Mary Kathryn Dunn 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 5 poems translated

from: esloveno to: inglês

Original

Translation

Vrnitve

esloveno | Robert Simonišek

Včasih je treba rezati Atlantik,
drugič Tihi ocean, kakšno leto le potoke.
Vračamo se od vsepovsod,
obujamo minule in med premori,
ki odpočijejo vid, mislimo na manjkajoče,
ki šepetajo onstran fresk.

Plamen raste, veter odmika krošnje
in ptice se vdajo večeru.
Kadar potrka neznanec,
mirujejo višine, mirujeta politično
in versko prepričanje,
čeprav nekdo za vrati sumi,
da gre za poganski shod.

Vsi apostoli različni po višini glasu,
en obraz, roka, ki jemlje z dolge mize,
vsako leto bolj preudarno,
med škrebljanjem obrabljenega pribora,
praznino nedoseženih dejanj
in tistim, kar prihaja.

Ko se utrnejo pomeni,
se pritajijo viharji izgnanstev,
ki so nekoč razmaknili oblake,
sneli nedelje s tečajev zguljenih vrat
in je neslišen pozdrav ženskega krila,
prhutal skozi pomladi,
drvel proti ciljem s hitrostjo kometa,
ki ne pozna vrnitve.

Nagibamo se k svetlemu jedru,
poravnamo brvi, ki nas ločene vodijo
čez zime, čez kalne vode.

© Robert Simonišek
from: Selitve
Ljubljana: LUD Literatura, 2013
ISBN: 978-961-6717-87-8
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

Returns

inglês

Sometimes one must dissect the Atlantic,
or perhaps the Pacific, at times only a stream.
We return from everywhere,
awake the past and during breaks
that rest the eyes, seek for those who are missing,
those who whisper from beyond the frescoes. 

The flame is growing, the wind dispersing the treetops
and the birds surrender to the evening.
When a stranger knocks three times
all politics, religion, philosophy leaves us unaffected
although somebody behind the door
suspects a pagan gathering. 

Apostles, their voices of various pitches,
one face, one arm, taking from the long table,
its prudence increasing with years,
amid the rasp of bruised porcelain,
the emptiness of incomplete chapters
and that which is coming. 

When the meanings pour in
the thunderstorms of exiles withdraw
they once separeted our clouds,
took down Sundays from their rusty hinges
and the inaudible greeting of a woman's skirt
fluttered through the spring,
rushing towards the end like a comet
with no return.
 
We are leaning towards the bright core,
aligning the footbridges, leading us separated
through the winters, over troubled waters.

Translated by the author, Katarina Rakušček and Mary Kathryn Dunn

Žiče

esloveno | Robert Simonišek

Ko poletna vročina narašča,
se dolina približa kakor košuta;
sluti, da bi lahko prestregla oko
kateregakoli kraja,
ki ne ustreza zahtevni pesniški
naravi in muhastemu razpoloženju.

Kot marsikomu mi ugajajo steze,
ki se vzpenjajo do miru.
Brez oklevanja bi lahko prespal
pod razbitimi gotskimi okni,
kakor bodo nocojšnji obiskovalci.

Kot mnogi srečni in tihi,
ki so se iz prašnih razlogov
znašli za nizkimi zidovi kartuzije,
bi se tudi jaz lahko spočil.
Spregovorili bi o zlatih in težkih dobah,
o levih in desnih, pretvarjajoč se,
da med ognjem in kačami ni razlik.

Sveti kraji so vendar že od nekdaj
priložnost za okušanje lokalnih vin,
za modrovanja o zdravilnih rastlinah
in bitnostih, ki zdrvijo po strunah razuma
in uglasijo stara imena. 

Lahko bi, vendar bom raje nadaljeval
do temne lipe, ki se oklene vsakogar,
ki je preživel vsaj dve ljubezni.
V njeni bližini se zvrti od vsakič
višjega poletja, ki teče skozi iste usode.

Ko se bom naslednjič vrnil in pazil,
da ne zdrsim med koprive,
bom sredi množice morda že zgradil
svoj samostan.

