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Iztok Osojnik

1951, Slovenia

Iztok Osojnik, born 1951 in Ljubljana, is a poet, fiction writer, literary scientist, anthropologist, essayist, editor, translator, artist, tour director, mountain climber. He initiated a series of artistic movements: together with Iztok Saksida and Jure Detela he founded anarchist underrealist movement and wrote an Underrealist Manifesto; started an artistic Garbage Art (Kyoto), musical projects, (Papa Kinjal Band, Hydrogism) and series of important artistic institutions and festivals (Gallery Equrna, Trnovo triplets, Dialogues at Villa Herberstein Velenje, Vilenica, Review within a Review, Golden Boat and others). He graduated in Comparative Literature at the University of Ljubljana (1977). He finished postgraduate studies at Osaka Gaidai University (1980–1982), and in 2011 earned his PhD in historical anthropology at the University of Koper. He is the former director of the International Literary Festival Vilenica. He published 28 collections of poetry (recent ones being Kosovel and seven dwarfs, 2015; *** asterisk, 2011; Married into Red, 2012), 5 novels (Pigs Flying into the Sky, 2012), 2 volumes of essays on literature, anthropology, and philosophy and scientific monograpny Twilight of Sovereignty (2013).

130-132 curtain road, shoreditch, ec2a 3ar

na dvorišču londonskega stanovanja
je nekoč stala the red lion inn
pomisli, sem pomislil, da gre in gostilno
preuredi v THE THEATRE. shakespeare se je prišel spovedat pred
tisto cerkev, sem razmišljal, ko sem pred shoreditch church (st. leonard's) čakal na avtobus 67
okoli mene se je dvignil gozd in se začel vzpenjati po hribu
razmišljal sem, kako bi izpeljal ta estetski obrat, pranje rok, zahvala deželi, v kateri
sem bil iz žive matere rojen, zdaj pa so me obsedli ti urbani pohodi po ulicah
the ladder in pisk parnika, na katerem stoji pristaniški kapetan
vse za bistrino duha, za udarec železa ob železo
ječanje stekla, ki poka pod pritiskom, a ne poči
velikanski obok stekla
zbit kot ledena plošča, tam spodaj, med muhami, ki bodo nekoč napolnile mojo strugo
da bo postala radost za komparativista z bajalico, filozofi bodo izdelali
nov bat za moj avtomobilski pogon tesnobe
nisem si mislil, sem mislil, da lahko tako zaboli
nenadoma, med narcisami, iz vedra neba, ko sva z dolginom spravljala vsak svoj
fotoaparat v žep. imate morda vžigalice?
kaj mi bodo vžigalice, rabim brezžičen dostop na splet
naravnost iz pesmi, tako rekoč, da se bom sankal
med dvema knauf ploščama, v nekakšni podivjani strasti
ki sem jo ukrotil z bičem in nostalgijo
kraljica je odgrnila zaveso v trenutku, ko sem se pripeljal mimo
kar je druga ponovitev dogodka iz prejšnjega življenja v alicinem steklu za gledanje
(za kretene) ker sem jaz nekoč odgrnil zaveso na oknu v trenutku, ko se je ona peljala mimo
stekla za gledanje skozi, ampak kaj se pa grem
ker pač ne morem (ne znam, ne upam) zakričati tega, kar me žuli
streljam kozle, tresk, pomislil sem, da bi morda postavil kakšno pametno
akademsko vprašanje o še ne pojasnjeni zadevi nepalskih kraljev in naftovoda
(kot sem ga nekoč homi k. bhabhi /preveri črkovanje/)
ampak potem me je z bičem udarila ljubosumnost
reka se je sušila, če se ne bova ljubila, bom mrtev
bil je prijetno hladen dan, požirek viskija mi ne bo škodil, sem pomislil
nisem niti shakespeare niti dylan thomas, kljub temu sem nagnil, usta obrisal s hrbtom roke
da ne rečem, hej, mojster je bil yeats, zakaj sem nenadoma pomislil na favnovo popoldne
nisem si mislil, da se bo tako končalo
na tihem sem pričakoval nekaj nasprotnega
udarec železa ob železo, tresk avta v izložbi trgovine s porcelanom, neotesano, ameriško
kozmični kontrafor stekla na severnem tečaju
ne pa šotorček protestnikov na parliament square
kdo bi si mislil, ena sama pesem, pa toliko različnih bolečin
samo še to mi povej: sem se kje ponavljal?


