Windows are darken with the nets of trees and if I moved a bit I would se a lot
more than I do now.
Down there flows a river whose channel I hardly dare to look at because it is deep.
The azure sky above and the reflections of the hills covered with snow are like eternal
scene. There is a stage on which yellow sheaves of the sun are falling.
It seems as if I am paying a visit to you where I have forgotten something during all
these years.
Olive colours of the city are promising a change. Still, they don’t overcome that
greyness in Ljubljana.
The world is breaking in through eyes and lungs.
National heroes are sleeping in their imagination and the only thing that can wake
them up is the never-ending repetition of the same forms.
We sleep side by side like two parallel worlds.
With swimming we break the surface of water as if it was made up of water and air.
Patterns delivered from space are continually knotting and untieing the layers
underneath where uncounscious foundations sleep and for whom no one
knows when they will wake up.
Everything is happening like in chapters of a movie in which we no longer play the
major role.
The world is constantly breaking in through eyes and lungs and it never stops the
sequence of days.
Now I finally know how it is if you grow and rise as though you would deliberately
change the shades of your silhouette.
The pages which I travel them around the book always smell of something new and
undiscovered.
We are breaking in one another through eyes and lungs which they never seem to
get weary.
Outside is a completely ordinary winter day: you and I are close.
I will go for a walk around the triumphal arch made from the sun and I will search
for you.
When a day breaks, I stand by the window and I am already aware of the greatness
in front of me. I feel that this isn’t just another ordinary winter day.
I beat with all my guilt like a lighthouse used to beat when it shone through our
window at night.
Translated by Klavdija Simonišek.
Okna so zatemnjena z mrežami dreves in vidim
samo del tega, kar bi lahko videl, če bi spremenil položaj.
Spodaj teče reka, katere struge si skoraj ne upam
pogledati, ker je globoka. Zgoraj pa azurno
modro nebo in odsevi zasneženih hribov kot večna kulisa, kjer je postavljen oder,
kamor padajo rumeni snopi sonca.
Ptice letijo proti stenam gore.
Zdi se, kot da sem na obisku pri tebi, kjer sem skozi leta nekaj pozabil.
Olivne barve mesta obljubljajo spremembo, vendar nikoli ne premagajo tiste statične
sivine v Ljubljani.
Svet vdira skozi oči in skozi pljuča.
Osebni junaki iz zgodovine spijo v domišljiji in
prebuja jih samo vztrajno ponavljanje istih
obrazcev.
Spiva drug ob drugem kot vzporedna zadovoljna svetova.
S plavanjem prebijeva gladino vode, kot bi bila sestavljena iz vode in zraka.
Vzorci, prispeli iz vesolja, nenehno zavozlavajo in odvozlavajo plasti, pod katerimi
spijo nezavedni temelji, za katere nihče ne ve, kdaj se bodo prebudili.
Vse se obrača kot v poglavjih filma, kjer nimava
več glavne vloge.
Nenehno vdira svet skozi
oči in pljuča in nikoli ne ustavi zaporedja dni.
Zdaj vem, kako je, če rasteš in se dvigaš, kot
bi načrtno spreminjal obrise svoje silhuete.
Strani, ki jih prepotujem skozi knjige, nenehno
dišijo po novem in še neodkritem.
Drug drugemu vdirava v oči, ki se nikoli naveličajo.
Zunaj je povsem navaden zimski dan: ti in jaz sva si blizu.
Sprehodil se bom skozi slavolok, ki je nastal iz sonca, in te poiskal.
Toda že sedaj, ko se dela jutro in ko stojim pri oknu, se zavedam veličine, ki je pred
mano, in čutim, da to ni samo še en navaden zimski dan.
Utripam z vso svojo krvjo, kot je utripal svetilnik, ki nama je ponoči svetil skozi
okno.