbski, hrvaški, češki, angleški in katalonski jezik. Med letoma 1994 in 1998 je bila dejavna članica mreže in gibanja PoPoPo (PoezijaPoPošti), vse od takrat pa redno sodeluje na številnih literarnih večerih. Njen opus predstavljajo tudi številne plesne predstave, improvizacijski nastopi, aplikativne delavnice, dokumentarni video ter antropološki članki. Trenutno je kot raziskovalka zaposlena na Oddelku za etnologijo in kulturno antropologijo, na FF UL, kjer v okviru doktorskega študija raziskuje antropologijo giba, telesa (telesenja)  in tvornosti.

EONI

EON JUTRA

V megli, v kateri nisem zaznal niti tvojih
obrisov, si čepela tik poleg mene in namakala
lase v reko. Risal sem kvadrate po zraku, da bi si
zapomnil, kje je sever in kje vzhod. –

Vračala sva se s kontinenta nezaceljenih sanj.


ENGLISH:

THE MORNING EON

In the fog that obscured your contours,
you crouched beside me and dipped
your hair in the river.  I was drawing squares in the air
so as not to forget where was north, where was east.

We were coming back from the land
of unnerving dreams.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS PORANKA

We mgle, w której nie poczułem nawet twoich
konturów, kucałaś tuż obok mnie i moczyłaś
włosy w rzece. Rysowałem kwadraty w powietrzu, by
nie zapomnieć, gdzie jest północ a gdzie południe. –

Wracaliśmy z kontynentu nie zagojonych snów.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON OPOLDNEVA

Ogenj je padal z dreves in ti si se preoblačila
za senčno steno. Po zraku je krožil vojaški helikopter.
Vadil sem histerični Tai-chi med rojem mušic in
veter je napolnil tvoj klobuk s peskom, medtem ko
si postajala temnejša od svojega pudra. –

Stvari, ki se jih spominjam,
so stvari, ki jih pozabljam.


ENGLISH:

THE NOON EON

Fire fell from the trees as you were changing
behind a protective wall.
An army helicopter circled in the air.
I performed hysterical tai-chi on a cloud of flies,
and wind blew sand in your hat as you
turned darker than your foundation.

The things I will remember
are the things I am forgetting.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS PORANKA

We mgle, w której nie poczułem nawet twoich
konturów, kucałaś tuż obok mnie i moczyłaś
włosy w rzece. Rysowałem kwadraty w powietrzu, by
nie zapomnieć, gdzie jest północ a gdzie południe. –

Wracaliśmy z kontynentu nie zagojonych snów.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON MAGME

Obračala sva telesi, se drug drugega bezala iz skalnih
razpok, kamor sva se topila skupaj s pozabljenim
katranom. Natanko ob enih sem ti ob nogah napravil
sto sklec, te za vsako ugriznil v palec in sonce mi je
resno ožgalo zadnjico. Poslala si me puhtet v senco. –

Kamenje je rezoniralo,
eros, erozija.


ENGLISH:

THE MAGMA EON

Turning our bodies, we pried each other
from cracks in the rocks in which
we were melting along with abandoned tar.
At the stroke of one, I did a hundred push-ups,
with each one biting your big toe, and the sun
seriously burned my backside.  You sent me
off to perspire in the shade.

The rocks resonated,
eros, erosion.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS MAGMY

Obracaliśmy ciała, wydłubywaliśmy się nawzajem ze skalnych
szczelin, w które zapadaliśmy się razem z zapomnianymi
kawałkami smoły. Dokładnie o pierwszej u twoich nóg zrobiłem
sto pompek, za każdym razem gryząc cię w palec, w tym czasie słońce
poważnie przypiekło mi tyłek. Kazałaś mi się ochłodzić w cieniu. –

Pogłos kamieni,
eros, erozja.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON PRED NEVIHTO

Tekala si gor in dol po obali in z mrežo
za metulje lovila peno z roba valov. Ležal sem
na hrbtu s prazno steklenico pod glavo in po slamici
srebal oblake z neba. –

Globoko v gozdu so ptiči prekladali steklene
drobce glasu.


ENGLISH:

THE EON BEFORE THE STORM

With a butterfly net, you ran up and down the beach
catching foam from the edge of waves.
I was lying on my back,
an empty bottle beneath my head.
With a straw I slurped clouds from the sky.

Deep in the wood, birds were shifting
glass fragments of their voice.

