Acquedotto

I should've been born in Trieste in 1884
on the Acquedotto, but it didn't turn out that way.
I remember the three-storied reddish house,
the ground floor with its furnished living room,
my great-grandfather (my father)
nervously studying the stock market reports,
blowing cigar smoke and calculating quickly.
When I was already four months inside my great-
grandmother, there was a family council,
the result of which was the postponement
of my arrival for two generations.
The decision was written down, the sheet stuffed
into an envelope, sealed and sent to an archive in Vienna.
I remember traveling back toward the light
on my belly, and watching an old man
fussing as he measured the shelf, taking another body from the 
     shelf
and shoving it by the head down the air shaft.
I had the impression I was seven years old,
and that my substitute, my grandfather,
was a bit older, nine or ten.
I was composed. At the same time these events disturbed me.
I remember that for a time I withered,
most likely because of the strong light,
and then my lungs flattened like a bag.
When I reached the proper tonus I fell asleep.
I knew my body was down below,
and in my dream I saw it many times.
It was that of a slow-moving man with mustaches,
a dreamer and banker his whole life.

Translated by Charles Simic



Buy Yourself a Bike, Breton Guy, Buy Yourself a Bike!

Fays in the background are running short of linen.
Crumpled is also the eye of Pliny the Younger.
I live in leguminous plants as if in the castle.
I throw them away, not to burn my
bones.  Xanadu is brown up to the elbows.
Would you see it?  Would you interrogate it
if you saw it? The greatest hitchhike 
happens in the night while you sleep. 
Lord, they strip my back. They dole 
my skin among themselves, my upper-lip gets 
stronger. Always they use a clean clothes-pin,
especially for the story, asking me: after
your death will there be anybody to laugh?
Buy yourself a bike, Breton guy, buy yourself a bike!

Translated from Slovenian by Thomas Kane and the author



Cesta pomladi 

Imel sem sladka jetra. Obale do 
neba. In hupanje kamiona s 
Houston Street, mračnega.

Pleme je zrušilo torto.
Torta je zrušila seme.
Sol. Mušice. Grizem beli beli most.

Tvoje zaspano, usločeno mehko kolo.
Kot vitel, ki vleče čoln proti
zemlji, mi dviguješ, rušiš žile.

Naj steče vate, naj steče vate moj sladki sok.
Rabiš me. Če ne, me ne bi trgal. Ne bi
premikal svojega toplega

kruha, zavitega v krpe.
Sam zase si zbit, zame hrustaš.
Morje krvi ne vidi utripa svojega srca.

In prekanjen. Ampak ne veš kako
bogat. Nosi k svojemu ugrizu.
Troši. Peniš se, peniš se,

rdeča kri se razbija v bel slap.
O list mojega drevesa.
Beli ogenj moje bolečine.

Zagrabljen si,
o sin moj, zagrabljen si.
Odtekaš po poti od koder si prišel.



I Know

Last night, in the water where Barnett Newman's
line disappeared, I drowned. I swam
to the surface, like a black, dark-blue
luminous blossom. It's terrible to be
a flower. The world stopped.
Mute, like velvet, I opened, perhaps 
for good. 
Before, with Tomaž Brejc, we
talked about the mystique
of finance, about the eye, the triangle,
about God, possible readings
of chance, of Slovenian history and
destiny.
Don't touch me.
I'm the greatest capital just as I am.
I'm the water in which the
destiny of the world takes place for us.
I'm dizzy. I don't understand.
I know.
Tonight, when I made love, I
reported. I'm a black cube now,
like marble or granite-from-the-other-world,
a bird standing, with yellow
feet and an immense yellow beak, my black
feathers shining: now the eminent church
dignitary, that is:
they all wanted me, 
the blossom.
I'm the pure dark blossom
standing still on the surface.
Untouchable and untouched.
Terrifying.

Translated from the Slovenian by Christopher Merrill and the author



Jon

kako zahaja sonce?
kot sneg
kakšne barve je morje?
široko
jon si slan?
slan sem
jon si zastava?
zastava sem
vse kresnice počivajo

kakšni so kamni?
zeleni
kako se igrajo kužki?
kot mak
jon si riba?
riba sem
jon si morski ježek?
morski ježek sem
poslušaj kako šumi

jon je če teče srna skozi gozd
jon je če gledam goro kako diha
jon so vse hiše
slišiš kakšna mavrica?
kakšna je rosa?
spiš?



Jonah

how does the sun set?
like snow
what color is the sea?
large   
Jonah are you salty?
I'm salty
Jonah are you a flag?
I'm a flag
the fireflies rest now

what are stones like?
green
how do little dogs play?
like flowers
Jonah are you a fish?
I'm a fish
Jonah are you a sea urchin?
I'm a sea urchin
listen to the flow

Jonah is the roe running through the woods
Jonah is the mountain breathing
Jonah is all the houses
have you ever heard such a rainbow?
what is the dew like?
are you asleep?