© Robert Simonišek
from: Selitve
Ljubljana: LUD Literatura, 2013
ISBN: 978-961-6717-87-8
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

Žiče

inglês

When the summer's heat is rising,
the valley approaches like a hind, suspectful
that her eye could catch any place
insufficient to the pretentious poetic
nature and whimsical mood. 

As many, I like those footpaths
that ascend towards peace.
Without any hesitatition I could spent the night
under the broken gothic windows
among this evening's visitors. 

Like many happy and quiet,
for their dusty reasons
surounded with low chartusian walls,
I could rest. 

And we could speak about zhe golden and heavy ages
about the left and the right, pretending that
there is no difference between fire and snakes. 

Because sacred places have always been
an opportunity to taste the local wines,
for pearls of wisdom about various medicinal herbs
and essences flying over the strings of mind
tuning the old names. 

I could, yet I prefer to continue
towards the dark linden clinging to anyone
who had survived at least two loves.
There is dizzines in her presence, from the increasing
summer, repeating
the same destinies. 

When I return
to be cautious not to fall into the nettles
I'm going to have my own monastery
in the middle of the crowd.


Žiče is a village in eastern Slovenia, best known for the Žiče Charterhouse, a 12th-century monastery. Because of its position and special architecture, the Žice monastery is considered one of the most unique European monasteries. 

Translated by the author, Katarina Rakušček and Mary Kathryn Dunn

Grad

esloveno | Robert Simonišek

Ni bistveno, ali sem na južni
ali na severni strani Alp.

Vedno je pot, ki sprašuje mah,
kam oblaki raznašajo vrhove,
in nihče me ne ustavi na strmem,
ne brani pred zgodbami,
ki so jih razgreli stezosledci.

Ko stopam v sredino in razruvan zid
vpija veter nad stolpom, molčim – isti in drug.
Kamen grabi kamen, ki zlagoma izgineva
k temeljem, v kleti, ki ne prepuščajo
netopirjev.

Žarki razgrnejo bršljan med sivine,
ki se mečujejo s sencami bojevnikov,
in skozi stopnišča, ki jih stoletja
ne bodo zmogla preteči, lijejo
sopeče silhuete ljubimcev. 

Ni bistveno, ali sem na vzhodni
ali na zahodni strani Alp.

Ko se ponovno oddaljujem,
me ne dosega raskavi zven njegove samote,
ki se lahko ljubi edino z zrakom.

Preden lahko zaspim,
pred seboj izgovarjam nove doline,
kilometre luči in obljube,
ki jih je potrebno izpolniti.

© Robert Simonišek
from: Selitve
Ljubljana: LUD Literatura, 2013
ISBN: 978-961-6717-87-8
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

Castle

inglês

It's not essential whether I'm on the southern
or on the northern side of the Alps. 

There is always a path asking the moss
where clouds dispersed the peaks
and nobody stops me on the slope,
nobody warns me about the stories
that the pathfinders have warmed up 

When I step into the middle and the wrecked wall
absorbs the wind over the tower,
I'm silent – the same and another.
Stone grabs stone that slowly fades
to foundations, into basements,
impermeable to bats. 

Rays unfolding ivy among shades of grey
that combat the warrior's shadows
and through the staircases that centuries
won't be able to pass, the gasping
pour the silhouettes of lovers.
It's not essential whether I'm on the eastern
or on the western side of the Alps. 

When I fade again
the rough sound of his solitude
that can make love only with the air
does not reach me. 

Before me, I am voicing new valleys
miles of lights and promises to fulfill—
before I can fall asleep.

Translated by the author, Katarina Rakušček and Mary Kathryn Dunn

Nova Luna

esloveno | Robert Simonišek

Skozi provincialno mestno jedro
si mršči lase latino glasba,
z vseh strani ograjena
v zbor visokih gozdov.
Beli zobje se nasmihajo,
omotični razum odlaša poteze.
Večer je razpet nad pričakovanji.

Češnje tipajo majsko bistvo
in zrak preceja vse,
česar nismo znali ubesediti
v načinih dnevne svetlobe,
priprti med urinim kazalcem
in praznimi ulicami.

Temni baker s streh se zliva
čez dišeča lica in obrabljene oči.
Za zaprtimi vrati hrama
mežikajo starodavne prerokbe.

