Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Brane Mozetič

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare. The first
thought that comes to your mind is to cut
your wrists, to tie a noose, or to leap
from a buliding. You’d have to be constantly drunk or stoned
to take it. Friends aren’t friends, acquaintances aren’t
acquaintances, lovers aren’t lovers, a mother isn’t a mother,
a father isn’t a father, a wife isn’t a wife, the ground isn’t the ground,
all hover in the never ending emptiness, hallucinations, ghosts,
freaks, water isn’t water and air isn’t air, fire isn’t fire.
Love Ana, your city is the end of the world
without any form of hope, there’s vegetating, there is
torment, there is a pinching in your stomach, a concentration
of all the negative forces doing everything in their power
to make an idiot out of you, an invalid. Ljubljana,
the sweet sounding snake that wraps itself around your body,
softly, with feeling, so you run out of air and can’t get rid
of her, always follows you, slithers after you
so colourful and un-dangerous. Disappear, plunge into
the swamp, return to the mud,
save us.

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare

Ljuba Ana, Ljubljana je kot huda nočna mora. Prvo kar
ti pade na pamet v tem mestu je, da bi si prerezal
žile, ali zadrgnil zanko okoli vratu, ali skočil z
nebotičnika. Moral bi biti kar naprej pijan ali zadet,
da bi zdržal. Prijatelji niso prijatelji, znanci
niso znanci, ljubimci niso ljubimci, mati ni mati,
oče ni oče, žena ni žena, tla niso tla, vse lebdi
v praznini, ki ji ni konca, prividi, duhovi,
spake, voda ni voda in zrak ni zrak, ogenj ni ogenj.
Ljuba Ana, tvoje mesto je konec sveta,
brez kakršnegakoli upanja, je vegetiranje, so peklenske
muke, je tiščanje v želodcu, je koncentracija vseh
negativnih sil, ki težijo le k temu, da naredijo
iz tebe bebca, pohabljenca. Ljubljana, lepo
zveneča kača, ki ti nežno ovije telo, počasi,
z občutkom, da ti zmanjkuje zraka in se je ne
moreš rešiti, vselej gre s tabo, leze za tabo,
tako pisana, nenevarna. Izgini, pogrezni se v
močvirje, vrni se nazaj v blato, za vedno,
odreši nas.
Close

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare. The first
thought that comes to your mind is to cut
your wrists, to tie a noose, or to leap
from a buliding. You’d have to be constantly drunk or stoned
to take it. Friends aren’t friends, acquaintances aren’t
acquaintances, lovers aren’t lovers, a mother isn’t a mother,
a father isn’t a father, a wife isn’t a wife, the ground isn’t the ground,
all hover in the never ending emptiness, hallucinations, ghosts,
freaks, water isn’t water and air isn’t air, fire isn’t fire.
Love Ana, your city is the end of the world
without any form of hope, there’s vegetating, there is
torment, there is a pinching in your stomach, a concentration
of all the negative forces doing everything in their power
to make an idiot out of you, an invalid. Ljubljana,
the sweet sounding snake that wraps itself around your body,
softly, with feeling, so you run out of air and can’t get rid
of her, always follows you, slithers after you
so colourful and un-dangerous. Disappear, plunge into
the swamp, return to the mud,
save us.

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare

Love Ana, Ljubljana is a nightmare. The first
thought that comes to your mind is to cut
your wrists, to tie a noose, or to leap
from a buliding. You’d have to be constantly drunk or stoned
to take it. Friends aren’t friends, acquaintances aren’t
acquaintances, lovers aren’t lovers, a mother isn’t a mother,
a father isn’t a father, a wife isn’t a wife, the ground isn’t the ground,
all hover in the never ending emptiness, hallucinations, ghosts,
freaks, water isn’t water and air isn’t air, fire isn’t fire.
Love Ana, your city is the end of the world
without any form of hope, there’s vegetating, there is
torment, there is a pinching in your stomach, a concentration
of all the negative forces doing everything in their power
to make an idiot out of you, an invalid. Ljubljana,
the sweet sounding snake that wraps itself around your body,
softly, with feeling, so you run out of air and can’t get rid
of her, always follows you, slithers after you
so colourful and un-dangerous. Disappear, plunge into
the swamp, return to the mud,
save us.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère