but in the morning they soberly sweep their naked rooms

Two poems by Olja Savičević Ivančević translated by Andrea Jurjević 

olja       andrea

Šegrt

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

toliko svile se odmotava

 

pod mojom kožom neprekidno

 

da su me staratelji morali skloniti

 

u hram

 

među krčmarsko svećenstvo

 

tu ćeš, rekli su, mala

 

učiti pisati nogom po vjetru

 

i vjetrom po gradskim morima

 

izučit ćeš vještinu

 

bacanja letećih olovčica

 

(da zatvorenih očiju razvežeš pupak

 

i rasiječeš bradavicu)

 

 

 

vidjela sam kako pjevaju i ljube ludi učitelji

 

kako preskaču lipu i vodotoranj

 

ponekad pripiti trče uz zidove kuća

 

ali ujutro trijezno pometu svoje gole sobe

 

nježno obuku svoje gole žene i mladiće

 

povežu ono što je ostalo od kose

 

u perčin rečenica

 

i lebde iznad svetih tastatura

 

 

 

prvu sam lekciju svladala iz domaćinstva

 

složila sam svu silu u bale

 

kao u malom dućanu metraže

 

trebalo mi je trideset godina

 

još toliko će mi trebati

 

da razvrstam dugmad riječi

 

i sve te aplikacije

 

 

 

bojim se, u međuvremenu,

 

ostarit će učitelji, popušit će svoje lule vjere

 

a s njima i hrabrost i mudrost

 

brine me što će se dogoditi s njihovim kostima po čitankama

 

tu nitko živ više neće moći

 

sastaviti pjesnika

An Apprentice

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

so much silk unrolls

 

continually under my skin

 

that the guardians had to move me

 

to the temple

 

among the clergy of the tavern

 

they said, here, little one,

 

you’ll learn how to write by throwing a leg over the wind

 

and with the wind over the city seas

 

you’ll learn the trade

 

of flinging flying pencils

 

(so with eyes closed you unknot the navel

 

and cut the nipple)

 

 

 

I saw how crazy teachers sing and kiss

 

how they jump over the linden and the water tower

 

sometimes tipsy they run along the walls of houses

 

but in the morning they soberly sweep their naked rooms

 

gently dress their naked women and young men

 

and bind what’s left of their hair

 

into bundled sentences

 

hover over holy keyboards

 

 

I first mastered homemaking

 

I folded all the silk into bales

 

like in a little fabric shop

 

it took me thirty years

 

and I’ll need that many more

 

to sort the word buttons

 

and all of their use

 

 

 

meanwhile, I’m afraid,

 

the teachers will get old, finish smoking their pipes of hope

 

and with them both courage and wisdom

 

I worry about what will happen to their bones in the books

 

not a living soul will be able

 

to assemble a poet

translated from Croatian by Andrea Jurjević
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Humbert

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

Prošlo je i više vremena od onog koje je trebalo

 

Da može sjesti do tebe i potapšati ti glavu

 

S obje ruke sretna, kao bongo. Moj oče, stari ljubavniče.

 

Počinje period u kojem se u mislima spušta u luku

 

Uz bedem, ali zavoj je oštar, trga se koža sa lijeve plećke i puca karoserija

 

Ti svakih nekoliko ljeta tražiš ime za svoj brod

 

Nazoveš je i pitaš za mišljenje, govorite o roditeljima i djeci, o brakovima

 

Koji su uglavnom sretni i zdravlju, poslovima

 

Kaže ti: bio si u pravu, zaboravila sam te kao i svoje grudi prije četrnaeste

 

Na tebe pomisli kad vidi konduktera: bijele hlače, nikad suviše čiste

 

I češće se vezano uz tebe sjeti tvog malog psa koji je po dugom hodniku

 

Kuće kotrljao kosti. I vodoskoka.

 

Ali otkad se dogodila nesreća iz njenih su snova kao miševi pobjegli svi—osim tebe.

 

I eto te gdje se pokrećeš po čudnom nalogu, njenom

 

Pušiš i povlačiš klompe na krivim dlakavim nogama

 

A ona ide pored tebe u košuljici bez rukava

 

Prekratkoj da joj se ne bi vidjela stražnjica pička bedra

 

Uzalud je navlači i ti iako ravnodušan uviđaš njen problem

 

To su samo njeni snovi, ali i na javi bi joj rekao:

 

Ne brini, normalno hodaj, pa ja idem ispred tebe,

 

Uostalom, moja stara kćeri, moja mlada ljubavnice,

 

Sami smo na cesti, uostalom.  

Humbert

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

More time passed than was necessary

 

For her to sit beside you and happily with both hands

 

tap your head like a bongo. My father, old lover.

 

That time starts when she imagines going down to the harbor

 

By the rampart, but the turn is sharp, the skin from her left shoulder tears and the chassis breaks

 

Every few summers you seek names for your boat

 

You call and ask her opinion, talk about parents and kids, about marriages

 

That are mostly happy and about health, work

 

She says: you were right, I forgot you like I forgot my fourteen-year-old breasts

 

She thinks of you when she sees a bus conductor: white pants, never too clean

 

And more often she remembers your little dog that rolled bones down the long hallway

 

Of the house. And the waterfalls.

