Poem
Peter Semolič
An Evening Chat
Sometimes, if I am bored,I talk to God. We examine
patterns in the linoleum together,
rhythmical repetitions
on the kitchen floor.
In these shapes, I say,
you can see a bear,
and in these a kitten,
and if you ignore the cap
on this funny chap
you get a lion’s head.
Awkwardly he repeats after me:
a bear, a cat . . .
And is utterly amazed whenever he finds
the same shape next to the sideboard
or beneath the window.
Can you see this line
cutting the floor in half?
What disharmony it brings into the images.
This here could be a bison,
but it turns out merely a deformed
horse’s back.
A bison, horse’s back . . .
He spells like a child at his primer,
enraged over a black crack
that cuts the kitchen floor in half.
I point forward, towards the door into the hallway,
where the monster zone begins,
the zone of fantastical creatures without heads,
horrible freaks without bodies.
Slowly I push him out,
after all, it is late and I would like to sleep.
But when I get up at night
to have a glass of water
he is still standing at the door,
staring into a thin line
that runs from the wall to the window
like someone
who is lost in a foreign city
and does not know the language
to ask the way.
© Translation: 2004, Ana Jelnikar
Vecerni klepet
Vecerni klepet
Vcasih, ko mi je dolgcas,se pogovarjam z Bogom.
Pregledujeva vzorce v linoleju,
njihovo ritmicno ponavljanje
na kuhinjskih tleh.
Iz teh lis, recem,
lahko razbereš medveda,
iz teh macko,
in ce odmisliš klobuk
pri tem smešnem možaku,
dobiš levjo glavo.
Okorno ponavlja za mano:
Medved, macka . . .
Vedno znova zacuden,
ko enak lik najde ob kredenci
ali pod oknom.
Vidiš to crto,
ki prepolavlja pod?
Koliko neskladnosti vnaša v podobe.
Tu bi lahko bil bizon,
a se je izcimil le pohabljen
konjski hrbet.
Bizon, konjski hrbet . . .
Crkuje kot otrok ob prvem berilu,
zgrožen nad crno razpoko,
ki prepolavlja kuhinjska tla.
Kažem naprej, proti vratom na hodnik,
kjer se pricnejo predeli pošasti,
fantasticnih bitij brez glav,
grozljivih spak brez teles.
Pocasi ga izrivam ven,
ker je že pozno in bi rad spal.
A ko ponoci vstanem,
da bi popil kozarec vode,
še vedno stoji na pragu,
zazrt v tenko raz,
ki tece od zida proti oknu,
kot nekdo,
ki se je izgubil v tujem mestu
in ne zna jezika,
da bi vprašal za pot.
© 2004, Peter Semolic
From: Hiša iz besed
Publisher: Aleph, Ljubljana
From: Hiša iz besed
Publisher: Aleph, Ljubljana
Poems
Poems of Peter Semolič
Close
An Evening Chat
Sometimes, if I am bored,I talk to God. We examine
patterns in the linoleum together,
rhythmical repetitions
on the kitchen floor.
In these shapes, I say,
you can see a bear,
and in these a kitten,
and if you ignore the cap
on this funny chap
you get a lion’s head.
Awkwardly he repeats after me:
a bear, a cat . . .
And is utterly amazed whenever he finds
the same shape next to the sideboard
or beneath the window.
Can you see this line
cutting the floor in half?
What disharmony it brings into the images.
This here could be a bison,
but it turns out merely a deformed
horse’s back.
A bison, horse’s back . . .
He spells like a child at his primer,
enraged over a black crack
that cuts the kitchen floor in half.
I point forward, towards the door into the hallway,
where the monster zone begins,
the zone of fantastical creatures without heads,
horrible freaks without bodies.
Slowly I push him out,
after all, it is late and I would like to sleep.
But when I get up at night
to have a glass of water
he is still standing at the door,
staring into a thin line
that runs from the wall to the window
like someone
who is lost in a foreign city
and does not know the language
to ask the way.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar
From: Hiša iz besed
From: Hiša iz besed
An Evening Chat
Sometimes, if I am bored,I talk to God. We examine
patterns in the linoleum together,
rhythmical repetitions
on the kitchen floor.
In these shapes, I say,
you can see a bear,
and in these a kitten,
and if you ignore the cap
on this funny chap
you get a lion’s head.
Awkwardly he repeats after me:
a bear, a cat . . .
And is utterly amazed whenever he finds
the same shape next to the sideboard
or beneath the window.
Can you see this line
cutting the floor in half?
What disharmony it brings into the images.
This here could be a bison,
but it turns out merely a deformed
horse’s back.
A bison, horse’s back . . .
He spells like a child at his primer,
enraged over a black crack
that cuts the kitchen floor in half.
I point forward, towards the door into the hallway,
where the monster zone begins,
the zone of fantastical creatures without heads,
horrible freaks without bodies.
Slowly I push him out,
after all, it is late and I would like to sleep.
But when I get up at night
to have a glass of water
he is still standing at the door,
staring into a thin line
that runs from the wall to the window
like someone
who is lost in a foreign city
and does not know the language
to ask the way.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar
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