Barbara Pogačnik

In ne samo jok,
kot drhtenje rož gospe Dalloway,
temveč vračanje solz na izvir,
kot v hrbtišče velikega drevesa,
potovanje po nitkah rastlinskih žil,
ki nam razsvetljuje bistvo tekočin,
v sožitju z zrakom, ki se diha v spanju -

vse to so znaki tipanja oprijemk skozi čas,
besed, ki so jih ob tem izgovorili drugi
v sivo brado jutranje svetlobe med nočjo in zoro,
ko so se kot gledališke miši objemale in navijale
za življenje, med vase obrnjeno stranjo in tisto,
ki jo deliš z drugim ob sebi
v kokonu pomenov med telesoma,

kjer tudi v spanju ves čas teče
drevesni sok vseh misli
...

And not just the weeping,
as with Mrs. Dalloway's trembling flowers,
but it is about the tears returning to their source,
as if travelling through tiny root veins
up the backbone of a great tree,
a journey enlightening us about the nature of liquids,
their symbiosis with the air that we breathe in sleep -

all of these are signs of feeling for handholds through time,
of words others speak at such times into morning's
grey beard of light, between night and dawn,
while like theatre mice they were hugging and cheering
for life, and you find yourself between an inward looking self
and another that you share with the one next to you
in a cocoon of meanings between two bodies

through which, even while dreaming,
the sap of all thoughts moves
...

Vrata se postavijo v torzo, noga se ujame
v nasmeh in vse stanovanje se prepusti zamudi.
Selilci prihajajo od vseh strani, celo skozi reže v steni
potiskajo svoje metre,
svoje lepilne trakove, ki odmevajo vse do ulice.
Čakam, da v papir zavijejo vse slike s televizije,
vonje iz restavracij, kretnje, hojo ljudi po mestu.
Merilci srečnih dni in ur družinskega kričanja
prodirajo v lijake in v cevi. Vse, kar smo
kdaj skrili za omare in v podtalje, se razkrito
druži s temi repatimi rakuni.
Golih oči stojimo sredi vseh sob.
V sili razbitih senc, pod do konca popitimi čaji
se našim številnim in neopaznim
odhodom izmika še nekaj drobtin.

Čudno: kot bi se drobtinice postavile med vse
klice, sem z njimi ujeta v sluhu med prostori,
in kot bi me sobe v svojem križanju dvignile
in ne razčetverile.
...

Doors make of themselves a torso, a leg catches
into a smile and the entire flat surrenders to tardiness.
The removal guys come from all sides, sticking
their meters even through the cracks in the wall,
their sticky tapes slapping all the way to the street below.
I wait for them to wrap up all the images from the TV,
smells from the restaurants, gestures, the flow of people.
The measurers of happy days and hours of family screaming
penetrate into the plug-holes and pipes. Everything we've
ever hidden behind the wardrobes and beneath the floors
is now openly socializing with these tailed racoons.
Naked-eyed we stand in the centre of all the rooms.
From under the impact of broken shadows
and many teas drunk down to the dregs,
a few crumbs slip away from
our numerous and invisible departures.

Funny: as if the crumbs had put themselves
between all the calls and I am trapped with them in sound space,
and as if the rooms in their merging were to lift me on high
rather than quarter me.
...