 

But since the accident everyone ran out of her dreams like mice—except you.

 

And look, you now march under a strange order, hers

 

You smoke and drag clogs on crooked hairy legs

 

And she walks beside you in a sleeveless shirt

 

Too short to cover her ass snatch thighs

 

Hopelessly she pulls it down, and you, even though indifferent, see her problem

 

These are just her dreams, but even in reality you’d say to her:

 

Don’t worry, walk naturally, I’m next to you,

 

After all, my old daughter, my young lover,

 

We’re alone on the road, after all.  

translated from Croatian by Andrea Jurjević
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I want to be awakened from our love

Two poems by Gili Haimovich translated by Dara Barnat

 Gili Haimovich      DaraB

These translations from Hebrew of “The Perfect Set” and “Too Easy” are part of an ongoing collaboration between Gili Haimovich and myself. My translations of Gili’s poetry can be found in journals including Bridges: A Jewish Feminist Journal, International Poetry Review, Poetry International, and Blue Lyra. Gili’s translations of my poetry to Hebrew appear in Shvo, Makaf, and other Hebrew-language publications. 

“Too Easy” is from Gili’s last book Baby Girl, Emda Publishers, 2014, and “The Perfect Set” is from Lint Season, Pardes Publishers, 2011.

—Dara Barnat

 

הַסֵּט הַמֻּשְׁלָם

by Gili Haimovich

.הָאַהֲבָה שֶׁלָּנוּ יוֹתֵר מִדַּי מַתְאִימָה לָרִהוּט

 

.וְהִיא נִשְׁמַעַת בְּאֵיכוּת סְרָאוּנְד עַל רֶקַע גֵּ ‘אז מָהָגוֹנִי

 

הָאַהֲבָה שֶׁלָּנוּ לֹא קוֹרַעַת

 

,הִיא תּוֹפֶרֶת

 

 

.וְגַם בָּזֶה יֵשׁ מִנְּעִיצוֹת הַמַּחַט בַּבָּשָׂר הַחַי

 

.מְדַמָּה אוֹתָן לַצְּבִיטוֹת שֶׁמּוֹכִיחוֹת שֶׁזֶּה לֹא חֲלוֹם

 

.חֲבָל שֶׁאֲנִי לֹא יְכוֹלָה לְהָקִיץ מֵאַהֲבָתֵנוּ

 

 

הָאַהֲבָה שֶׁלָּנוּ יוֹתֵר מִדַּי מַתְאִימָה לַצַּלָּחוֹת

 

.שֶׁקָּנְתָה לָנוּ אִשְׁתּוֹ הַשְּׁלִישִׁית שֶׁל אָבִיךָ

 

אֲבָל הִיא לֹא טְעִימָה עִם מָה

 

.שֶׁמִּתְבַּשֵּׁל עַל הַכִּירַיִם

 

 

הָאַהֲבָה הַזּאֹת מַתְאִימָה לָאַגָּדָה שֶׁבְּסוֹפָהּ הָיִיתִי הַכַּלָּה הֲכִי יָפָה

 

.אֲבָל אֲנִי נְמוּכָה, כְּבֵדָה וְנַשְׁכָנִית מִדַּי

The Perfect Set

by Gili Haimovich

Our love fits the furniture too much.

 

And it’s heard in surround sound jazz that circles the mahogany.

 

Our love doesn’t rip,

 

it sews.

 

 

And in this there’s also the sense of a needle going into flesh.

 

The punctures are like pinches that prove it’s not a dream.

 

I want to be awakened from our love.

 

 

Our love fits the plates too much,

 

the ones that your father’s third wife bought us.

 

But it doesn’t taste good with what’s

 

cooking on the stove.

 

 

This love fits the end of a fairy tale in which I’m the most beautiful bride,

 

but I’m too short, heavy, and sharp.

translated from Hebrew by Dara Barnat
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קלה מידיי

by Gili Haimovich

הַלַּילְָה נוֹשֵׂא אוֹתִי

,אֲבָל לֹא כְּהַבְטָחָה

,לֹא כְּשֵׁם שֶׁאֲנִי נָשָׂאתִי אוֹתָךְ

,בַּבֶּטֶן

,עַל הֶחָזֶה

,הַגַּב

,הַכְּתֵפַיִם

,עַל ראֹשׁ שִׂמְחָתִי

,עַל צַוַּאר דַּאֲגָתִי

.בְּשֶׁלֶג סוֹחֵף

הַשִּׁירִים בָּאִים

.כְּמוֹ קַלִּים מִדַּי

 

,כִּמְעַט קַל מִדַּי

,מוּבָן מִדַּי מֵאֵלָיו

,לִהְיוֹת אִמָּא שֶׁלָּךְ

.לִהְיוֹת שַׁיּכֶֶת לָךְ

Too Easy

by Gili Haimovich

The night carries me

but not like a promise,

not like how I carried you,

in the stomach,

on the chest,

the back,

the neck,

on the head of my joy,

on the shoulders of my concern.

through swirling snow.