Translated from the Slovenian by Elliott Anderson and the author
Published in The Four Questions of Melancholy White Pine Press, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2007, Buffalo, New York



Kupi si kolo, Bretonec, kupi si kolo!

Vilam v ozadju zmanjkuje 
perila. Sfiženo je tudi oko Plinija

mlajšega. V stročnicah živim kot v 
gradu. Mečem jih proč, da mi ne 

zasmodijo kosti. Xanadu je do 
komolcev rjav. Bi ga videli? Bi ga 

zaslišali, če bi ga videli? Največji 
štop se zgodi ponoči, ko spiš. 

Gospod, po hrbtu me slačijo, mojo
kožo si delijo, ustnica se mi krepi.

Uporabljajo vedno čisto ščipalko,
zlasti za zgodbo in me sprašujejo:

se bo po vaši smrti sploh kdo smejal?
Kupi si kolo, Bretonec, kupi si kolo!



Riba 

Jaz sem mesojedec, ampak rastlina.
Jaz sem Bog in človek v enem.
Jaz sem buba. Iz mene rase človeštvo.
Jaz imam čisto razlite možgane, kot
cvet, da lahko bolj ljubim. Včasih dam
prste vanje in so topli. Hudobni ljudje
rečejo, da se drugi ljudje v njih
utopijo. Ne. Jaz sem trebuh.
V njem sprejemam popotnike.
Jaz imam ženo, ki me ljubi.
Včasih se ustrašim, da me ona bolj
ljubi kot jaz njo in sem žalosten in
potrt. Moja žena diha kot majhen
ptiček. Njeno telo me spočije.
Moja žena se boji drugih gostov.
Rečem ji ne, ne, ne se bati.
Vsi gosti so en sam in za nas vse.
Bela vžigalica z modro glavico mi je
padla v stroj. Umazal sem si nohte.
Zdaj premišljujem, kaj naj napišem.
Tukaj živi ena soseda. Njeni otroci zelo
razgrajajo. Jaz sem Bog in jih pomirim.
Ob enih grem k zobozdravniku. Dr. Mena,
calle Reloj. Pozvonil bom in rekel, naj mi
izdre zob, ker preveč trpim.
Najbolj sem srečen v spanju in ko pišem.
Mojstri si me podajajo iz roke v roko.
To je potrebno. To je tako potrebno
kot za drevo, da rase. Drevo rabi zemljo.
Jaz rabim zemljo, da ne znorim.
Živel bom štiristo petdeset let.
Rezabar Tarzs živi že šesto let.
Ne vem, če je bil on v tistem belem plašču,
ker jih še ne ločim. Ko pišem, imam
drugo posteljo. Včasih se razlijem bolj kot
voda, ker voda najbolj ljubi.
Strah rani ljudi. Roža je najbolj
mehka, če daš nanjo dlan. Roža ima rada
dlan. Jaz imam rad vse. Včeraj sem 
sanjal, da se je moj oče sklonil k
Harriet. Ustrašim se drugih žensk in
zato z njimi ne spim. Ampak razdalja med
Bogom in mladimi ljudmi je majhna.
V Bogu je vedno ena sama ženska, in to je
moja žena. Ne bojim se, da bi me gostje
raztrgali. Jaz lahko dam vse, pa še zrase.
Bolj ko dajem, bolj rase. Potem odplava
kot pomoč za druga bitja. Na enem planetu je
zbirni center za moje meso. Ne vem na
katerem. Kdorkoli bo spil kaj od tega, bo
srečen. Jaz sem cevka. Jaz sem Bog, ker
ljubim. Vse temno imam tu, not, nič
zunaj. Vsako žival lahko presvetlim.
Kruli mi. Kadar slišim sokove v svojem
telesu, vem, da sem v milosti. Jaz bi moral
noč in dan požirati denar, če bi hotel
zgraditi svoje življenje, pa še ne bi
pomagalo. Jaz sem ustvarjen za to, da
sijem. Denar je smrt. Na teraso grem.
Od tam vidim vso pokrajino, do Dolores
Hidalga. Toplo in mehko je kot v Toskani,
pa ni Toskana. Tam z Metko sediva in
gledava. Sonce zaide in še sediva in
gledava. Ona ima roke kot šakti. Jaz imam
gobec kot egipčanska žival. Ljubezen je
vse. Mojzesova košara se ni nikoli
razbila na skalah. Iz ravne pokrajine
hodijo majhni konjički. Od Sierre piha
veter. Jaz grem ljudem v usta z glavo
naprej in jih ubijem in rodim,
ubijem in rodim, ker pišem.



Spring Street

I had a sweet liver. Coasts to the sky.
Honking of the truck on Houston street,
the dark one.