Translated by Knute Skinner
 

PO POLSKU:

CZAS PRZED BURZĄ

Biegaliśmy tam i z powrotem po brzegu i siatką
na motyle łapaliśmy pianę z krawędzi fal. Leżałem
na plecach z pustą butelką pod głową i za pomocą słomki
siorbałem chmury z nieba. –

Głęboko w lesie ptaki przekładały szklane
kawałki głosu.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON NALIVA

Stisnila sva se pod obledelo plahto na bregu
in bolščala v dež, ki se je brez napora rinil
med pesek. Vojska vznemirjenih rakovic je
šumela v mesnati podrasti in pritisk razpadajočih
oblakov je iz zemlje spodil glisto. –

Drsela sva skupaj s tokom med svilenimi
koreninicami trenutka.


ENGLISH:

THE EON OF THE DOWNPOUR

On the bank, we squeezed under a faded canvas
and gazed at the rain that, without effort,
was seeping into the sand.  An army of scurrying crabs
rustled in the meaty undergrowth, and the pressure
of clouds dissolving extracted a worm from the mud.

We slithered, along with the current, among
silken roots of the moment.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS ULEWY

Ściśnięci pod wypłowiałą płachtą na brzegu
Zapatrzyliśmy się w deszcz, który łagodnie wchodził
w piasek. Legiony zaniepokojonych krabów
szeleściły w mięsistym poszyciu a ciśnienie rozszarpanych
chmur wywabiło z ziemi glistę. –

Ślizgaliśmy się z nurtem między jedwabnymi
korzonkami chwili.   

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON OB PETIH

Šla sva se, kdo vrže dlje in ti si vzela
tako za res. Stal sem ti za hrbtom in te dražil, kako
vihtiš roko, dokler nisi izvedla tistega enkratnega
ženskega meta, kjer kamen zdrsne nazaj in obležal sem
pod gigantsko buško. Gledala si me nepremično, s
strahom v glasu izustila moje ime, jaz pa sem se zvijal
v solzah smeha. –

Tebe je res ustvaril bog, ne Mario Testino.


ENGLISH:

THE EON AT FIVE

We played at who can throw further, and you
took it so seriously.  At your back, I teased
you about the swing of your arm until you achieved
such an outstanding woman’s throw that the stone
slipped backwards and I passed out
beneath an enormous bump.  You looked at me, stock still,
mouthing my name in fear, but I
was writhing with tears of laughter.

You were really created by a god, not Mario Testino.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS O PIĄTEJ

Założyliśmy się, kto rzuci dalej i ty wzięłaś
to poważnie. Stałem za twoimi plecami i irytowałem cię
radami w rodzaju, jak trzymać rękę, dopóki nie odkryłaś tego szczególnego
kobiecego rzutu, który spowodował, że kamień zawrócił a mnie
zwalił na ziemię gigantyczny guz. Obserwowałaś mnie nieruchomo, z
przestrachem w głosie wymówiłaś moje imię, ja zaś skręcałem się
we łzach śmiechu.

Ciebie naprawdę stworzył bóg, a nie Mario Testino.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON VEČERA

Odskakovala si v zrak in mlatila veje
s slamnikom, da bi sklestila kako figo z drevesa.
Ležeč, tik pod teboj, sem opazoval, kako ti vsak bosi
pristanek na zemlji privzdigne lahno obleko,
pod katero nisi nosila ničesar. Ti pa si se
razjezila, zakaj ti ne pomagam. –

Zrak, ki nas slači, je veter, ki nas odnaša.


ČESKY:

VEČERNÍ VĚK

Vyskočil jsi do vzduchu a bouchl do větví
svým slamákem aby jsi ze stromu setřásl fíky.
Ležela jsem právě pod tebou, pozorovala jsem naboso jak každý
který přistál na zemi nadzvedl tvé lehké oblečení
pod nímž jsme nic neměli. A ty jsi se rozzlobil,
proč nepomáhám. -

Vzduch který nás svléká je vítr který nás unáší.

Přeložila Irena Šťastná


ENGLISH:

THE EVENING EON

You were bouncing up in the air, beating branches
with your straw hat to loosen figs from the tree.
Lying beneath you, I noticed that each bare foot
landing on the ground lifted your light dress,
beneath which you were naked.  And you became cross
that I did not help you.

The air that strips us is the wind that will carry us away.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS WIECZORU

Skakałaś w powietrze i uderzałaś gałęzie
słomianym kapeluszem próbując strącić z drzewa jakąś figę.
Leżąc tuż obok śledziłem, jak każde lądowanie unosi ci lekkie ubranie,
Pod którym nie miałaś nic. A ty rozzłościłaś się, że ci nie pomagam. –

Powietrze, które nas rozbiera, to wiatr, który nas unosi.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


EON NOČI

Spala sva na odnašajočem splavu, ki
se je zapletal v odmrlo travo. Nebo se nama je
utiralo v kožo, praskal sem si zemljo s kolen.
Vakuum, poln zvezd in zgodb, naju je dokončno
potopil in albatros se je brez pljuska zapičil v
sanjsko ploskev. –

V najinem zoglenelem gozdu se je lomil zrak.