 

The poems come

almost too easily,

it’s almost too easy,

too obvious,

being your mother,

belonging to you.

translated from Hebrew by Dara Barnat
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for me who asked but did not receive forgiveness

Two poems by Kim Yi-deum translated by Jake Levine and Soeun Seo

아우라보다 아오리

by Kim Yi-deum

벚꽃나무 아래 사과 파는 노파

조시나 죽으셨나

엉덩이가 바닥에 닿을락말락

덧없는 간극

덤불 부스러기 줄 하나

사도 그만 안 사도 그만

 

갈 데가 없어

타는 버스

한내 1 길발 110 번

한 노선밖에

타도 그만이고 안 타도 그만

 

맨 뒷자리 창에 기대어 비스듬히

바라보는 오래된 취미

어쩐지 나는 무호흡의 깊은 잠을

 

내린 곳은 북한 신의주 시내

수영복이 든 비닐가방을 들고 누군가를 기다리는 나

손 흔들며 오는 남자

희미한 얼굴 번져나가는 살결, 햇살이 혀끝으로 그를 핥고

 

아마 우리는 아주 평범한 연인 사이

수줍고 어색하게

풀장도 가고 포옹도 하는

 

눈을 뜨네 나는

아우라가 사라지네

운전기사 쪽으로 굴러가는 푸른

아오리 가망 없는 도망

깨어난 나는 데스데모나 팥쥐 애너벨 리 살아난 바리데기

현실은 꿈 없는 예외적 시간

사라진 방앗간에서 불어오는 고추 마르는 냄새

 

 

 

 

More Than Aura, Aori

by Kim Yi-deum

Selling Aori apples under a cherry blossom tree, that granny

Has either dozed off or she is dead.

Ass almost to grass

And the gap between, fleeting

A vein inside the leaf of a crumbled bush

Is about the same whether you buy it or not.

 

With nowhere to go

I ride the bus.

The 110 to Hannae Street

Has just one route

Whether you ride it or not.

 

I have this old hobby of staring sideways

Leaning askew against the window of the back seat of the bus and

In the deep sleep of breathlessness, somehow, I exist.

 

In downtown Sinuiju, North Korea, I get off.

Holding a vinyl bag with a bathing suit inside, I wait.

A man approaches, waving.

A faint face spreading out its skin, the sun licks him with the tip of its tongue.

 

I guess we are a pretty mundane couple.

Bashful, awkwardly

We hug each other and go to public pools.

 

Whenever I open my eyes

The ambience disappears.

An escape attempt without hope, the green

Aori rolls toward the driver of the bus.

Awake, I am Desdemona, Patzzi, Annabelle Lee, the Barideki

Living reality in an exceptional time without dreams—

The drying smell of peppers

Blowing out a mill that disappeared.

 

 

 

 

translated from Korean by Soeun Seo & Jake Levine
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사과 없어요

by Kim Yi-deum

 

아 어쩐다, 다른 게 나왔으니, 주문한 음식보다 비싼 게 나왔으니, 아 어쩐다, 짜장면 시켰는데 삼선짜장면이 나왔으니, 이봐요, 그냥 짜장면 시켰는데요, 아뇨, 손님이 삼선짜장면이라고 말했잖아요, 아 어쩐다, 주인을 불러 바꿔달라고 할까, 아 어쩐다, 그러면 이 종업원이 꾸지람 듣겠지, 어쩌면 급료에서 삼선짜장면 값만큼 깎이겠지, 급기야 쫓겨날지도 몰라, 아아 어쩐다, 미안하다고 하면 이대로 먹을 텐데, 단무지도 갖다 주지 않고, 아아 사과하면 괜찮다고 할 텐데, 아아 미안하다 말해서 용서 받기는커녕 몽땅 뒤집어쓴 적 있는 나로서는, 아아, 아아, 싸우기 귀찮아서 잘못했다고 말한 후 제거되고 추방된 나로서는, 아아 어쩐다, 쟤 입장을 모르는 바 아니고, 그래 내가 잘못 발음했을지 몰라, 아아 어쩐다, 전복도 다진 야채도 싫은데

 

 

 

 

No Apology

by Kim Yi-deum

what to do, something else was delivered, something more expensive than the food I ordered, what to do, I didn’t ask for seafood, look here, I ordered regular jajangmyeon, no, you ordered seafood jajangmyeon, should I call the owner and tell him to change it, what to do, if I call, the employee will get chewed out or he will have the seafood rate deducted from his pay or, at the worst, he’ll get fired, oh hell, if he says sorry I’ll eat it, but he didn’t even give me pickled radish, he didn’t even apologize, if only he said sorry, for me who asked but did not receive forgiveness, for me who received all the blame, for me, my expulsion, my deletion, after not putting forth the effort to fight, apologizing, mercy me, it’s not like I don’t know his position, maybe I mispronounced it, in any case, I don’t like abalone, I hate chopped vegetables

 

 

 

translated from Korean by Jake Levine & Soeun Seo
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