The tribe demolished the layer cake.
The layer cake destroyed the seed.
Salt. Midgets. I bite your white white bridge.

Your sleepy, softly turning wheel.
As a winch pulling a boat to earth, 
you lift, you wreck my veins.

Let it flow into you, let it flow into you, my sweet juice.
You need me. If not, you wouldn't tear me apart.
You wouldn't move your warm 

bread, wrapped in rags.
For you yourself are pinned together, for me you crunch.
The sea of blood is not aware of the heat of your heart.

And cunning. But you don't know how
rich. Carried toward your bite-mark.
Spend. You froth, you froth,

red blood breaks into a waterfall.
O leaf of my tree,
white fire of my grief.

You are seized, my son, you are seized.
You flow away on the path 
from which you came.              

Translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman and the author


          
The Fish

I am a carnivore, but a plant.
I am God and man in one.
I’m a chrysalis. Mankind grows out of me.
My brain is liquefied like
a flower, so I can love better. Sometimes I dip
my fingers in it and it’s warm. Nasty people
say others have drowned
in it. Not true. I am a belly.
I put up travelers in it.
I have a wife who loves me.
Sometimes I’m afraid she loves me
more than I love her and I get sad and
depressed. My wife breathes like a small
bird. Her body soothes me.
My wife is afraid of other guests.
I say to her, now, now, don’t be afraid.
All our guests are a single being, for both of us.
A white match with a blue head has fallen into my
typewriter. My nails are all dirty. 
I’m thinking hard now what to write.
One of my neighbors has terribly noisy 
children. I am God, I calm them down.
At one I’m going to the dentist, Dr. Mena, 
Calle Reloj. I’ll ring the bell and ask him
to pull my tooth, because it hurts too much.
I’m happiest in my sleep and when I write.
The masters pass me along from hand to hand.
That’s essential. It’s just as essential as
growing is for trees. A tree needs earth.
I need earth so I won’t go mad.
I’ll live four hundred and fifty years.
Tarzs Rebazar has been alive six hundred.
I don’t know if that was him in the white coat,
I still can’t make them out. When I write I have
a different bed. Sometimes I start pouring out more like
water, because water is most loving of all.
Fear injures people. A flower is softest
if you close your hand around it. Flowers like 
hands. I like everything. Last night I
dreamed my father leaned across toward
Harriet. Other women frighten me, and 
so I don’t sleep with them. But the distance between
God and young people is slight.
There’s always just a single woman in God, and that’s
my wife. I’m not afraid of my guests tearing 
me apart. I can give them anything, it will just grow back.
The more I give, the more it grows back. Then it launches off
as a source of help for other creatures. On some planet
there’s a central storehouse for my flesh. I don’t know
which one it’s on. Whoever drinks it will 
be happy. I’m a water hose. I’m God because
I love. Everything dark in here, inside, nothing
outside. I can X-ray any creature.
I’m rumbling. When I hear the juices in my
body, I know I’m in a state of grace. I would have to
consume money day and night if I wanted to
build a life, and still it wouldn’t help. I was made to
shine. Money is death. I’ll go out on the terrace.
From there I can see the whole countryside as far as Dolores
Hidalgo. It’s warm and soft as Tuscany,
though is not Tuscany. Metka and I sit there,
watching. Her hands are like Shakti’s. My
mouth is like some Egyptian beast’s. Love is
all. Moses’s wicker basket never
struck the rocks. Miniature horses come
trotting out of the level countryside. A wind blows
from the Sierras. I slide headfirst into people’s
mouths and kill and give birth,
kill and give birth, because I write.

Translated from the Slovenian by Michael Biggins



Vem

Včeraj zvečer me je tam, kjer je
poniknila črta Barnetta Newmana,
potopilo v vodo. Na gladino sem 
priplaval kot črn, temno moder
svetleč cvet. Strašno je biti
roža. Svet je obstal. Nemo sem se
odprl, žametno, verjetno
dokončno. S Tomažem Brejcem sva se 
pred tem pogovarjala o mistiki
finančne mase, o očesu, o trikotniku, 
o Bogu. O možnosti branj, o 
šansi, o slovenski zgodovini in 
usodi.
Ne dotikajte se me.
Tak kot sem, sem največji kapital.
Jaz sem voda, ki se v njej
usoda sveta dogaja za nas.
Omotičen sem. Ničesar ne razumem.
Vem.
Ponoči, ko sem ljubil, sem
poročal. Zdaj sem črn kubus, podoben
marmorju ali granitu z drugega sveta,
ptič, ki stoji z rumenimi nogami,
z ogromnim rumenim kljunim, ki se mi
črno perje blešči, zdaj visoki 
cerkveni dostojanstvenik, to je:
vsi so hoteli navaliti name, na 
cvet.
Čist temen cvet sem, ki
miruje na gladini.
Nedotakljiv in nedotaknjen.
Strašen.