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English:
From the Yes, Kill me but Read my Poems First

proverbs

1
Crying fable, composition: gray wasteland and a pouring tee pot
of dreams. And drums, rattling jungle drums in the stomach of an alien creature
with all the eyes wide open, listening, listening …
Fantastic day for some Slovenian lingo blues,
for a five o’clock Darjeeling emotional Ramadan.
Is it?
Is it? Maybe. At least, he tried. His soul was made of pimples.
Which day is the best? I should read some English poetry, he said.
It was three o’clock p.m. Pajama style
I remember the air, the wind, a lonely railway station,
but man, me scratch, scratch, scratch,
me jungle man. Slovenian jungle is made of political pigs.
Should one compare Slovenian and African jungle?
No AIDS, no draughts,
just some political terror, some local
glocal says Ulrich Beck,
who this urban orangutan,
scratch, scratch, scratch,
why my love no answer?
why my love no answer?
Me, world, understand, not enough to be happy,
this scratching soul,
to be here, to be there, in the times of growing terror,
time is something, that stretches itself, but it never bursts,
this translation of Milton, my obsession,
maybe I’ll read it one day,
this lonely Afro-Slovenian scratching orangutan,
we have some health problem here,
why my love no answer?
Hearts are the best for keeping atomic explosions blocked inside.



V slovenščini:
Pregovori

1
Cvileča zgodba, skladba: siva, opustošena dežela in čajni kotliček sanj,
v katerem vre. In bobni, ropotajoči pragozdni bobni v želodcu tujega stvora
z vsemi na široko odprtimi očmi, prisluškuje, prisluškuje …
Fantastičen dan za kakšen dober slovenski idiom bluz
za emocionalni Darjeeling ramadan ob petih popoldne.
Mar res?
Mar res? Morda, vsaj poskušal je. Njegova duša je bila narejena iz mozoljev.
Kateri dan je najboljši? Moral bi prebrati nekaj angleške poezije, je rekel.
Bilo je tri popoldne. V slogu pižame,
spominjam se zraka, vetra, osamljene železniške postaje,
toda človek, jaz, praskam se, praskam se, praskam se,
jaz, človek pragozd. Slovenska džungla, pragozd političnih svinj.
Naj človek primerja slovensko in afriško džunglo?
Ni AIDSA, ni suše,
nekaj malega političnega terorja, glokalne zvrsti, pravi Ulrich Beck
(ali Ronald Robertson, ali oba),
kdo ta urbani orangutan,
prask, prask, prask,
zakaj ljubezen nobenega odgovora
zakaj ljubezen nobenega odgovora
jaz, svet, razumeti, ne dovolj biti sreča,
jaz, praskajoča duša,
biti tukaj, biti tam v času naraščajočega terorja,
čas se razteza, a se nikoli ne strga,
ta prevod Miltona, moja obsesija,
morda ga bom nekega dne prebral,
ta samotni afro-slovenski praskajoči se orangutan,
hej, tukaj imamo nek zdravstven problem,
zakaj ljubezen ne odgovor,
srce najboljše za blokirati atomske eksplozije notri

