Poem
Tomaž Šalamun
RED FLOWERS
Red flowers grow in the sky, there’s a shadow in the garden.The light penetrates, there's no light to be seen.
How then can the shadow be seen, there’s a shadow in the garden,
all around big white stones lie scattered, we can sit on them.
The hills around are just like the hills on earth, only lower.
They look perfectly tender. I think we, too, are perfectly light,
we hardly touch the ground. When I take a step,
it seems the red flowers draw back a little.
The air is fragrant, both cool and burning. New beings
draw closer, some invisible hand smoothly placing them in the grass.
They are beautiful and quiet. We are all here together.
Some of them, swimming toward this place,
are turned around and cut off.
They disappear, we can’t see them anymore, they groan.
Now my body feels as if it’s in a fiery tunnel,
it rises like dough, drizzles apart in the stars.
There is no sex in heaven, I feel no hands,
but all things and beings are perfectly joined.
They rush apart only to become even more united.
Colors evaporate, all sounds are like a sponge in the eyes.
Now I know, sometimes I was a rooster, sometimes a roe.
I know I had bullets in my body, they crumble away now.
How beautifully I breathe.
I feel I’m being ironed, it doesn’t burn at all.
© Translation: 1988, Anselm Hollo and Tomaž Šalamun
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: Ecco Press, New York, 1988
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: Ecco Press, New York, 1988
RODE BLOEMEN
in de hemel groeien rode bloemen, over de tuin valt een schaduwhet licht komt van overal, de zon is niet te zien
ik weet niet hoe er een schaduw over de tuin kan vallen, op het gras ligt dauw
om me heen liggen witte stenen waarop je kunt zitten
de heuvels om me heen zijn als die op aarde
alleen lager en zo te zien van heel lichte grond
ik denk dat wij ook heel licht zijn en nauwelijks de grond raken
als ik loop is het alsof de rode bloemen iets voor me terugwijken
de lucht lijkt te ademen, lijkt verschrikkelijk koud en heet
ik zie dat er nieuwe wezens komen
alsof een onzichtbare hand ze in het gras plaatst
ze zijn allemaal mooi en vredig en we zijn allemaal samen
sommige zweven door de lucht hierheen, keren om en worden weggerukt
ze verdwijnen en we zien ze niet meer en ze schreeuwen
het lijkt alsof mijn lichaam in een vlammende tunnel is
alsof het rijst als deeg en dan in dwarrelende sterren uiteenvalt
hier in de hemel is geen seks en ik voel geen handen
maar alle dingen en wezens zijn volledig samen
ze stuiven uiteen om zich dan nog meer te verenigen
de kleuren verdampen en alle stemmen liggen als een zacht kapje op de ogen
nu weet ik dat ik soms een haan was en soms een rendier
dat er in mijn lichaam kogels zaten die nu verpulveren
en wat adem ik heerlijk
het voelt alsof een strijkijzer me strijkt en me niet schroeit
© Vertaling: 2012, Roel Schuyt
Rdeče rože
rdeče rože rasejo v nebesih, senca je na vrtuluč prodira od povsod, sonca se ne vidi
ne vem kako da je potem senca na vrtu, rosa je v travi
okrog so posuti veliki beli kamni da se na njih lahko sedi
hribi okrog so taki kot na zemlji
samo da so nižji in da so videti čisto prhki
mislim da smo tudi mi čisto lahki in da se komaj dotikamo tal
če hodim se mi zdi da se rdeče rože malo umaknejo pred mano
zdi se mi da zrak diši, da je strašno hladen in žgoč
vidim da prihajajo nova bitja
kot da jih nevidna roka polaga v travo
vsa so lepa in mirna in vsi smo skupaj
nekatere ki plavajo sem v zraku zavrti in jih odtrga
zginejo in jih ne vidimo več in ječijo
zdi se mi da je moje telo v žarečem tunelu
da vzhaja kot testo in potem prši narazen v zvezde
tukaj v nebesih ni seksa ne čutim rok
ampak so vse stvari in bitja popolnoma skupaj
in drvijo narazen da se še bolj združijo
barve hlapijo in vsi glasovi so kot mehka kepa na očeh
zdaj vem da sem bil včasih petelin in včasih srna
da sem imel krogle v telesu ki jih zdaj drobi
kako lepo diham
imam občutek da me lika likalnik in da me nič ne peče
© 1971, Tomaž Šalamun
From: Bela Itaka
Publisher: DZS, Ljubljana
From: Bela Itaka
Publisher: DZS, Ljubljana
Poems
Poems of Tomaž Šalamun
Close
RED FLOWERS
Red flowers grow in the sky, there’s a shadow in the garden.The light penetrates, there's no light to be seen.
How then can the shadow be seen, there’s a shadow in the garden,
all around big white stones lie scattered, we can sit on them.
The hills around are just like the hills on earth, only lower.
They look perfectly tender. I think we, too, are perfectly light,
we hardly touch the ground. When I take a step,
it seems the red flowers draw back a little.
The air is fragrant, both cool and burning. New beings
draw closer, some invisible hand smoothly placing them in the grass.
They are beautiful and quiet. We are all here together.
Some of them, swimming toward this place,
are turned around and cut off.
They disappear, we can’t see them anymore, they groan.
Now my body feels as if it’s in a fiery tunnel,
it rises like dough, drizzles apart in the stars.
There is no sex in heaven, I feel no hands,
but all things and beings are perfectly joined.
They rush apart only to become even more united.
Colors evaporate, all sounds are like a sponge in the eyes.
Now I know, sometimes I was a rooster, sometimes a roe.
I know I had bullets in my body, they crumble away now.
How beautifully I breathe.
I feel I’m being ironed, it doesn’t burn at all.
© 1988, Anselm Hollo and Tomaž Šalamun
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: 1988, Ecco Press, New York
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: 1988, Ecco Press, New York
RED FLOWERS
Red flowers grow in the sky, there’s a shadow in the garden.The light penetrates, there's no light to be seen.
How then can the shadow be seen, there’s a shadow in the garden,
all around big white stones lie scattered, we can sit on them.
The hills around are just like the hills on earth, only lower.
They look perfectly tender. I think we, too, are perfectly light,
we hardly touch the ground. When I take a step,
it seems the red flowers draw back a little.
The air is fragrant, both cool and burning. New beings
draw closer, some invisible hand smoothly placing them in the grass.
They are beautiful and quiet. We are all here together.
Some of them, swimming toward this place,
are turned around and cut off.
They disappear, we can’t see them anymore, they groan.
Now my body feels as if it’s in a fiery tunnel,
it rises like dough, drizzles apart in the stars.
There is no sex in heaven, I feel no hands,
but all things and beings are perfectly joined.
They rush apart only to become even more united.
Colors evaporate, all sounds are like a sponge in the eyes.
Now I know, sometimes I was a rooster, sometimes a roe.
I know I had bullets in my body, they crumble away now.
How beautifully I breathe.
I feel I’m being ironed, it doesn’t burn at all.
© 1988, Anselm Hollo and Tomaž Šalamun
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: 1988, Ecco Press, New York
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: 1988, Ecco Press, New York
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