130-132 curtain road, shoreditch, ec2a 3ar

in the yard of a london flat
once stood the red lion inn
just think, I thought, that he goes and remodels
a pub into THE THEATRE. shakespeare came to confess before
that [this] church, I was thinking as I waited in front of shoreditch church (st. leonard's) for bus number 67
around me a forest raised [sprung up] and began to climb the hill
I was thinking of how to carry off this aesthetic turn, the washing of hands, a thank you to the country [land]
where I was born to a living [of the flesh] mother, and now I am obssessed with these urban quests [marches] in the streets
the ladder and the whistle of a steamboat, where a port's captain stands
all for clarity of spirit, for the blow of iron against iron
the groaning of steel, which cracks under pressure, but doesn't break
a colossal arch of glass
packed [hammered] like an iceberg, down there, among the flies, which will once fill my stream bed
so that it will come to be the joy [to the eventual delight] of a comparatist with a dowsing rod, philosophers will manufacture
a new piston [bat; tool] for my automobilistic anxiety [anguish; lit. tightness] propulsion
I didn’t think, I thought, that it can hurt this much
suddenly, among the daffodils, from a clear sky, when I and a beanpole of a man were putting  our photo cameras away in our pockets. do you perhaps have any matches?
what good will matches do, I need wireless internet access
straight from a poem [song], so to speak, so that I will sledge
between two knauf plates [surfaces], in some sort of wild passion
which I tamed with a whip and nostalgia
the queen opened her curtain in the exact moment I came by
which is the second repetition of an event from my previous life in alice’s looking glass
(for idiots) because I once opened the window curtain in the exact moment that she drove [came] by
the looking glass, but what am I playing at [doing]
because I simply can’t (don’t know how, don’t dare) scream out that which chafes [irritates] me
I shoot goats, boom, I thought about maybe asking a clever
academic question about the as yet unexplained subject of nepalese kings and the oil pipeline
(as I once asked homi k. bhabha)
but then jealousy [envy] hit me with a whip
the river was drying out, if we do not love each other, I’ll be dead
it was a pleasantly cool day, a sip of whiskey won’t do any harm, I thought
I am neither shakespeare nor dylan thomas, but even so I tippled, brushed my mouth with the back of my hand,
not to say [not to speak of; so that I don’t say], hey, yeats was a master [craftsman], why did I suddenly think of the afternoon of a faun
I didn’t think that it would end this way
I quietly expected something to the contrary
the blow of iron against iron, the crash of a car in the show room of a porcelain shop, uncouth, american
the cosmic supporting arch of glass on the north pole
and not the small protesters’ tent in parliament square
who would have thought, only one poem, and so many different hurts
now tell me only this: did I ever repeat myself?

Translated by Špela Drnovšek Zorko.