Iz angleškega izvirnika prevedel Iztok Osojnik



Po slovensky:
proverbs

1
Plačlivá bájka, kompozícia: sivá pustatina a tečúci čajník
snov. A bubny, rachotiace džungľové bubny v žalúdku neznámeho tvora
s očami do široka otvorenými, počúva, počúva...
Skvelý deň na nejaké slovinské lingo blues,
na Darjeeling o piatej emotívny Ramadan.
Je to?
Je to? Možno. Aspoň to skúsil. Jeho duša bola samá vyrážka.
Ktorý deň je najlepší? Mal by som si prečítať z anglickej poézie, povedal.
Boli tri hodiny popoludní. Pyžamový štýl
Pamätám si na vzduch, vietor, opustenú železničnú stanicu,
ale, človeče, ja sa škrab, škrab, škrabem,
ja muž z džungle. Slovinskú džungľu tvoria politické svine.
Mala by sa porovnať slovinská a africká džungľa?
Nijaký AIDS, žiadné suchá,
iba taký politický teror, lokálny
glokálny, ako hovorí Ulrich Beck,
kto byť ten orangutan z mesta,
škrab, škrab, škrab,
prečo moja láska nič nepovedať?    
prečo moja láska nič nepovedať?    
ja, svet, ja rozumieť, nedosť byť šťastný,
táto škrabúca duša,
byť tu, byť tam, v čase rastúceho teroru,
čas je niečo, čo sa rozpína. ale nevybuchuje,
tento preklad Miltona, moja posadnutosť,
možno jedného dňa prečítam,
tento osamelý slovinsko-africký orangután,
máme tu nejaké zdravotné ťažkosti,
prečo moja láska nič nepovedať?    
V srdci sa najlepšie blokujú atómové výbuchy.

Preložil Ján Gavura



English:
Freud speaks

Hurry up, hurry up!
Don’t let Burroughs to disturb you.
He speaks of some space station, but actually thinks about nurses,
probably male nurses, nursing him. Next step, coma. I mean first Molloy than coma.
Burroughs out Karol Szymanowski in (Stabat Mater, Op. 53, for solo voices, mixed choir
and orchestra). I just love it. Same pleasure as walking down Park Ave
and suddenly bumping into the Love statue. This is catholic orthodox,
Peloponnesian uniatic island in Poland (1882 – 1937). Who the fuck is Alice?
Why should I write the same way as in Slovenian language?
Crabs, I see them all over. So what do you say, professor. I’d like to make love to you,
he thinks and says nothing. Let him speak loudly, what somebody else better not.
Describing oneself, daring, risking, and boring. I hate performative sentences,
one should be fucking quiet about this other world.
Do I dare disturb the other language? You talked about the marble palace,
but where are structures unbelievable, shocking letters from Mars,
where are our post socialistic monks? Have you seen them? They should be born any time now.
How does the computer know that that was a question?
I like sunny afternoons. And there exist some clever tricks how to avoid little green cucumbers.
Those creatures we call jelly fish. They remind me very much to Duino elegies,
especially to those parts that speak of green blood and his beautiful mother
lining over her little philosophical baby. Another thing I love: those lines. Me too,
I feel green bubbles in my veins and further somewhere
outside space-time geometry
there twinkles a piece of green glass, transparent as hell; it is easy to understand quantum physics
after all, though I am not so much after some rational model
about bottles on the surfaces of other bottles, it is simply the matter of experience,
eye to eye contact, two pairs of lips on a peach. But this is a Chinese peach,
it changes into a golden bird, tobacco ash, tortilla face and a volcano with a glass of red vine
on her working desk. Not bad, this Stabat Mater dolorosa after all. I could live on music.
Me, my music and my pair of velvet bananas
driving down Park Avenue in my black Rolls Royce Discovery.
Love, I have to run …



English:
strange insects

last night as the night before “thighs klutzed beneath my skirt” as you wrote in dedication to doris lessing

allnight I dreamt about tinkerbella nana a close relative to kikiki huna. I held a big semmel
stuffed in my secret chamber of responsibility and there were three angels:
jacques, soeren and jan patočka (to give you a hint)
with their last books in their arms closely pressing them to their chests. that is the monument of nations, you have to see this leipzig granite overdose nordic saga and it was raining. no screams ever reached anywhere there was no anticipated effect as obviously the allocation principle did not work - and I drove
further nord
to sophiensalle in berlin where in the evening we performed the duet with the negro guitar player
with small tits whom I fell in love with even before I had seen her. what can I say. imagine all those shoppers, the insect duet by me, conrad lorenz and a pair of geese. am maschmarktplatz 27 nicht weit davon ich habe zwei monate deutsche sprache fur einfaenger studiert. ja, das war conrad lorenz, ein nazi. Ancient Romans took a good care of them (geese) but at the moment I am considering a quick hop by bicycle to orle a village 21 miles and 1500 altitude feet away. did you know, and this time I mean you, that tinkerbella nana is exactly 158 microns long and that she resists caffeine…

