Robin Parmar 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 4 poems translated

from: esloveno to: inglés

Original

Translation

Poklicanost

esloveno | Andrej Hočevar

Skozi dan se kotali
velika prozorna krogla
in izkrivlja zrak.

Tod mimo so nekoč šle krave;
odtrgale so del prostora,
da bi ga odnesle drugam;

zdaj so prazna mesta
naselili ptiči, ki švigajoč
krpajo prostor.

Toplota se opoteka
in še zadnjič zajame sapo,
preden potone.

Kar je bilo izbrano,
žari v vrhovih smrek,
vse ostalo

se brez besed
postavlja
v vrsto.

© Andrej Hočevar
from: Leto brez idej
Ljubljana: LUD Šerpa, 2011
ISBN: 978-961-6699-24-2
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

(On) being summoned

inglés

A big translucent ball
rolls through the day
contorting the air.

Once, cows passed this way,
tearing off pieces of space
to take elsewhere.

The vacant lots
are now inhabited by birds,
stitching zigzag space.

The heat wavers
and takes one last breath
before sinking.

The chosen glitters
on top of the spurs.

Everything else,
silently,
waits its turn.

Translated by Andrej Hočevar and Robin Parmar

Moški pri tridesetih

esloveno | Andrej Hočevar

1

Moški, ki bomo pri štiridesetih kupovali nove
teniške loparje, posebne gramofonske igle in prve
vozovnice za Indijo, si pri tridesetih zavezujemo copate

za tek in izginjamo v svetlobo zgodnjega večera. 
Nekdo, ki ga vedno znova zapuščamo, 
nas vedno znova pričaka doma, kamor se vrnemo

nespremenjeni, četudi potni in močnejši. Svet okoli
sebe najbolje dojemamo s hitrostjo tekača.
Telesa nam še dovoljujejo, da nismo nikoli

pri miru, zato vrztrajamo pri prepričanju, da
vse, kar miruje, ostaja mimobežno in brez volje,
in vse, kar se premika, v sebi samozadostno počiva.

Moški pri tridesetih se počutimo kot fantje 
iz višjih razredov – večji le za eno glavo, 
le za spoznanje bolj hrabri in zato bolj dostopni

kot naši očetje, ki so nekoč davno prestopili mejo,
preskočili našo starost in nam odrekli primerljivost –, 
zato v trenutkih miru nehamo verjeti v napredek,

ki ga bomo čez deset let ponovno slavili:
nekaj nam bo odrekalo veselje ob zasluženih dosežkih
in začeli bomo iskati nove vzornike,

ob katerih naši cilji ne bi bili videti tako plehki.

2

Moški pri tridesetih ne vemo, kaj mislijo ženske
pri tridesetih, čeprav si jih radovedno ogledujemo.
Ne vemo, kaj počnejo ženske pri tridesetih,

ki bodo pri štiridesetih še vedno stale v svojih
nekdanjih, za nas novih telesih, a ne bodo
imele časa, da bi to opazile. Takrat bodo potrebovale

moške, ki pri tridesetih o tem ne vemo še ničesar,
kar ne pomeni, da bomo moški pri štiridesetih
bolj dojemljivi za lepoto opuščenih ciljev.

Ženske pri tridesetih, ki bodo pri štiridesetih
ponovno pogledale k nam z očmi naših otrok,
nas bodo mogoče izzvale, naj jih tudi mi pogledamo

z otroškimi očmi izpred desetih let. Zato moramo
ohranjati dobro telesno formo in se oklepati 
prepričanja, da si bomo vedno zvesti, če bomo 

le dovolj hitro tekli, da bi prehiteli pogled 
na obrano trto, sveže konjske fige in druge neznosne 
trenutke, v katerih je treba oceniti zadnjo letino –

moški pri tridesetih preprosto še ne vemo,
da potrebujemo ženske pri tridesetih
zato, ker brez njih ni življenja,

ki bi nam prizaneslo.

© Andrej Hočevar
from: (unpublished)
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

Men in their Thirties

inglés

1

We men who will in our forties buy new
tennis rackets special turntable needles and our first
tickets to India are now in our thirties tying sneakers

disappearing into the light of early evening
that person we leave again and again
keeps waiting for us at home to where we return

unchanged full of sweat and strength we understand
the world around us best at the speed of running
our bodies (still) allow us to never be

(still) so we cling to the belief that everything
at a stand (still) remains but fleeting without will
and everything moving self-sufficiently finds repose in itself

we men in our thirties feel like boys
from upper grades taller by a hair
only slightly tougher more accessible

than our fathers who once long ago stepped over the line
skipped our age and denied any possibility of comparison
so in moments of peace we stop believing in progress

in ten years time we’ll start again
something will negate the joys of our hard-won success
we’ll look for new role models

compared to which our goals won’t seem so vain

2

We men in our thirties have no clue what women think
in their thirties though we eye them with curiosity
nor do we have any clue what women in their thirties do

women who in their forties will still stand firmly
rooted in their bodies always so fresh to us
but they’re too busy to notice they’re going to need
 
us men who in our thirties know nothing about such things
though even as men in our forties we won’t be
increasingly susceptible to the beauty of abandoned goals

women in their thirties who in their forties
will regard us now with the eyes of our children
challenge us to regard them likewise

with our childish eyes ten years past
for this we must keep in shape believe we’ll be true
if only we can run fast enough to out-

strip the harvested vine fresh horse apples
and other unbearable fruits of the harvest

we men in our thirties are simply not yet
aware that we need women in their thirties
for without them no future life

will spare us

Translated by the author and Robin Parmar

Imaš dvajsetaka?

