Ana Jelnikar, W. Martin
englisch
Prva pesem
Prva pesem govori o starem načinu
življenja. Kako so bile stvari postavljene
v začetku in kako se je vedelo, kje naj bi
se končale, ali v obrisih ponovno začele
z znanimi čustvi. A potem prične
kukavica biti večje ure, in trava rase
višje in rože cvetijo lepše in popoldanski
sprehajalci se zazirajo v prezrte barve.
Sneg je še bel, ampak bolj čist
in jasen, nebo nad strešniki še modro,
ampak modro v zlatosti odličnega
opoldneva, in pesem še vedno odmevna
v svojem zimzelenem tonu. Zvezde
pogledujejo proti nam kot presenečeni
znanci, srečani spet po tisoč letih,
in knjiga še po tisoč letih trdi svoje
in posebna reka se je splazila med
bleščeče kamne, obrušene od stare
rečnosti in pravih oblik, kot trpežna
srca posejanih po dnu njenega rokava.
Ni kak mesec, ki bi se ga dalo imenovati,
ali leto, za katero bi se vedelo, kdaj
se je začelo, so le v uho se zlivajoči
zvoki hipov, ko se ne ve za čas, kot da
bi bil ves čas preteklost, tvoj izvirni greh
je zakopan še v spanju in iz praznih
žepov še lahko potegneš prvo pesem,
ki te ponese tja. A zdaj je jasna in razločna,
le njen refren, ki si ga enkrat znal na pamet,
se spreminja, da nikoli ne ujameš besed.
Aus: Nova okna
Ljubljana: Lud Literatura, 2005
Audioproduktion: 2008 Literaturwerkstatt Berlin
First Song
First song speaks of the old way
of life. How things were set
in the beginning and how it was clear where
they should end or outlined begin again
with familiar feelings. But then the cuckoo
started to strike greater hours, and grass
grew taller and flowers blossomed more beautifully
and afternoon strollers gazed at hitherto missed colours.
Snow still white, but cleaner
and brighter, the sky above the roof tiles still blue,
but blue in the goldenness of a perfect
afternoon, and the song still resounding
in its evergreen tones. The stars cast
their glance towards us like surprised acquaintances
bumping into one another after a thousand years,
and the book sticks to its claim even after a thousand years,
and a special river has crawled between
the glittering rocks from the old riverness
polished to perfect shapes like durable
hearts tossed into its winding.
Not a month to name
nor a year to know when
it all started, only sounds of moments
poured into an ear and the time unknown
as though all time was past, your original sin
still buried in your sleep and from an empty
pocket you can pull your first song
which took you there. But it is plain and clear now,
only its chorus that you once knew by heart
keeps changing, so that you can never catch the words.