need a brake to see where all that is leading us to. rationally things are clear. the other should come free willingly by the-other-self. the me-other already come? only the heart, not as well the apartment owner. the umbrella the canister the wet towel the floor. innocent deadly obstacles destroy poems. through and through again and again just outside outside outside outside the knightsbridge subway station, the zoe the bios, la differance embodied, packed into an impossible dream, then what? bloody universe. burning pain, satchi, stabbing, grief, gucci,  salvatore ferragamo, extreme, the embassy of iceland, giorgio armani, agony, prada, fury, rage, all within the circle, cadogan park across the street in the rain, silent grief … the circle the circle, the name of the rose is sloan street

I did a quick survey of the market. I think a couple thousand copies will do a wealth of good, doggy style. all three angels got me down on my knees but we could not call it a defeat. I believe in English the title would be the gift of death. Though the poem is coming to its end

we should consider this other insect in the stomach, the unique austromerope brasiliensis. I learned about it at the Gatwick airport beauty parlor, thirst had been omnipresent. it is said that males use their extraordinarily large terminal forceps to grip the females during copulation, but irina kolontaj was the hero of resistance
 
or to fight male rivals. just imagine the mess. no wonder one soaked wet wittgenstein wanted to buy a parking lot



English:
***

you’re killing me
but I won’t let you, enough! or too much
three hours at the heathrow airport, six thirty in the morning
and I could feel it
draining down my thighs

two streams, the electric one
(drop out electricity)
and mountains of waist to dig one’s canyon
through. I remember new york but I remember you even burnier

that is a great lantern but a candle is needed, maybe
it was stupid to endorse me
with a cock
but then, I have this rock solid thing in me
a big fat envelope of silence
and naked eyes, but you know it better

words matter, not meanings
sleepers I bought near ocha no misu station
and then I walked kilometers and I still walk
with my zen mind
and my zen cock
and my zen sleepers, tattered, tattered
and that Israeli psychiater who personally knew Jacques derrida
and yes, as we talked, the bilwet too
I think something with rem koolhaas and gorazd
gorazd is in the frame too



Po slovensky:
***
ty ma ničíš
ale nepustím ťa, dosť už! alebo priveľa
tri hodiny na letisku heathrow, o šesť tridsať ráno
a ja som to cítil
stekať dolu stehnami

dva prúdy, elektrické
(vypni prúd)
a hory pásu, že by si tam vykopal kaňon
pamätám si new york ale pamätám si ťa dokonca

toto je dobrý lampáš, ale zišla by sa sviečka, možno
to bola hlúposť takto sa oslavovať
s vtákom
ale potom, je vo mne tá vec pevná ako skala
veľká tlstá obálka ticha
a nahé oči, ale ty to vieš lepšie

na slovách záleží, nie významoch
sleepers, ktoré som si kúpil pri stanici ocha no misu
a potom som šiel kilometre a stále idem
s mojou zenovou hlavou
mojím zenovým vtákom
a mojimi zenovými papučami, tattered
a ten izraelský psychiater, čo sa osobne poznal so Jacquesom Derridom
a áno, keď sme hovorili, bilwet
Myslím že čosi s rem koolhaas a gorazd
gorazd je tiež v ráme

Preložil Ján Gavura



English:
***

yes, I’d rather like to
strange, there is no god but
things don’t happen anyway, not to my body or to a few other walkin’ bodies
I know, it was a bitter revelation, three days ago, thirty days ago
three years ago, thirty years ago
a big grin on one’s face
names like sjersptra, dykstra, fuckstra
the landscape in winter
I would fuck you but obviously
there is quite some disinterest on your side, which I stand up against in vain
but I still protest though who cares, not you at least
(some others neither)
there is an atomic bomb in the lungs ready to blow up the universe
me not enough electromagnetic field in this universe, you much more
definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely
another day goes by, bye