130 – 132 Curtain Road, Shoreditch, EC2A 3AR

In the yard of a London flat
where once stood Red Lion Inn
a pub, that was the theatre
Shakespeare first performed in
I was thinking as I stood there
by the church, St Leonard's
waiting for bus 67
that around me a forest sprang,
slowly climbed the hill,
I was thinking how to divine
this great aesthetic turn
a fine thank you to the country
a washing of my hands,
where once born of a live mother
I wander city streets,
the ladder,
                   a steamboat's whistle,
where a port captain stands,
all for clarity of spirit,
iron against iron,
the shock of ice that cracks and holds
packed like a plate, down there,
with flies, that will soon fill my bed,
let it come, be the joy,
of a great critic, diviner,
this piston-powered car
for my anguish, I didn't think
that it can hurt this much,
suddenly, among daffodils,
out of the blue, when I
and a bean-pole of a man were
putting cameras in
our pockets, do you perhaps have
any matches? What good will
matches do?  Wireless access straight
to the song's what I need
so that I may slide down between
two earth plates in some wild
passion that I tame with a whip
and nostalgia
                         the queen
opened her curtain the exact
moment I came by which
is the second repitition
of an event from my
previous life in Alice's
looking glass since I once
opened the curtain the exact
moment she drove by through
the looking glass, but what am I
playing at, since I can't
scream out that pain
                                  which torments me
I shoot goats, boom, think of
asking a smart academic
question, of the not yet
clarified matter of Kings of
Nepal and oil pipeline,
asked of Homi K Bhabha once,
but envy hit me like a whip,
the river, drying up,
if we do not love eachother
I'm dead, a nice cold day
it was, a sip of whiskey won't
harm me, I thought  I am
not Shakespeare, or Dylan Thomas,
even so I tippled,
brushed my mouth with the back of
my hand, not to mention
hey, Yeats was a master craftsman,
why did I suddenly
          the afternoon of a faun,
I think that it will end
this way, I quietly hoped
for something opposite,
blow of iron against iron,
car crashes in showroom
window with porcelain, uncouth,
american, flying buttress
of glass on the North Pole,
and not the small prrotestors tent
in parliament square, who
would have thought only one poem and
so many different
hurts, now tell me only this: did
I once repeat myself?

Translated by Catherine Phil MacCarthy & Špela Drnovšek Zorko.

tihožitje london

1. dobro jutro gospod računalnik
strniva vtise: hoxton square, oglat, v soncu, ljudje v spodnjicah, mandelj razcvetel
sveta helena pomagaj, stisnjena med visoke stavbe, verjetno iz prve polovice
20. stoletja, vsekakor ne paladio – in smučarske palice, od kod je zdaj to
jedla sva udon

2. marelica na tvojem obrazu, christ church, oxford. grazia deleda
njen obraz je kot skleda špargljev. jutranji napev
thomas hardy, ta večni upornik in oporečnik
sibirija je velika, sibirija je široka
lena je velika reka (lena in agadir)
v kotu se sramežljivo skriva tržnica igriva
resnično me je ganilo
sončen žarek na obrazu in zbodljaj v srcu, oblika ihtenja
človeka premaga njegov bicikel
njegov bicikel in drobna knjižica, še posebej pesem na strani 6

3. ne vem, zakaj. potem sem cel dan prevajal
enkrat sem pil kavo spodaj v restavraciji
in pregledal elektronsko pošto
nenadoma, skoraj neopazno sem se zagledal v prazen zrak
trenutek, ko se ustavi svet, silovit tresk
in vendar se nič ne dogaja, ura stoji in ulica, spodaj pod oknom
vse stoji, promet in pisk policijske sirene
z bičem voditi množico
ena beseda je primernejša v eni situaciji
druga beseda je primernejša v drugi situaciji
nobena pa ni primerna v vseh situacijah in sploh bi bila primernejša druga beseda
branje v kavarni
prva kavarna v angliji
po reki so drseli čolni in se zaletavali ob breg
narcise, nekam izumetničene, preveč razkošne, rad imam veter
ki se zapodi na londonske ulice

4. edward in ketaki. ko stopiš z ulice v hišo
se svet spremeni v velik, želatinast bombon. srce hlipa od silovite tišine
z roko drsim po hrbtih knjig kot po obrazu
jorgovan je v najlepšem obdobju, njegove jagode so trde kot moški ud
skrivnostno se senca dotakne potemnele kože
odpij no že to presneto kavo
z okna pogled sega na dvorišče in klet, videti je zvonik shakespearjeve cerkve
in kaj potem, kaj če v šoli ne bomo več poučevali shakespearja
ponoči je snežilo
mislim, da mi je počilo srce