ENGLISH:

THE NIGHT EON

We slept on a drifting raft
which tangled in the withering grass.  The sky
was seeping into our skin.  I scratched dirt from my knees.
The vacuum, full of stars and stories, with finality
drowned us, and without a splash
an albatross pierced the plane of the dream.

In our coal-charred wood, the air was breaking.

Translated by Knute Skinner


PO POLSKU:

CZAS NOCY

Spaliśmy zanurzeni w wartkim nurcie, który
zaplątał się w obumarłą trawę. Niebo wdzierało nam się
w skórę, zdrapywałem z kolan ziemię.
Próżnia, pełna gwiazd i opowieści, pochłonęła nas
bez reszty, a albatros nie mącąc wody wbił się w
senną gładź. –

W naszym zwęglonym lesie trzaskało powietrze.

Tłumaczenie: Michał Kopczyk


HIŠA,
      z ostanki krvi na levem sekalcu

In od tistih sanj je na
postelji ostal le kup kamenja.
Vrata so bila priprta, svet je tiho
ihtel za njimi – v nekem prostoru
z jesensko svetlobo, kamor je
vrba prelamljala svoje stare veje.
Preveč bali smo se resničnosti,
pa smo zato morali ustanoviti neko
resnico, in je bilo videti le migotanje
sten, kako se pogrezajo v starodavno
reko. Tvoj oče je takrat ravno vstopil,
ko je veter zdivjal pod napušč in nesel
streho čez polje. Ime ti je bilo po
njem, a izgubil si oči na nekem
čudnem koncu ovinka in na tej
poti je mrgolelo starih znancev, ki
so zaudarjali po praznini preteklih
čajank: z njimi so semena za vselej
ostala v dlani. Bo že minilo, smo si
dejali, ko nas je noč za nočjo tišina
obstreljevala z monologom nerazrešenih
bolečin. – Kot da je možno sleherni up
poslati v reciklaži obrat in se zbuditi
na pragu sveta z voljo, ki je iz jutra v
jutro napravljena iz vse trših kovin.

Bili so odrti bivoli, ki so zrohneli čez
mesto, poteptano perje zmajev, riba,
ki požira človeškega poglavarja. Solni
stolp in pepel puščavskih kač.   


ENGLISH:

THE HOUSE
              (with remnants of blood on the left incisor)

And all that remained of those dreams
Was a pile of stones on the bed.
The door was ajar.
Behind it, the world
Sobbed quietly in an autumn light
Where the branches of an old willow
Splintered.
Too afraid of reality, we had to find
A certain truth.
But all that could be seen
Was the wriggling of the walls
As they sank
Into the ancient river.
Your father came in just then
When the wind blew violently
Under the eaves
And carried the roof
Across the field.
You were named after him,
But lost your eyes
On a strange section of the bend,
That path swarmed
With old acquaintances
Who stank of the emptiness
Of old tea parties (the seeds
Stayed forver in their hands).
It will pass we told ourselves
When night after night
The silence covered us
With a monologue of
Unsolved pain...as if
It is possible to send every hope
Into recycling to wake up
And gather on the doorstep
Of the world, with a will
That is morning after morning
Made from ever stronger metal.
Skinned buffaloes rage across the city.
Trampled feathers of dragons.
A fish that swallows a human chief.
A salt towner and the ash of desert snakes.

Translated by Paul Polansky
 

***

Gledam se v steno
in čakam na čas, da dvigne
čarovnijo samote iz reke, iz vej,
rdečega sadja. Od kod takšna gotovost
sveta, ko pa je trdnost razsejana v toliko
življenjskih oblikah. Zdaj prah večera, zdaj
mah, gomazeč iz razpok pepelnika. Sopara
tali starost iz mene, ko prestopam robove
razlomljene hiše. To eno in isto sonce nas opominja 
na bojevniški ples in ukrivlja palico,
s katero je otroštvo bezalo čričke iz zemlje.
Včasih me spodnese, ko se zavem, od kako daleč
se je prikradla ta večnost v naše geste, da bi
osmislila naš tukaj in zdaj. Potem jo vidim, kako
zvija svoj staromodno debeli čik in pusti sledi
šminke na filtru: debela kraljica, mati performansa, ki
mi reče počasi don't worry, you're ok.  

