Drobno pismo Lavu Diazu

Vlado Škafar

V angleški jezik prevedla Vlado Škafar in Maja Lovrenov


Se spomniš: iz tišine,
v kateri sva sedela na navzkriž obrnjenih stolih,
da sva se lahko bolj poslušala kot videla,
si se rahlo nagnil nazaj
in rekel:
Beauty is the beginning of terror.

 


Do you remember: out of silence,
sitting on chairs with their backs to each other
so that we could better hear than see each other,
you leaned back
and said to me:
Beauty is the beginning of terror.

 

-

 


Tisti večer si večkrat ponovil:
Beauty is the beginning of terror,
jaz pa sem te dopolnil:
lepota je strašnega komaj še znosni začetek,
ker je angleško preveč težko in togo,
dokončno
in zato v resnici nič zares strašno (lepo).

 


That night you kept repeating:
Beauty is the beginning of terror,
and I added from the Slovenian translation:
terror which we are barely able to endure,
because in English it sounded too heavy, too stiff,
too final,
and therefore not really terrifying (beautiful).

 

-

 


Iz tega je potem nastal film
Smrt v deželi duhov,
film o izginotju in povratku,
o širokem, neprehodnem polju smrti,
po katerem se vendarle hodi...
Smrt pesnika si ga najprej imenoval
in vidiš
tista lepota strašnega
komaj še in vendarle znosnega,
vidim jo v tej spremembi naslova,
kajti lepota ni v strašnem,
ampak da moremo strašno nositi.

 


Those words echoed your next film,
Kagadanan sa banwaan ning mga Engkanto,
a film about disappearence and return,
about the endless field of death
where you walk on anyway...
Death of a Poet you called it back then,
and, you see,
that beauty of terror
– barely and yet endurable –
I see it in this change of the title,
for beauty does not lie in terror,
it lies in our ability to bear it.

 

-

 


Tu se spomnim tvoje sobe
v rotterdamski Hiši duhov:
Pred sobo so bili na zid pripeti obrazi
mnogih izginulih ljudi.
njihova imena in številke,
v sobi pa ni bilo videti ničesar.
V popolni temi,
ob premikanju,
si čutil dotike
nevidnih rok.
(črni trakovi v črni sobi)

 


I remember your room
in the Ghost House at the Rotterdam IFF.
In front of the room, there were posters
of many missing people,
their names and numbers.
In the room, you couldn't see anything.
In total darkness,
when moving,
you could feel touches
of invisible hands.
(black ribbons in a black room)

 

-

 


Tvoji plazeči se ljudje,
nosijo,
velike tovore strašnega,
in ti tovori so tvoji tovori,
in nosiš jih, ker jih moreš nositi,
in tako služiš lepoti,
o kateri poje Rilke.

 


Your crawling people
carry
huge loads of terror,
and these loads are your loads,
and you carry them because you can,
thus serving the beauty
Rilke sings of.

 

-

 


Ko mi moliš roke,
ko mi izročaš tovore,
Florentina Hubaldo,
tako neposredno,
da neha biti film,
ko mi izročaš tvoje ime,
da ne izgine,
takrat postajava eno,
Lavrente Indico Diaz.

 


When you stretch out your hands towards me,
when you hand me the loads,
Florentina Hubaldo,
so directly
that it stops being a film,
when you hand me your name
so as not to disappear,
we become one,
Lavrente Indico Diaz.

 

-

 


Tvoji ljudje se plazijo, moji letijo,
dve podobi enega sveta.
Dve podobi bitja,
ki silno čuti,
da mora,
more biti še nekaj drugega
kot je.

 


Your people crawl, mine fly,
two images of one world.
Two images of one being
who feels intensely
that there has to be,
that there can be something else
than what it is.

 

-

 


In če tukaj se ti vse odreče,
tihi zemlji tiho reci: tečem.
In bežeči vodi reci: sem.

 


And when all earthly has forgotten you,
to the still earth say: I flow.
To the rushing water speak: I am.

 


Und wenn dich das Irdische vergaß,
zu der stillen Erde sag: Ich rinne.
Zu dem raschen Wasser sprich: Ich bin.
(Rilke)