5. tako spokojne silovitosti še nisem doživel
oblaki so razgrnili mesto
odprlo mi je koleno in z vrha sem opazoval male ulice in hiše
nekako prijateljsko stisnjene ena ob drugo. iz hiše nasproti je stopil
majhen deček in rekel: ni šeč
modre gole nogice v belih dokolenkah so stekle proti avtu, mati in oče
sta si pomahala, kajti danes bodo pripeljali nov pralni stroj
črnobela romantika reklam
krilo se je zavrtelo okoli vitkega ženskega telesa
prsi so ji ponosno štrlele pokonci v piramidi nedrčka
oče je odhitel v službo, ne ve se, kam
tega v reklami nikoli ne povejo
parkiraš avtomobil
ženska te strastno opazi s pogledom
pograbiš aktovko
sedem slovenskih pesnikov tudi z aktovkami pride mimo v paradi človeške gosenice
zmaličene pošasti in vampirji v armanijevih oblekah
moški, obrit z žilet super silver iv ponikne v zgradbo
kaj je njegova služba, si lahko misliš, najidealnejši so arhitekti
z veliko prostega časa in pijača zvečer v baru
happy hour, sloniva na mizici, kadiva, govoriva, ženske pri sosednji mizi
naličeni nohti, dim iz razmaknjenih ustnic, tik pred doktoratom
potem poslušamo predavanje o pohištvu v indijskem angleškem romanu
thomas hardy is back

6. reka navdiha se vali dol po ulici
in moje srce korakajoč poskakuje na njenih valovih
srce je veliko kot nogometna žoga
zjutraj sem pribil besede na zid kot listke s telefonskimi številkami
rumene, rdeče, modre in črne glavice risalnih žebljičkov
mislim, da forme ni več mogoče držati skupaj
mislim, da je preprosto vse skupaj snežnobel vulkan
nebo je razklano na kristale
in moja glava je v vsakem od njih pomnožena s faktorjem krat štiri

7. jamie mckendrick, angleški pesnik na biciklu
zbrali smo drobiž in vstopili v botanično mansardo
preprosto sem moral ustaviti ta piroplazmičen plaz
drugače bi mi sežgalo plešasto pevko na glavi
ni bilo več mogoče nadzorovati mlečne ceste
moje telo je po delih teko dol po ulici
vse to sem bil prisiljen opazovati z okna, medtem ko je nočni bas kitarist
odgovarjal stoštirideset let starim klicem votlih baobabov
v ritmu kolena, ki skače
preobražen v kačo, ki skače
v ritmu podplata sumo borca, ki vrže sol v ring in udari z nogo
vsak tak udarec je hip, ko človek pomisli na badiouja ali heideggra
ti govoriš o poljubih, ki so razrezali obraz do ušes
s krvavo vato starega oceana
toda včasih, včasih …

8. razrezala sem pesem in ti jo položila na jezik kot tableto
mislim, da sem v srcu orkana, vse je tako čudovito, jutro in vse
vejice španskega bezga se mi pozibavajo pred očmi
najbrž sanjam s kakšnim beckettovim obeskom med zobmi
medtem ko mi žagajo nogo
mislim, da je to nezavest
človek sliši ptice, a jih ne vidi
pijanost je nekaj relativnega, kolovratim po obali, rad imam to hišo
in pogled nanjo, rad imam ta ekstatičen udarec pnevmatičnega kladiva
ki med tu in tam potegne živo daljico in modrino nočnega neba
brez krikov ogromnosti, ki se počasi obračajo zgoraj
ti spiš, ko srečen padem med naplavljen haloge
joj, kako smrdijo. in ribiči. nenadoma se v svojih čolnih pojavijo
spodaj pri prodajalcu pohištva
zdaj vem, kje sem, in tudi vem, kdo