esloveno | Andrej Hočevar

Zagrabi me še kar huda lakota in nekaj
idejam podobnega. Odprto okno in nobenih
glasov. Pospravljeni premiki, potrpežljivi
sosedje. In tvoja stopala. Tvoja lepa stopala.
Leva in desna družina, deset prstov
z rdečimi nohti. Zdaj pa vsi skupaj pojdite lepo
na tržnico! Ali pa kam drugam, kjer sta telo in volja
zadovoljno razdružena. Zakaj tako skrivaš žlebove,
po katerih bi se lahko mirno razlil kot spanec
brez sanj po kosilu? Nebo zrcali travnik,
popackan z ovcami. Ne potrebuje pravih
rešitev. Korak, ki ni zadnji, ne potrebuje
pravih rešitev. In prave rešitve prav gotovo
ne potrebujejo mene. Dotakniti se me hočejo
nabrekle prsi. Dišijo in se stegujejo. Ne vem več,
kaj so razlike. Grizem. Hodim. Sonce
s svojo leseno žlico z mene pobira smetano.
Slačim si hribe, slačim si doline. Slačim
tvoje zobe. Ves pasji sem. Smejim se z rokami
in pišem z repom. Maham. Spet sem nasedel
zgodbi očaranega pesnika, kako se srečata
ljubezen in zanimanje za stvari, ki se te ne tičejo:
pesniki strmijo v daljavo in vidijo,
kako se po cesti vozijo borovnice.
Ko me bo pot prekucnila, bom hodil
še po drugi strani. V travo plane
čudovita podoba – to ni osamljenost,
a jo trgam kot zrele, sočne sadeže.

© Andrej Hočevar
from: Leto brez idej
Ljubljana: LUD Šerpa, 2011
ISBN: 978-961-6699-24-2
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

You got a tenner?

inglés

Suddenly a rather intense hunger grabs me
along with something akin to an idea. An open window
and no voices. Movements are stored away;
the neighbours are patient. And your feet.
Your lovely feet. The left and right families:
ten toes with red nails. Off you go! Go visit
the farmers’ market! Or some other place,
where body and mind are happily unbound.
Why hide the gullies into which I could easily spill
like a dreamless sleep after lunch? The sky mirrors
the meadow, blotted with sheep. It needs no right
solutions. A step that’s not final needs no
right solutions. And the right solutions most certainly
don’t need me. Voluptuous breasts want to
touch me. They’re fragrantly stretching out
towards me. I don’t know what differences
mean anymore. I’m biting. I’m pacing. The sun’s
skimming the cream off me with its wooden spoon.
I’m undressing mountains, undressing valleys.
Undressing your teeth. I’m all doggish. I laugh
with my hands and write with my tail. I’m waving.
Once again, I fell prey to the tale of the
awestricken poet—how love and interest
for things that don’t concern you suddenly meet.
The poets stare into the distance and see
blueberries driving down the street.
When the world trips me over, I’ll walk
on the other side, too. A beautiful image
pounces into the grass—though it’s not loneliness,
I gather it like ripe, juicy fruit.

Translated by the author and Robin Parmar

Na pol poti

esloveno | Andrej Hočevar

Hiše, v katerih ne živim več,
so slečene do spodnjega perila.
Drevesa zardevajo, ker nimajo ust,
iz katerih bi se lahko razlila preteklost.
Mesto se je že zvečer spustilo
nekaj nadstropij niže.
Obdajajoči prostor me zmanjšuje
z vsako idejo, ki vanj poskuša vstopiti.
Srajca se me oprijema otročje in mehko.
Ravno prava mera dobrega
te zaduši, skozi tvoja ušesa
od znotraj porine svoje kremplje,
nevajene svetlobe. Nobenih
napovedi ni bilo, in v tem so
se uresničile. Veliko vidnega ostane
videnega. Ne potrebujem več
časa, ampak nekaj vseeno hočem
narediti. Nekaj povedati
in v izrečenem dobiti zaveznika.
Dokler bom zapuščal, bom živ.

© Andrej Hočevar
from: Leto brez idej
Ljubljana: LUD Šerpa, 2011
ISBN: 978-961-6699-24-2
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

Halfway there

inglés

Houses I don’t inhabit anymore
are stripped to their underwear.
The trees blush,
for lack of a mouth
to pour out the past.
By evening, the city has
sunken a few floors.
The surrounding space makes me smaller
with every idea trying to enter it.
My shirt’s fit is childlike and soft.
Just the right amount of good
will suffocate you, thrusting through your ears
its claws, unaccustomed to light.
Precisely that there were no predictions
made them come true. Much of what can be
seen remains seen. I don’t need more
time, but I want something
to do. Something to say
and to make an ally out of it.
As long as I’ll always be leaving, I’ll live.

Translated by the author and Robin Parmar