Kot tako neobstojna forma sem za vse večne čase
stopil na ta prastari planet. V ta prastari trenutek.


ENGLISH:

THE ANTHROPOLOGIST

I look at myself in the wall,
Waiting for time to lift
The sorcery of solitude
From the river
From the branches
From the red fruit.
From where such self-belief
In the world evolves
Over so many forms of life.
The dust of the evening,
Moss that seeps from
The cracks of the ashtray.
The heat melts my old age
As I step over the edges
Of a broken house.
The sun reminds me
Of a warrior dance
And the bent stick
Of childhood which
Pried out crickets
From the earth.
Sometimes I am
Thrown off balance
As I realize how far
Eternity creeps into our gestures
To give meaning
To our here and now.
I see how she rolls her
Fat, old-fashioned cigarette
The mother of performance
Who slowly says to me:
don’t worry, you’re ok.
From such a nonexistent form
I reach out for immortality
On this ancient planet.
The archaic, lonely moment.

Translated by Paul Polansky

 

 

Draft translations:


EONS

THE MORNING EON

In the fog where I did not sense even your
contours, you crouched right beside me, dipping [soaking]
your hair in the river. I drew squares in the air to
remember where north is, and where east. –

We were returning from the continent of unhealed dreams.


THE NOON EON

Fire was falling from the trees and you were changing behind
a screen. An army helicopter was circling in the air.
I practiced hysterical tai-chi in a cloud of flies and
the air filled your hat with sand as you
turned darker than your foundation [powder]. –

The things I remember [am remembering]
are the things I am forgetting.


THE MAGMA EON

We were turning our bodies, we pried each other from
cracks in the rocks where we were melting along with the forgotten
tar. At one o'clock exactly I did a hundred push-ups
at your feet, bit your big toe with every one, and the sun
seriously burned my backside. You sent me to steam in the shade. –

The stone resonated,
eros, erosion.


THE EON BEFORE THE STORM

You ran up and down the beach, catching
foam from the edges of the waves
with a butterfly net. I lay on my back
with an empty bottle beneath my head and with a straw
I sipped the clouds from the sky. –

Deep in the wood, the birds were shifting glass
fragments of voice.


THE EON OF THE DOWNPOUR

We squeezed under a faded tarp on the bank
and gaped at the rain, which thrust into the sand
without effort. An army of excited crabs
rustled in the meaty undergrowth and the pressure of disintegrating
clouds drove the worm out from the earth. –

We slipped together with the current among the silken
[small] roots of the moment.


THE EON AT FIVE

We played who can throw further and you
took it very seriously. I stood behind you and teased you about
the swing of your arm, until you achieved that outstanding
women's throw where the stone slips backwards and I passed out
beneath an enormous bump. You looked at me, unmoving [fixed],
mouthed my name with fear in your voice and I twisted
with tears of laughter.

You really were created by god [God], not Mario Testino.


THE EVENING EON

You jumped up in the air and beat the branches
with your straw hat to shake loose some figs from the tree.
Lying right under you, I observed how every barefoot
landing on the ground lifts [lifted?] your light dress,
beneath which you wore nothing. And you became angry,
why don't I help you. –

The air that strips us is the wind that carries us away.


THE NIGHT EON

We slept on a drifting raft
tangling in the dead grass. The sky was
working itself into our skin, I scratched the dirt from my knees.
The vacuum, full of stars and stories, finally
closed over us [sank us under] and the albatross impaled the dream surface
without a splash. –
 
In our charred [coal-charred] wood, the air was breaking.


HOUSE,
    with remnants of blood on the left incisor

And all that remained of those dreams
was a pile of stones on the bed.
The door was ajar, behind it the world
was sobbing quietly – in some room [space]
with autumn light, where the
willow was breaking up [splintering] its old branches.
We were too afraid of reality,
so we had to found [construct] a certain
truth, and all that could be seen was the wriggling
of the walls as they sank into the ancient
river. Your father came in just then,
when the wind stormed in under the eaves and carried
the roof across the field. You were named after
him, but you lost your eyes on a
strange section [end] of a [the] bend, and this [that] path
was swarming with old acquaintances
who stank of the emptiness of past
tea parties: with them, the seeds stayed forever
in the[ir] hand. It will pass, we
told ourselves, when night after night the silence
shot at us [bombarded us] with a monologue of unsolved
pain. – As if it is possible to send every hope
into recycling to pick [gather] and wake up
on the doorstep of the world, with a will that is morning after morning
made from ever stronger metal.

