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[originally appeared in THE NATION]
[pesmi iz zbirke THE NATION]

PERIPHERAL VISION   

Silence
is most like itself.

In a foreign land
it requires no translation.

No clarifying gesture
can improve on it.

There is no way to restore it
in its clamorous absence.

Once flesh has been relieved
of all integrity

and the skull incurs its crop
of green gnawing hair which

only the rare breeze over paddies
combs and patiently recombs,

there is little to be said.  Except
among the living,

the dead
most resemble the dead.

V SLOVENŠČINI:

PERIFERNI VID

Tišina
je najbolj podobna sama sebi.

V tuji deželi
ne rabi prevajanja.

Nobena kretnja v pojasnilo
je ne more izboljšati.

Nikakor se je ne da povrniti
v njeni hrupni odsotnosti.

Ko je telo enkrat osvobojeno
vse celovitosti

in si lobanja naprti svoj pridelek
zelenih razjedenih las, ki

jih samo redek vetrič skozi bes
počeše in potrpežljivo razčeše,

ni več dosti za povedati. Razen
med živimi

mrtvi
najbolj spominjajo na mrtve.

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

 
SONG OF GIFTS

The first gift was hilarity as language vanished and my senses
                    were restored.
  
The second gift was the free place I knew wholly down to the
                        vibrance of the scales of each fish swimming the brook
                        through the valley of grasses.
 
The third gift was the hand darkness offered from darkness,
                        with knowledge that to hold the hand was comforting
                        and silenced the moaning, but that my efforts to
                         pull it into the light were violations of love
                         with no success possible.
 
The fourth gift was the vision of my loved ones dead with age
                        and beyond me forever and the chance to ask my own
                        corpse a single question.
 
The fifth gift was fire: In that fire I burned
                        without even the promise of death to relieve my anguish.
 
The sixth gift was release from pain and access
                        to eternal energy.
 
The seventh gift was grace.
 
The last gift was re-entry into language and the loss of all
                        previous gifts into memory, for the final gift restored
                        my citizenship in Babel.

V SLOVENŠČINI:

PESEM DAROV

Prvi dar je bila radost, ko je jezik izginil in so se mi povrnili
                        čuti.
  
Drugi dar je bil svoboden prostor, ki sem ga poznal prav dol do
                         vibriranja lusk vsake ribe, ki plava v potoku
                        skozi dolino trav.
 
Tretji dar je bil roka, ki jo je tema ponudila iz teme,
                        z vednostjo, da je bilo držati roko tolažilno
                        in je utišalo žalovanje, da pa je bil moj trud,
                         potegniti jo v luč, skrunitev ljubezni
                        brez vsakršnega upanja na uspeh.
 
Četrti dar je bilo videnje mojih ljubljenih, umrlih od starosti
                        in večno onstran mene in možnosti, da bi svojemu lastnemu
                        truplu zastavil eno samo vprašanje.
 
Peti dar je bil ogenj: v tem ognju sem gorel,
                        brez sleherne obljube smrti, ki bi me osvobodila tesnobe.
 
Šesti dar je bila osvoboditev od bolečine in dostop
                        do večne energije.
 
Sedmi dar je bila milina.
 
Zadnji dar je bil ponoven vstop v jezik in izguba vseh
                        prejšnjih darov v spomin, kajti zadnji dar je povrnil
                        moje državljanstvo v Babilonu.

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

 
WHEREVER

                        you are in the world,
                        you could no longer  
                        call him a boy,

                        the one who squats, hovering
                        like a cloud above
                        his own reflection

                        in rain pooled by
                        the mound of debris
                        once his neighborhood

                        where a hand, not
                        his own, lies
                        half closed, as if

                        beckoning,
                        half open, as if
                        letting go.

V SLOVENŠČINI:

Kjerkoli

na svetu si že,
ga ne moreš več
imeti za dečka

njega, ki čepi, usločen
kakor oblak nad
lastnim odsevom

na dežju, zajezenem s
kupi naplavin
iz njegove nekdanje soseščine

kjer roka, ne
njegova, na pol zaprta
počiva, kakor

bi pomigala,
na pol odprta, kot bi
kaj izpustila oditi.

Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.

KJERKOLI

                        v svetu si,
                        nič več mu ne boš  
                        mogel reči fant,

                        temu, ki čepi, lebdi
                        kot oblak nad
                        svojim lastnim odsevom

                        v dežju, spodkopan od
                        nasipa groblje,
                        nekoč njegova soseska

                        kjer dlan, ne
                        njegova, leži
                        napol zaprta, kot če

                        bi pomignila,
                        napol odprta, kot če
                        bi pustila, da odide.

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

HONED  LOYALTIES

I want to be a thumb
long
dumb
most strong
in oppostion to the majority
of the crooked fingers

V SLOVENŠČINI:

TOŽEČE VDANOSTI

Rad bi bil palec
dolg
top
karseda močan
za razliko od večine
skrivenčenih prstov

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

SONG OF OURSELVES AS HIVES OF MYSTERY

There is the way the moon enters the heart like a tooth while the eye
Like a gate left often
Stares, at the figures supposed to be women,

And the way bones fill the air, gradually, over a lifetime,
Gasp by gasp as if
To lighten the grief of years as the intricate spine in bent
Like a bow to cast out the spirit

Or the way certain scents—the iodine of the sea
Or the musk of swollen belly
Asleep, warm as a loaf—inhabit the hollow
Skull electric with memories and longing.

For we are the hives of mystery and of flowing
Inward and outward irresistible
As the moon who flew out of the sea
Into the void like a spherical angle, beckoning,

And what we may divine is the light that fills us with light
As a touch
Makes us known to ourselves
Through another—the orbit of silence holding
Through aberrations of joy and despair, the silent moon
Whose brilliance we echo finally with the arching gesture of our bones.

V SLOVENŠČINI:

Pesem o sebi kot o panjih skrivnosti

Obstaja način, kako luna v srce predre kakor zob, oko pa
kot vrata, puščena odprta,
strmi v figure, ki naj bi bile ženske.

In način, kako kosti napolnijo zrak, postopoma, v življenju,
sopihajoč, kakor bi si
olajšal gorje dolgih let na težaškem hrbtu,
skrivljenem kot lok, ki bo izstrelil puščico duha.

Ali način, kako določeni vonji – po slanem morju
ali mošusu iz napetega trebuha
med spanjem, toplega kot hlebec – polnijo votlo
lobanjo, naelektreno s spomini in hrepenenjem.

Ker mi smo panji skrivnosti, plavajoč
noter in ven, neustavljivo,
kakor mesec, ki se dvigne iz morja
v praznino, nihajoč sferičen trnek.

Kar morda slutimo, je sij, ki nas polni z lučjo,
tako kot nam dotik
omogoči samega sebe spoznati
prek drugega – krožnica tišine, držeč nas skupaj
v odklonih radosti in obupa, tiha luna,
končno jasno odmeva v ukrivljenem gibu naših kosti.

(Prevedel Iztok Osojnik.)

PESEM O NAJU KOT ROJIH SKRIVNOSTI

Obstaja način, kako luna Vstopi v srce kot zob, medtem ko oko
Kakor odprta lesa pogosto
Zija, v like, ki naj bi bili ženske,

In način, kako kosti napolnjujejo zrak, postopoma, celo življenje,
Sopihajoč, kot da
Bi razsvetlile žalost let kot zapleteno hrbtenico, zakrivljeno
Kakor lok, da bi izgnale duha

Ali način, kako določeni vonji – jod iz morja
Ali mošus iz nabreklega trebuha,
Spečega, toplega kot hlebec – naseljujejo votel
Lobanjski tramvaj s spomini in hrepenenjem.

Kajti midva sva roji skrivnosti in pritekanja
Noter in izven neustavljivega,
Kakor luna, ki je odtekla iz morja
V praznino kakor sferični kot in daje znamenje,

In kar lahko slutiva, je luč, ki naju napolnjuje z lučjo,
Kot naju dotik
Seznanja drug z drugim
Skozi drugega – orbita tišine teče
Skozi odklone veselja in obupa, tiha luna,
Katere sijaj nazadnje odmevava z izbočeno kretnjo najinih kosti.