V slovenščini:
***

ja, raje bi
čudno, ni boga, toda stvari
se kljub temu ne zgodijo, ne mojemu telesu ne nekaterim drugim stopajočim telesom
ja, vem, šlo je za grenko razkritje, pred tremi dnevi, pred tridesetimi dnevi
pred tremi leti, pred tridesetimi leti
spačen nasmeh na nekem obrazu
imena kot sjersptra, dykstra, fuckstra
pokrajina pozimi
seveda bi te dal dol, kot je rekla, toda očitno
gre za precejšnje nezanimanje s tvoje strani, je rekla, proti čemur zaman protestiram
vendar kljub temu protestiram (je rekla), čeprav, komu to mar, tebi vsekakor ne
(tudi drugim nič manj)
v pljučih atomska bomba, vsak trenutek pripravljena raznesti vesolje, še toliko bolj tebe
nobenega dvoma, nobenega dvoma, nobenega dvoma, nobenega dvoma,

in še en dan šel mimo, baj

Iz angleškega izvirnika prevedel Iztok Osojnik



Po slovensky:
***

áno, radšej by som
zvláštne, boh neexistuje, ale
veci sa aj tak nedejú, nie môjmu telu, ani tým niekoľkým chodiacim telám
viem, bolo to trpké odhalenie, pred tromi dňami, tridsiatimi dňami
tromi rokmi, tridsiatimi rokmi
veľký úškrn na niekoho tvári
mená ako sjersptra, dykstra, fuckstra
horizont krajiny v zime
Prefikol by som ťa, ale očividne
z tvojej strane je nejaký nezáujem, ktorému márne čelím,
a napriek tomu protestujem, hoci každý to má v paži, ako ty
(a pár ďalších)
v pľúcach je atómová bomba pripravená vyhodiť do vzduchu vesmír
ja nemám dostatok elekromagnetickej príťažlivosti v tomto vesmíre, zato ty oveľa viac
určite, určite, určite, určite
ďalší deň mizne za rohom, zbohom     

Preložil Ján Gavura



English:
draft dialogues

is it? or it is an original glittering language that is not
any of mother tongues
but something between … between teeth?
there should be a tongue there but it is not, it is a cock
as you report it shockingly. and when I come
it is not in your mouth – though somewhat, metaphorically right there –
but in my other me in you.
a thin muscle jerked in my cranial condominium
stillness, darkness, Mondsee, schonberg in the stubai alps.
an oetzi, burning stars, emmo kant, me woman you man,
savage but not gentle at all.
negritude
is my compass, aimé césaire, a bisexual volcano from antilles.
sugarcane is the history, sugarcane
french revolution failed there, sugarcane the
cock, the juicy alternative to Hegel’s spirit and the European bullshit,
the body is alive, not god. my coffee is cold now
 
de ton sexe à crocus,
de ton corps de ton sexe à serpent nocturnes de fleuves et de cases
de ton sexe de sabre de général
de l’horlogerie astronomique de ton sexe à venin
de ton corps de mil de miel de pilon de pileuse
…
né de ton sexe où pend le fruit penetrante de la liberté

we should darken
our bird nest extremely,
what you see is what you crucify

walter Benjamin by Tony soto at església vella, Castellfolit de la ROCA,
on my desk, looking at, so, what it is that jerks in one’s mouth.
my horizontal your perpendicular mouth
I want you to come in my mouth
the chakrabandhasana/abyss/ecstasy of language-tissue,
body curvature shoots blood
and you are gone

you reached me on the inside of my head
red walnut-pod seed crack
basal ganglion

cock rose (cathy wagner)