9. med ljudmi se stkejo čudne pajčevine
žile starega orehovca se zvijajo
med podzemnimi vlaki in tlakujejo besede
za nekakšno stopnišče do neba, ki je v mojem nadstropju. človeka sem odložil
spodaj na obešalnik in zdaj štejem minute mraza, ki se plazi v moj hrbet
kot bič kundalinija
vem, z vsako besedo odlomim košček kruha ali kamna
kamnolom zlatorjavo obarvanih uličk, trgovinic, vrat, skozi katera
odhajajo in prihajajo violinistke in pozavnisti
ves ta direndaj začimb in iskrečih pogledov izpod klobuka
bliskanje oči in neskončnost na dlani
neulovljiva kot pogled na razcvetelo drevo
nekoč bo vse to spregovorilo še enkrat
kaplje krvi na brezmadežnem prtu v kuhinji, okoli pol devetih

10. examination hall. spominjam se svile na obrazu
hodila si po prstih in nurejev ti je štrlel izpod pazduhe
dokler se nisi zasopla ustavila pred dekanom. senca klobuka čez oči,
dekan je bil mrzel kot čaj
obraz iz blede opeke je bil videti spokojen. pozno si prišel in ostal za vedno
dve srci v ajmarju. in šopek narcis, kako to šelesti
izpit je bil skorajda popolnost, kot piš vetra
čas je, da se vrnem k delu


still life london

1. good morning, mister computer
let’s condense impressions: hoxton square, rectangular, sunny, people wearing underpants [knickers], the almond tree in bloom
st. helen help us squeezed between tall buildings, likely from the first half
of the 20th century, certainly not palladio – and ski poles, now where is that from [now where did that come from]
we ate udon

2. apricot on your face, christ church, oxford. grazia deleda
her face like a bowl of asparagus. morning song
thomas hardy, that eternal rebel and dissident
siberia is large, siberia is wide,
lazy is the great river (lena and agadir) [lazy/lena word play doesn’t work…]
in the corner hides a playful market, shyly
it really did move me
a sunbeam on a face and a stab [twinge] in the heart, a sort of sobbing
a person [man] is bested by his bicycle
his bicycle and a slim book, especially the poem on page 6.

3. I don’t know why. then I spent the whole day translating
once I drank coffee in the restaurant downstairs
and checked my email
suddenly, almost not noticing, I fixed my gaze on empty air
the moment when the world stops, a violent flash
and yet nothing is happening, the clock [hour] is still and [so is] the street, below the window
all is still, the traffic and the whistle of the police siren
to lead a crowd with a whip
a [one] word is more suited to one occasion
another [a second] word is more suited to a different [second] occasion
but none is suited to all occasion and in any case the second word would be more suitable
reading in a café
the first café in england
boats slid along the river , colliding with the bank
daffodils, somewhat inauthentic, overly lush [lavish], I am fond of [I like] the wind
that throws itself down london streets

4. edward and ketaki. when you step from the street into the house
the world changes into a large, gelatinous sweet. the heart weeps from the intense [fierce] silence
my hand slides along the backs of books like a face [like it would along a face]
jorgovan is in the best [most beautiful] period, his strawberries are as hard as the male appendage
the shadow mysteriously touches darkened skin
drink up this bloody [darned] coffee already
from the window the gaze takes in the yard and the cellar, you can see the bell tower of shakespeare’s church [the bell tower… is visible]
and what then, what if we no longer teach shakespeare in schools
it snowed in the night
I think my heart cracked

