Your contributionPROJET DE GRAFFITTI SUR UN BATIMENT ABANDONÉLa spéculation est le miroir de ton calcul ¡ Oh belle ! , qui traverse la ville Pepe CanhotoThe place I foundI live here now, strange as it was at first I live here now.
High buildings dwarf me in the winding streets, I live here now.
Watching the planes through the skylight, I live here now.
Clattering on the cobbles on the way to town, I live here now.
Wintery winds and grey light through mazes you present, I live here now.
Holding hands and walking through the green, busy, park, I love here now.
Alice ReynoldsSVETLOBA PRIHAJA OD SPODAJSvetloba prihaja od spodaj, telo ob tvojem spi in ne vidi, kako preži zunaj, razbija po oknih, tiplje pod vrati, polzi iz tebe. Tvoje telo je hladno in zvito kot pregorela žička v steklenki, negibno mežika v ostrem ritmu, (predstavljaj si tak, res natančen svetilnik) zaspanim krmarjem na čezoceankah.
Svetloba prihaja od spodaj. Ni vedela, da sem kresnica, a da imam tudi dolge tipalke in gnezdo iz voska – na prstih mi piše, a ni opazila. Morda nosim v rokah karkoli že ljubi, a bolj verjetno imam le kremen in trske in ne znam z njimi, da bi bile ogenj.
Kljub temu se v spanju obrne, izreče ime in si me vzame, četudi se luč ne hrani iz luči. Nato skupaj dolgo zasoplo igrava na kožo zraka, da žari v noč s temotnim sijajem in preseva počasi v gostem polmraku njeno telo luč iz teme.
»Zaspi, zaspi nazaj,« ji šepečem, naj oslepi, nemo prosim, naj nikdar ne vidi, kaj sem v resnici, in naj ne razume, da nič, kar imam, ni zares moje, ker vse, vsa lepota, kakor svetloba, prihaja od spodaj. Anja GolobLIGHT COMES FROM BENEATHLight comes from beneath, A body sleeping next to yours does not see How it lurks from outside, bangs on windows, Feels under the door, Trickles out of you. Your body is cold and folded Like a burnt out wire in a bulb, It is motionlessly blinking in sharp rythm (imagine a really precise lighthouse of that kind) to sleepy steersmen on cruisers.
Light comes from beneath. She did not know I was a glowworm, but also had long tentacles and a wax nest – it is written on my fingertips, but she did not notice. It could be that I carry in my hands whatever it is she may love, But it is more likely I only have a flintstone and handful of dry wood And do not know how to use them to make them be fire.
For all that she rolls over in her sleep, says my name And takes me, although Light does not feed on light. Together we then Breathlessly play for a long time On the skin of the air, so That it shines into the night with sombre glow, and Slowly, in the thick dusk, it sifts through Her body, the light from the dark.
"Go back to sleep, go back to sleep," I whisper to her, may she go blind, I silently beg, may she never see what I really am, and may she never understand that nothing I have is really mine, because everything, all beauty, just as light, comes from beneath.
(translated from Slovene by Katja Šaponjić) Anja GolobObrazy predchádzajúcich dníobrazy čo zostávajú a vynárajú sa z predchádzajúcich dní
jemné nahé zimomriavky
sladké dravé zdrapnutia za bledosť sklonenej šije Patricia Stefankova
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