I want my tongue to jerk in you



V slovenščini:
polja sile

ali je? ali gre za izvirno iskro govorico
ki ni nobeden od maternih jezikov
ampak nekaj med … med zobmi?
tam bi vendar moral biti jezik, ampak ga ni, tam je penis,
kakor si nonšalantno povedala. in ko mi pride, se to ne zgodi
v tvojih ustih – čeprav se na nek način, metaforično, prav tam –
temveč v mojem drugem jazu v tebi.
drobna mišica špricne v mojem¹ lobanjskem kondominiju,
spokojnost, tema, Mondsee, schonberg v Štubajskih alpah.
nek oetzi, pekoče zvezde, emmo, emmo kant, jaz ženska ti mož
divjak, čeprav nikakor ne prijazen
negritude
je moj kompas, aimé césaire, biseksualen vukan iz antilov
sladkorni trs je zgodovina, sladkorni trs
tam je pogrnila francoska revolucija, sladkorni trs penis,
sočna zamenjava za Heglovega duha in evropsko jouissance sranje,
telo je živo, ne pa bog, moja kava zdaj hladna

de ton sexe à crocus,
de ton corps de ton sexe à serpent nocturnes de fleuves et de cases
de ton sexe de sabre de général
de l’horlogerie astronomique de ton sexe à venin
de ton corps de mil de miel de pilon de pileuse
…
né de ton sexe où pend le fruit penetrante de la liberté

svoje gnezdo bi morala
skrajno potemniti
kar vidiš, pribijaš na križ

walter Benjamin v izvedbi Tonyja Sotoe v església vella, Castellfolit de la ROCA,
na moji pisalni mizi, gleda me, torej, kaj špricne v nekih ustih
mojih vodoravnih in tvojih navpičnih ustih
chakrabandhasana/ brezno/ ekstaza jezikovnega tkiva,
ukrivljenost telesa bruha kri
in ni te več

k meni si prišla v notranjosti moje glave
razpoka rdečega hrastovega-lupinastega semena
osnovni ganglij

penis se dvigne (cathy wagner)

rad bi, da moj jezik špricne v tebi

Iz angleškega izvirnika prevedel Iztok Osojnik

¹ Vse besede v slovenščini v kurzivi so iz pesmi Cathy Wagner, druge v francoščini pa iz pesmi Aiméja Césaira. 

11. pesniškoprevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln 2013

11. MEDNARODNA PESNIŠKO-PREVAJALSKA DELAVNICA  ZLATI ČOLN 2013 v Škocjanu na Krasu

ODMEVNOST

• Bogdan Macarol: Kosovela počasi spoznava ves svet. Primorske novice, 10. 9. 2013.  
• K. N.: Pesniško-prevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln 2013: literarno branje s predstavitvijo del udeležencev delavnice. Siol.net, 3. 9. 2013.

Abîme - filmska pesem Robina Parmarja (posneta v Škocjanu)

Abîme from Robin Parmar on Vimeo.

PROGRAM

nedelja, 1. september – prihod
19.00 – pozdravna večerja

ponedeljek, 2. spetember
9.30 – delavnica
13.00 – kosilo
15 –  tiskovna konferenca
19.00 – večerja

torek, 3. september
9.30 – delavnica
13.00 – kosilo
14.30 – izlet (Škocjanske jame)
19.00 – večerja

sreda, 4. september
9.30 – delavnica
13.00 – kosilo
15.00 – sprehod po okolici
19.00 – večerja

četrtek, 5. september
9.30 – delavnica
13.00 – kosilo
18.30 – večerja
20.00 – the golden boat reading škocjan

petek, 6. spetember
9.00 – odhod v Ljubljano
11.00 - branje v Trubarjevi hiši literature
12.30 – kosilo
17.00 – odhod iz Ljubljane
20.00 – večerja

sobota, 7. september
9.30 – pogovor o prevajanju poezije
13.00 – kosilo
15.00 – izlet v Tomaj
20.00 – poslovilna večerja

nedelja, 8. september
odhod po zajtrku

11. tradicionalna in mednarodno najuglednejša slovenska mednarodna pesniškoprevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln 2013 v Škocjanu na Krasu od 1. do 8. septembra 2013