5. I have never experienced such peaceful vehemence [fierceness]
the clouds have opened up [unfolded] the city
it opened my knee, and from the top I watched small streets and houses
somewhat collegially squeezed next to one another. from the house opposite
emerged a small boy and said: no like [-?]
little blue legs in white knee high socks ran toward the car, the mother and the father
waved to each other, for today a new washing machine is being delivered
the black and white romance of advertisements
a skirt twirled around a woman’s slim body
her breasts pointed proudly upwards inside the pyramid of her bra
the father hurried off to work, it is unknown where [who knows where]
they never mention [tell us] this in the advertisement
you park the car
a woman notices you with a passionate gaze
you grab your briefcase
seven slovenian poets also bearing briefcases pass by in a human caterpillar parade
mutilated monsters and vampires in armani suits
a man, shaven with a gilette super silver iv, ducks into a building
what is his job, you might think, architects are the most ideal
with plenty of free time and a drink in the bar in the evening
happy hour, we lean on the table, smoke, talk, the women at the neighbouring table
painted nails, smoke through parted lips, a hair’s breadth from a PhD
then we listen to a lecture on furniture in the indian english [british?] novel
thomas hardy is back
6. a river of inspiration rolls down the street
and my heart, marching, bounces on its waves
the [my] heart is as large as a football
in the morning I nailed the words to the wall like [they were] notes bearing telephone numbers
yellow, red, blue, and black thumbtacks heads
I think that it is no longer possible to hold the form together
I think that all is simply a snow white volcano
the sky is cleaved into crystals
and in every one of them my head is multiplied by a factor of four

7. jamie mckendrick, an english poet on a bicycle
we gathered some change and stepped into a botanical mansard
I simply had to halt this [piroplazmičen -?] avalanche
or it would have burned the bald singer on my head
it was no longer possible to keep the milky way under surveillance
my body ran in pieces down the street
I was forced to observe all this from my window, while the night-time bass guitarist
answered the one hundred and four year old calls of hollow baobabs
in the rhythm of the knee, [which is] jumping
transformed into a snake, [which is] jumping
in the rhythm of the sole of the sumo wrestler, who throws salt into the ring and stamps his foot
each such stamp is a moment when a person thinks of badiou or heidegger
you speak of kisses, which sliced the face from ear to ear
with the bloody cotton wool of an old ocean
but sometimes, sometimes…

8. I cut [chopped] up a [the] poem and placed it on your tongue like a tablet
I think that I am in the heart of the hurricane, everything is wonderful, the morning and all the
branches of the spanish elder tree sway before my eyes
likely I am dreaming with a sort of beckett’s pendant [amulet] between my teeth
while they saw at my leg
I think that this is unconsciousness
a person [man] hears birds, but does not see them
drunkenness [intoxication] is something relative, I wander along the beach, I like [am fond of] this house
and the view of it, I like this ecstatic sound of the pneumatic hammer
which between here and there pulls the living segment [-? imperfect…] and the blueness of the night sky
without the cries of enormity, which are slowly turning above [upstairs]
you sleep, when I fall happily among the washed up kelp
oh, how it smells, and fishermen, suddenly they appear in their boats
down [downstairs] at the furniture seller
now I know where I am, and I also know who

9. between people strange spiderwebs are woven
an old walnut tree’s veins twist [writhe]
between subway trains and pave [the] words
for some sort of stairway to the sky, which is on my flat. I put down the [a] person
on a coathanger downstairs and now I am counting the minutes of cold, which creeps into my back
like the whip of kundalini
I know, with every word I break off a piece of bread or stone
a quarry of goldenbrown painted little streets, little shops, doors through which
[female] violinists and trombonists come and go
all this commotion of spices and sparking glances from underneath hats
the flashing of eyes and infinity on a palm
ungraspable [uncatchable] like the sight of a blooming tree
someday all this will speak again
drops of blood on a spotless kitchen tablecloth [tablecloth in the kitchen], around half eight

10. examination hall. I remember silk on a face
you tiptoed [walked on your toes] and nureyev poked out from your armpit
until you stopped in front of the dean, breathless. the shadow of a hat across the eyes, [eyes shaded by a hat]
the dean was as cold as tea
his face of pale brick looked peaceful. you came late and stayed forever
two hearts in a bucket. and a bouquet of daffodils, how it rustles
the exam was almost perfection, like a gust of wind
it is time to return to [my] work

Translated by Špela Drnovšek Zorko.


natura morta londra

1-Buon giorno signor computer
provo a condensare le impressioni: hoxton square, rettangolare, assolata, gente in mutande, il mandorlo in fiore
sant'elena aiutaci, stretta tra edifici alti, verosimilmente dalla prima metà
del 20 secolo, certo non è palladio – e bastoncini da sci, questa da dove viene adesso
odiamo udon

