Peter Milcak 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 2 poems translated

from: английский to: словацкий

Original

Translation

Poker

английский | Matthew Sweeney

There were five of us playing that night,
Padge, Kieran, Neal and me –
and, stretched out in his coffin, Uncle Charlie.
We dealt him a hand each time
and took it in turns to bet for him,
waiving his losses, pooling his wins,
for what good were coins to him?
What could he win but his life?
Still, five of us played that night
and when we stopped it was daylight.
We left the cards with him
to remind him, forever, of that game
and Padge, Kieran, Neal and me
went up the road to our beds
and slept until we buried him,
then played until we had to agree
the good hands had gone with Uncle Charlie.

© Matthew Sweeney & Jonathan Cape
from: Selected Poems
London : Jonathan Cape, 2002
Audio production: 2006, M.Mechner / Literaturwerkstatt Berlin

Poker

словацкий

V tú noc sme hrali piati,

Padge, Kieran, Neal i ja –

a, natiahnutý vo svojej truhle, strýko Charlie.

Zakaždým sme mu rozdali

a striedavo sme zaň vsádzali,

nechávali mu, čo prehral, a delili si jeho výhry,

veď načo mu už boli mince?

Čo ešte mohol vyhrať okrem života?

Teda, v tú noc sme hrali piati,

a keď sme skončili, bol už deň.

Nechali sme mu karty,

aby mu navždy pripomínali tú hru,

a Padge, Kieran, Neal a ja

sme sa šli uložiť do postelí

a spali, kým sme ho nepochovali,

a potom znovu hrali, až sme muesli priznať,

že ruky majstra odišli so strýkom Charliem.

Preložil Peter Milcak

The Hat

английский | Matthew Sweeney

A green hat is blowing through Harvard Square
and no one is trying to catch it.
Whoever has lost it has given up –
perhaps, because his wife was cheating,
he took it off and threw it like a frisbee,
trying to decapitate a statue
of a woman in her middle years
who doesn’t look anything like his wife.
This wind wouldn’t lift the hat alone,
and any man would be glad to keep it.
I can imagine – as it tumbles along,
gusting past cars, people, lampposts –
it sitting above a dark green suit.
The face between them would be bearded
and not unhealthy, yet. The eyes
would be green, too – an all green man
thinking of his wife in another bed,
these thoughts all through the green hat,
like garlic in the pores, and no one,
no one pouncing on the hat to put it on.

© Matthew Sweeney & Jonathan Cape
from: Selected Poems
London : Jonathan Cape, 2002
Audio production: 2006, M.Mechner / Literaturwerkstatt Berlin

Klobúk

словацкий

Zelený klobúk vietor ženie po Harvard Square

a nikto sa ho nepokúša chytiť.

Ktokoľvek ho stratil, vzdal sa ho –

azda preto, že mu bola žena nevemá,

zložil ho a odhodil ako lietajúci tanier

s cieľom podťať sochu

ženy v stredných rokoch,

ktorá sa však na jeho ženu vôbec nepodobá.

Tento vietor by sám klobúk nezdvihol

a nijaký muž by si ho neponechal rád.

Viem si predstaviť – zatiaľ čo padá

a miňa autá, ľudí, stĺpy –

ako sedí nad tmavozeleným oblekom.

Tvár medzi nimi by mala bradu

a ešte by nevyzerala nezdravo. Aj oči

by boli zelené – celý zelený je muž,

čo myslí na svoju ženu v cudzej posteli,

jeho myšlienky prerastajú zeleným klobúkom

ako cesnak škárami a nikto,

nik sa za klobúkom nevrhne a nenasadí si ho.    

Preložil Peter Milcak