Letošnja tradicionalna 11. mednarodna pesniškoprevajalska delavnica Zlati čoln 2013 bo potekala med 1. in 8. septembrom v Škocjanu na Krasu. Delavnico organizira Literarno društvo IA v sodelovanju s KUD Police Dubove, Turističnim društvom Škocjan, Kulturnim društvom Vilenica, KUD Monitor ZSA, KUD France Prešeren, Regionalno skupnostjo Alpe-Jadran ter z revijami/založbami Apokalipsa, Literatura in Poetikon.
Letošnji povabljenci prihajajo iz 8 držav: Andrej Hočevar, Alenka Jovanovski, Dejan Koban, Tatjana Jamnik, Kristina Hočevar (Slovenija), Fiona Sampson (Velika Britanija), Marianne Kurtto (Finska), Andrea Brady (ZDA), Robin Palmar (Irska), Dinko Telećan (Črna gora), Maciej Melecki (Poljska), Jan in Miroslava Gavura (Slovaška). Jan in Miroslava Gavura bosta poleg Stephena Wattsa (Anglija) in Cristine Vitti (Italija) tudi udeleženca letošnje pesniške rezidence Škocjan 2013. Delavnico bo povezoval Iztok Osojnik. Tudi letos bo tradicionalno izredno uspešna in mednarodno odmevna delavnica kljub poskusom razvrednotenja in oteževanju s strani javnih agencij in še naprej razvijala žive pesniško-prevajalske stike in tako uspešno in učinkovito promovirala in uveljavljala slovensko poezijo na področju svetovnega, evropskega, srednjeevropskega in slovanskega trikotnika, povezovala manjše in večje evropske literature na vzhodu in zahodu, se posvečala soorganiziranju festivalov, simpozijev, srečanj, delavnic, širjenju sodobnega literarnega vozlišča v Škocjanu in mednarodnemu uveljavljanju poezije v izvirnikih in prevodih doma in na tujem. Poskušamo povezovati starejše, mednarodno uveljavljene avtorje-prevajalce z mladimi in perspektivnimi avtorji-prevajalci, ki so se v svoji sredini (generaciji) že uveljavili, in jih lansirati v mednarodni prostor ter tako vzdrževati kontinuiteto mednarodno zanimivih pesnikov in pesnic iz Slovenije. Po drugi strani skrbimo za prevode njihovih del v tuje jezike in neposredne povezave z uveljavljenimi tujimi pesniki in prevajalci, ki so medsebojno tesno povezani in imajo odločilen vpliv, posredno ali neposredno, z literarnimi centri v tujini. S tem pomagamo uveljaviti tudi tiste avtorje, ki so v slovenskem kulturnopolitičnem strogo zamejenem in zadnje čase vse bolj ozkem prostoru zaradi njihovega odrinjenega družbenega statusa in strokovne ignorance neupravičeno marginalizirani, a so za mednarodni prostor pogosto precej bolj interesantni kot že uveljavljeni in lokalno protežirani ustvarjalci. To velja tudi za klasike. Po uspešni uveljavitvi Srečka Kosovela v Veliki Britaniji, ZDA in na Poljskem in Jureta Detele v ZDA bo kmalu sledila nova Kosovelova monografija v hrvaškem jeziku in podobna monografija prevodov pesmi Gregorja Strniše v angleški in italijanski jezik. Naj samo omenimo, da bomo tudi letos vpeljali nekaj za slovenski prostor povsem novih programov in pristopov. A o tem več na samem srečanju. Udeleženci pesniško prevajalske delavnice Zlati čoln bodo svoje delo predstavili v ponedeljek, 2. septembra, ob 15. uri na tiskovni konferenci v Škocjanu pri Divači in na dveh literarnih branjih: 5. septembra ob 20. uri v Škocjanu na Krasu in 6. septembra ob 11. uri v Trubarjevi hiši literature v Ljubljani, ter na spletnih straneh www.ia-zlaticoln.org. Vsi programi so javni. Vstop je prost.

Delavnico so deloma podprli Javna agencija za knjigo RS, Krka, d. d., Regionalni park Škocjanske jame, založba Pighog Press (Velika Britanija), FILI (Finska), gostilna pri Vncku, Literary festival Pulse (Irska), SKD Sežana, Trubarjeva hiša literature, Okarina, d. o. o., Društvo Triglav-Rysy (Poljska).