Geoff Page

الانجليزية

Teja Pribac

السلوفانية

The Carnivore

Sitting down before my steak
(rump, inch-thick, done medium-rare
with baked potatoes in their jackets,
sautéed mushrooms, soft in butter,
sour cream in the split potato,
and just a splash of salad)
I have the arguments lined up
I’m just another animal,
a predator, like many others,
perched here on the food-chain somewhere,
up towards the top, it’s true,
but sharks and cheetahs, lions and crocs
can dine on me if I get careless.
The herbivores are born for slaughter
out there on the wide savannahs
whirling in a sudden pool
as lions trim off the weakest.
We raise them slowly to their fate,
these ruminants who suit our palate.
Without us they would not exist.
And yet as I arrange my silver
and straighten up a napkin,
I hear the sound of panicked hooves
slipping on the shit and concrete,
a long, dark moaning in the crush,
the sigh the hammer-gun releases
entering the skull.
And somewhere too I know all this
may one day be remote
as selling slaves or cooking cousins.
And yet, tonight, it tastes so good.
The salad now has done its work.
A waiter bows
and takes away the blood.

© Geoff Page
من: Agnostic Skies
Melbourne: Five Islands Press, 2006
الإنتاج المسموع: 2005, M.Mechner / Literaturwerkstatt Berlin

Mesojedec

Sedim pred svojim zrezkom
(stegno, centimeter debelo, srednje popečeno
z neolupljenim krompirjem iz pečice,
rahlo ocvrtimi gobami, mehkimi v maslu,
kislo smetano v razpoki krompirja
ter le za pest solate)
in teme se zbirajo,
le še ena žival sem,
ropaželjno bitje kot mnogi drugi,
postavljen v  prehranjevalno verigo nekam
proti vrhu, res je,
toda morski psi in gepardi, levi in krokodili
bi me lahko, če ne bi bil previden, imeli za kosilo.
Rastlinojedci so ustvarjeni za klanje
v divjih savanah,
drvijo v nenadnem krogu,
ko levi lupijo šibkejše.
Počasi jih vzgajamo k njihovi usodi,
ti prežvekovalci, ki prijajo okusu.
Brez nas bi ne obstajali.
Pa vendar, ko zlagam svoj srebrni pribor
in si ravnam prtiček,
zaslišim zvok preplašenega goveda,
ki zdrsne na dreku in cementu,
dolgo, mrko ječanje v oboru,
vzdihljaj pištola se sproži,
vstopi v lobanjo.
In vem, nekje bo tudi to
nekoč morda preteklost,
kot je prodaja sužnjev ali kuhanje bratrancev.
Toda nocoj ima tako dober okus.
Solata je naredila svoje.
Natakar se prikloni
in odnese kri.

Iz nemščine prevedla Teja Pribac