2- albicocca sul tuo viso, la chiesa di cristo, oxford. grazia deledda
la sua faccia come un mazzo di asparagi, canzone del mattino
thomas hardy, quell'eterno ribelle dissidente
la siberia è grande, la siberia è vasta,
la lena scorre di gran lena (lena e agadir)
all'angolo si nasconde un allegro mercato, timidamente
mi ha veramente commosso
un raggio di sole sul viso e una coltellata nel cuore, una specie di lamento
un tizio è battuto dalla sua bicicletta
la sua bicicletta e un libretto, in particolare la poesia a pag.6

3- Non so perchè ho passato tutto il giorno a tradurre
una volta ho bevuto un caffè al ristorante qua sotto
e ho controllato la mia email
all'improvviso, quasi senza rendermi conto, ho fissato lo sguardo nel vuoto
nel momento in cui il mondo si ferma, un lampo violento
ma tanto non succede niente, l'orologio è fermo come la strada, sotto la mia finestra
tutto è fermo, il traffico e il fischio della sirena della polizia
comandare una folla con la frusta
una parola è più adatta a una situazione
un'altra parola è più adatta a una differente situazione
ma nessuna è adatta a tutte le occasioni e in ogni caso la seconda sarebbe più adatta
leggere a un caffè
il primo caffè in inghilterra
barche scivolano lungo il fiume, cozzando contro la riva
narcisi, in qualche modo inautentici, esageratamente sontuosi, sono entusiasta del vento
che si lancia giù per le strade di londra

4- edward e ketaki. quando metti piede in casa
il mondo si trasforma in un grande dolce gelatinoso. il cuore lacrima per il silenzio intenso
le mie mani scivolano sui dorsi dei libri come su una faccia
jorgovan è nel suo momento migliore, le sue fragole sono dure il pendaglio maschile
l'ombra tocca misteriosamente la pelle brunita
e bevi finalmente questo dannato caffè
dalla finestra lo sguardo va nel cortile e in cantina, si vede il campanile della chiesa di shakespeare
e cosa allora, cosa se non insegniamo più shakespeare a scuola
è nevicato nella notte
penso che il mio cuore sia spezzato

5- Una forza così quieta non l'avevo mai provata
le nuvole hanno squarciato la città
mi si è svelato il ginocchio (Ah, Dante!) e dalla cima ho guardato piccole strade e case
strette amichevolmente, si direbbe, una all'altra, dalla casa di fronte
spunta un bambino e dice: no voglio
piccole gambe livide in bianchi calzettoni fino al ginocchio corrono verso un' auto, madre e padre
ondeggiano l'uno verso l'altra, per oggi è stata ordinata una lavatrice nuova
l'idillio in bianco e nero di una pubblicità
una gonna gira intorno al corpo sottile di una donna
il suo petto punta orgogliosamente verso l'alto dentro la piramide del reggiseno
il padre si affretta al lavoro, non si sa dove,
non ce lo dicono mai nelle pubblicità
parcheggi l'auto
una donna ti nota con uno sguardo appassionato
afferri la tua cartella
sette poeti sloveni, anche loro con le loro brave cartelle, transitano in una parata di caterpillar umani
mostri mutilati e vampiri in vestiti armani
un uomo, rasato con gilette super silver iv, scompare dentro un edificio
quale lavoro fa, puoi domandarti, architetto è l'ideale
con molto tempo libero e un bicchiere al bar alla sera
ora dell'aperitivo, ci appoggiamo al tavolino, si fuma si chiacchiera, donne al tavolo vicino
unghie smaltate, il fumo esce dalle labbra schiuse, manca un pelo per il PHD
poi sentiamo una conferenza sull'arredamento nel romanzo anglo indiano
thomas hardy is back