There were skinned buffaloes who [that] raged across
the city, the trampled feathers of dragons, a fish
that swallows a [the] human chief. A salt
tower and the ash of desert snakes.



***

I look at myself in the wall,
and wait for time to lift
the magic [sorcery] of solitariness from the river, from the branches,
the red fruit. From where such assuredness
of the world, when the solidness is spread out [disseminated] over so many
forms of life. Now the dust of the evening, now
moss that seeps from the cracks in the ashtray. The heat
melts the old age from me as I step over the edges
of a [the] broken house. The [one and] the same sun reminds us
of a warrior dance and bends the stick
with which childhood pried crickets from the earth.
Sometimes I am thrown off balance as I realise from how far
this eternity stole [crept] into our gestures to
make meaningful [give meaning to] our here and now. Then I see her, how she
rolls her old-fashioned fat cigarette and leaves traces
of lipstick on the filter: a fat queen, the mother of performance, who
slowly says to me, don't worry, you're ok.    

As such a nonexistent form I stepped for all eternity
on this prehistoric [archaic, ancient] planet. This prehistoric [archaic, ancient] moment.

Translated by Špela Drnovšek Zorko

Literarno društvo IA

8. pesniškoprevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln 2010

8. mednarodna pesniškoprevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln

"SAVE LEAD-POISONED CHILDREN OF KOSOVO"
Peticijo lahko podpišete tukaj

FILM BOJANA BRECLJA: Golden Boat 2010 from Bojan Brecelj on Vimeo.

ODMEVNOST DELAVNICE V MEDIJIH na spletu

Dnevnik, 18. 9. 2010

Primorske novice, 16. 9. 2010

Večer, 27. 9. 2010

La poesia e lo spirito, 28. 9. 2010

Tvar, 21. 10. 2010

Portal české literatury, 8. 11. 2010

Czech literature portal, 1. 12. 2010

 

PROGRAM

Nedelja, 12. september
19.00 – pozdravna večerja

Ponedeljek, 13. september
9.30 – začetek delavnice
13.00 – kosilo
19.30 – večerja

Torek, 14. september
9.30 – delovni sestanek
13.00 – kosilo
14.30 – obisk jame
19.30 – večerja

Sreda, 15. september
9.30 – delovni sestanek
13.00 – kosilo
15.00 – izlet po okolici
19.30 – večerja

Četrtek, 16. september
9.30 – delovni sestanek
13.00 – kosilo
18.30 – večerja
20.00 – branje v Škocjanu

Petek, 17. september
9.30 – delovni sestanek
12.30 – kosilo
14.00 – odhod v Ljubljano
19.00 – branje v Cankarjevem domu

Sobota, 18. september
9.30 – pogovor o prevajanju
13.00 – kosilo
15.00 – obisk Tomaja
19.00 – večerja

Nedelja, 19. september
odhod po zajtrku

Vsi programi so javni. Vstop je prost.

***

Kandidat za Nobelovo nagrado Paul Polansky, vodilni nizozemski pesnik Willem van Toorn, legenda hrvaške rokovske in gledališke scene Tahir Mujičić, vodilna finska mednarodna borka za pravice žensk Vilja-Tuulia Huotarinen, mednarodno uveljavljena poljska slovenistka Agnieszka Będkowska-Kopczyk, edini slovenski postmodernist in sonetist Milan Jesih, pesnik in organizator literarnega dogajanja v južni Angliji John Davies, irski pesnik Knute Skinner, vodilni italijanski pesnik srednje generacije Roberto Nassi, italijanska naveza, ki pomeni novo obliko sodelovanja z našimi zahodnimi sosedi v okviru skupnosti Alpe-Jadran, nova generacija slovenskih pesnic (Radharani Pernarčič, Tina Kozin, Tatjana Jamnik), Slovanski most, nadaljevanje programov iz prejšnjih let v okviru Foruma slovanskih kultur (Irena Šťastná, Michał Kopczyk), zahodnoevropski, srednjeevropski, slovanski trikotnik, povezovanje manjših in večjih evropskih literatur na vzhodu in zahodu, soorganiziranje festivalov, simpozijev, srečanj, delavnic in oblikovanje sodobnega literarnega vozlišča v Škocjanu in mednarodnega uveljavljanja poezije v izvirnikih in prevodih. Po uspešni uveljavitvi Kosovela v Veliki Britaniji in ZDA bosta kmalu sledila nova monografija v poljskem jeziku in mednarodno uveljavljanje novega vala slovenskih klasikov (Cankar, Strniša, Detela).  

Zlati Čoln 2010