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

 
BEFORE I HAD A NAME 

The first voices to reach my ears-- still bloodwet, crumpled,
half-clogged in birth-grease as my head rocked in the harbor of thighs,
eyes slits in the shock of first light, arms
                                  pinned flipper-like writhing
among slick walls too constricted for even the first scald of air--,
the first voices I heard after knowing
only the weather of blood-thrum,
                                  the seasons of breathing,
the rush of core fluids gurgling like cavewater over stones,
were the voices debating my decapitation and dismemberment.

huge blue galleon stalled between the shifting stones,
                                  pelvic bones of my mother.
I was in trouble before I had a name, receiving instruction in how
no trouble is ever one's own, always is shared by another.
My mother lay helplessly glowing with sweat and exhaustion,
the great moonbelly contracting and squeezing for life, hers, mine,
as wise men conversed by a table set with the tools of our undoing.

So these were the voices, desperately hushed, deliberate,
and this my first brush with air, breath-taking, benumbing,
glove-pale hands outstretched, gaudy with the blood of my birth.
Masked faces glared, remote eyes hardening against me
among the low moans and sharp yips of my mother
               as I, strangling, I, burning blue,
was trying to suck the great emptiness--
birth-whale beached in the heavy coat of being
caving in these lungs that wanted to 
                          open expansive in the light
of this other world, this sphere before knowing,
where everything was luminous in robes of loose mist,
even the scalpels decisively angled in hands so close--,
when the great thrust came that shoved me clear
and I fell, delivered into their hands, at last. 

V SLOVENŠČINI:

ŠE PREDEN SEM IMEL IME

Prvi glasovi, ki so dosegli moja ušesa – še vedno mokra od krvi, zgubana,
napol zamašena s porodno sluzjo, ko se je moja glava zibala v pristanišču stegen,
reže oči v trčenju s prvo lučjo, roke
                                  pripete, zvijajoč se kot plavuti
med spolzkimi stenami, preveč stisnjene celo za prvo opeklino zraka –,
prvi glasovi, ki sem jih slišal, potem ko sem poznal
samo vreme bobnenja krvi,
                                  letne čase dihanja,
naval tekočega jedra, ki žubori po kamenju kot jamska voda,
kjer so glasovi razpravljali o mojem obglavljenju in razkosanju.

velika modra galeja, odrinjena med premikajoče kamne,
                                  medenične kosti moje matere.
V težavah sem bil, še preden sem imel ime, in dobival navodilo, kako
ni nikoli nobena težava samo moja, vedno jo delim še z nekom drugim.
Moja mati je nemočno ležala, žareča od znoja in izčrpanosti,
veliki lunin trebuh se je krčil in tiščal za življenje, njeno, moje,
ko so se pametni moški zabavali ob mizi, prekriti z orodji najine pogube.

To so bili tisti glasovi, strašljivo utišani, preudarni,
in tedaj sem prvič oplazil zrak, ki je jemal sapo, hromil,
rokavičasto blede dlani iztegnjene, pisane od krvi mojega rojstva.
Zamaskirani obrazi so strmeli, daljne oči se zakrknejo proti meni,
med nizkimi stoki in ostrimi kriki moje matere,
             medtem ko sem jaz, dušeč se, jaz, goreče moder,
poskušal vsesati veliko praznino –
porodni kit, nasedel v težkem plašču obstajanja,
ki dolbe v ta pljuča, ki so se hotela
                            na stežaj odpreti luči
tega sveta, te oble, še preden so jo poznale,
kjer je bilo vse bleščeče v oblekah ohlapne megle,
še celo skalpeli so tako blizu odločno ribarili v rokah –,
ko je prišel veliki udarec, ki me je nedvomno potisnil naprej,
in končno sem padel, rojen v njihove roke.

Prevedla Tatjana Jamnik.

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