I Know

Last night, in the water where Barnett Newman’s
line disappeared, I drowned. I swam
to the surface, like a black, dark-blue
luminous blossom. It’s terrible to be
a flower. The world stopped.
Mute, like velvet, I opened, perhaps
for good.
Before, with Tomaž Brejc, we
talked about the mystique
of finance, about the eye, the triangle,
about God, possible readings
of chance, of Slovenian history and
destiny.
Don’t touch me.
I’m the greatest capital just as I am.
I’m the water in which the
destiny of the world takes place for us.
I’m dizzy. I don’t understand.
I know.
Tonight, when I made love, I
reported. I’m a black cube now,
like marble or granite-from-the-other-world,
a bird standing, with yellow
feet and an immense yellow beak, my black
feathers shining: now the eminent church
dignitary, that is:
they all wanted me,
the blossom.
I’m the pure dark blossom
standing still on the surface.
Untouchable and untouched.
Terrifying.

Vem

Vem

Včeraj zvečer me je tam, kjer je
poniknila črta Barnetta Newmana,
potopilo v vodo. Na gladino sem
priplaval kot črn, temno moder
svetleč cvet. Strašno je biti
roža. Svet je obstal. Nemo sem se
odprl, žametno, verjetno
dokončno. S Tomažem Brejcem sva se
pred tem pogovarjala o mistiki
finančne mase, o očesu, o trikotniku,
o Bogu. O možnosti branj, o
šansi, o slovenski zgodovini in
usodi.
Ne dotikajte se me.
Tak kot sem, sem največji kapital.
Jaz sem voda, ki se v njej
usoda sveta dogaja za nas.
Omotičen sem. Ničesar ne razumem.
Vem.
Ponoči, ko sem ljubil, sem
poročal. Zdaj sem črn kubus, podoben
marmorju ali granitu z drugega sveta,
ptič, ki stoji z rumenimi nogami,
z ogromnim rumenim kljunim, ki se mi
črno perje blešči, zdaj visoki
cerkveni dostojanstvenik, to je:
vsi so hoteli navaliti name, na
cvet.
Čist temen cvet sem, ki
miruje na gladini.
Nedotakljiv in nedotaknjen.
Strašen.