Tudi nocoj veter orje krošnje
in vrača odmeve vedno istih imen,
ki potrebujejo naš glas.
Si upamo priznati, da nas edino koža
odveže od zemlje in zaustavi čas?

Hiša, v katero sem vstopil, ima pet sob.
Vse bele plujejo proti oranžni gmoti,
ki je ne motijo moje navade.

Nekaj časa bom še sedel na verandi
in se poslušal. Nato se bom spustil
skozi vrt, v še en običajen večer.
Pazil bom, da ne bi zmotil roba
med mano in polno luno. 

© Robert Simonišek
from: Selitve
Ljubljana: LUD Literatura, 2013
ISBN: 978-961-6717-87-8
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

New Moon

inglês

Through the provincial town
a latino music tousles his hair
everywhere surounded
with the high forests chorus.
The smiles of white teeth,
a dazed mind with delayed moves.
The evening stretched beyond expectations. 

Cherries touching the essence of May
and through the air strains all of that,
which remained unvoiced
in daylight's ways
ajar between the clock pointer
and the empty streets. 

Dark copper pours from the roofs,
over the fragrant cheeks and closed eyes
behind the doors of the Lord's house
blink the ancient prophecies. 

Tonight the wind still ploughs the treetops
buries echoes of the same names
who need our voices.
Do we dare to admit that only the skin
relases us from the earth
and apeases time? 

The house I entered has five rooms.
All whites sail towards the orange mass
that doesn't interfere with my habit. 

For a while I will sit on the porch
and listen to myself. Then I'll go down
through the garden into another usual evening,
carefully, not to interrupt the edge
between me and the full moon.

Translated by the author, Katarina Rakušček and Mary Kathryn Dunn

Hiša

esloveno | Robert Simonišek

Rad bi se ustavil tukaj, 
morda le za nekaj mesecev, 
morda le za nekaj zim.

Življenja so manj predvidljiva
od časopisnih stolpcev, ki stojijo
na istih mestih kot včeraj,
karikatur, omamljenih od moči,
svetlejša so od najtanjšega kozarca, 
ki poleti proti tlom in razpade,
preden utegnemo zadržati odločitve.

Ne moti me, če se keramika ne blešči, 
če se tečaji vrat oglašajo zateglo 
in okna ne tesnijo ostrega zraka, 
ki ponoči grize spalnico.

Rad bi zbral misli pod temi stropi, 
prisluhnil variacijam odmeva, 
se vrnil po dolgem hodniku
in se preslikal v jesensko pokrajino.

Vsa zbledela življenja so bila 
obotavljiva sklepanja sporazumov, 
včasih na nevarnih krajih, 
včasih v sprevodu zaveznikov.

Naj se bele stene vzpenjajo visoko
in spočijejo kretnje, 
ki so se naveličale pločnikov, 
naj dolgo sedim ob plamenu, 
ki za mojim hrbtom riše prikazni.

Rad bi se ustavil tukaj 
in strgan potni list predal času. 
Potem bom zaklenil vhodna vrata 
in odšel dalje z istim razlogom, 
preden bo noč dosegla živo mejo.

© Robert Simonišek
from: Selitve
LUD Literatura, 2013
ISBN: 978-961-6717-87-8
Audio production: LUD Literatura, 2014

House

inglês

I would like to stop here,
perhaps only for a few months,
maybe for a few winters. 

Life is less predictable
than newspaper columns, their
position unchanged since yesterday
caricatures sedated with power.
Life is brighter than the thinnest glass,
which flies to the ground and dashes
before we delay our decisions. 

I do not mind if the ceramics are dull
if the door hinges voice their creeks
and the windows leak sharp air,
gnawing the bedroom at night. 

I want to gather thoughts under these ceilings,
listen to the echo's variations,
return through a long corridor
and imprint myself into an autumn landscape. 

All faded lives were
hesitant to make agreements
sometimes in dangerous places,
sometimes in the procession of good wizards. 

Let the white walls rise high
and rest their gestures
tired of sidewalks,
let me sit by the flame,
drawing spirits behind my back. 

I would like to stop here,
hand over my torn passport to time.
Then I will lock the front door,
carry on with the same reason,
before the night reaches the hedge.

Translated by the author, Katarina Rakušček and Mary Kathryn Dunn