6- un fiume di ispirazione rotola per le strade
e il mio cuore, marciando, rimbalza sulle sue onde
il mio cuore è grande come un campo da calcio
al mattino inchiodo parole alle pareti come foglietti con numeri di telefono
puntine da disegno gialle, rosse, blu
penso che non si può più tenere insieme la forma
penso che tutto sia semplicemente un vulcano bianco di neve
il cielo è spaccato in cristalli
e in ognuno di quelli la mia testa si moltiplica per quattro

7- jamie mckendrick un poeta inglese in bicicletta
abbiamo colto un cambiamento e siamo entrati in una mansarda botanica
dovevo assolutamente fermare quella valanga di pyroplastic
altrimenti nella mia testa sarebbe stato seppellito il cantatore calvo
non si poteva più tenere sotto controllo la via lattea
il mio corpo stava perdendo pezzi per strada
ero costretto ad osservare tutto questo dalla finestra, mentre il bassista notturno
rispondeva ai richiami vecchi di cento e quattro anni di cavi baobab
al ritmo del ginocchio, salto
trasformato in un serpente, salto
al ritmo della pianta del piede di un lottatore di sumo, che sparge sale sul ring e stampa il piede
e ogni volta che pianta i piedi qualcuno pensa a badiou o heidegger
tu parli di baci, che fanno a fette la faccia da un orecchio all'altro
con quella maledetta bambagia di un vecchio oceano
ma qualche volta, qualche volta...

8- Ho spezzettato una poesia e l'ho messa sulla tua lingua come una pastiglia
penso di essere nell'occhio del ciclone, tutto è stupendo, la mattina e tutti
i rami del sambuco di spagna che ondeggia davanti ai miei occhi
verosimilmente sto sognando di me con una specie di pendaglio di beckett tra i denti
mentre mi stanno segando le gambe
penso che questa sia incoscienza
uno sente gli uccelli, ma ma non li vede
essere ubriachi è una cosa relativa, me ne vado lungo la spiaggia, mi piace questa casa
e la vista da qui, mi piace questo suono estatico di martello pneumatico
che qua e là scaglia frammenti vivi e la cupezza del cielo notturno
senza le urla dell'enormità, che stanno lentamente girando di sopra
tu stai dormendo, mentre io crollo felice tra le alghe bagnate
oh, che odore, e i pescatori, all'improvviso appaiono sulle loro barche
giù nel negozio di mobili
adesso so dove sono, e chi sono.

9- tra la gente strane ragnatele sono tessute
le nervature di un vecchio noce si contorcono
tra i treni della metro e lastricano parole
per una qualche tipo di scalinata verso il cielo, che è sopra il mio appartamento. Ho lasciato
una persona
sull'attaccapanni giù delle scale e ora conto i minuti di freddo che striscia nella mia schiena
come la frusta di kundalini
lo so, ad ogni parola spezzo un pezzo di pane o una pietra
una cava di piccole strade oro e bruno, piccoli negozi, porte attraverso cui
violiniste e tromboniste entrano e escono
tutta questa confusione di spezie e occhiate scintillanti da sotto i capelli
gli occhi lampeggianti e l'infinito su un palmo
inafferrabile come la vista di un albero in fiore
un giorno tutto questo parlerà di nuovo
gocce di sangue sulla tovaglia di cucina immacolata, alle otto e mezzo circa.

10- sala d'esami. mi ricordo seta sul viso
tu camminavi sulle punte e nureyev spuntava dalla tua ascella
finchè non ti sei fermata davanti al preside, senza fiato, l'ombra di un cappello sugli occhi
il preside era freddo come il tè
la sua faccia di mattone sbiadito sembrava tranquilla. Sei arrivata tardi e rimasta per sempre
due cuori in un cesto. e un mazzo di narcisi, come fruscia
l'esame era quasi perfetto, come un refolo di vento
è ora di tornare al lavoro.

Traduzione di Isabella Panfido & Špela Drnovšek Zorko.

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author's texts

Literary association IA

The 9th Golden Boat Poetry Translation Workshop 2011

The 9th Golden Boat International Translation Workshop 2011


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).

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