Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2003 - Ljudmila

On the international route Munich -
Salonika
On a dirty train,
International route Munich - Salonika,
I am trying to read Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities.
But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.
I reach for banal substitutes:
To continue reading infinitely harder is
Than to find a dozy idler
In every carriage, first or second class no matter,
On all train routes.
Interestingly, this international train
requently stops even at stations that are local:
I seek invisible symbols in this disobedience of schedule.
I find it is better to give up on reading.
Thus, I am silent and watch,
irst, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,
Then, opposite myself, the mirror -
I see my two modest travel bags,
Seemingly not so heavy luggage.
But I feel it is impossible to get rid of.
As the train pulls away
And day comes close
I think it does not matter
At which station to disembark
Whose luggage to take.
174
The shipwreck's mirror
After Constantin Cavafis' THE CITY.
I
(A NOT IN THE LEAST GLORIOUS DEATH)
It is the same on the other side of the road, you think.
It is the same there, on the open sea
Where you once thought that life
Had proximity. But this you will never feel so
As you will never know
The invisible breadth of Middle Europe
Or any twilight on the Eastern coast.
Everywhere in the world it is invariably
The same - there where lives are brought to an end.
Every morning seems yours - unhappy
Participation in life. And every end
Of the day is the same, as when you dive into sleep:
Your not in the least glorious death.
And here you are just temporarily - in the world.
III
(ROM ONE PLACE TO ANOTHER)
You're going from one place to another,
But, in truth, you're not really going anywhere. Your current
State you know not how to name.
(Pitiful these things emptied of naming!)
You discover no lands, encounter no new words,
Even the existing you do not use as you would wish.
Increasingly, the days seem like woman's idleness.
As this is a story that has already been told,
And as all stories - so once you heard or suspect -
Are just the same, once again you force yourself
Into a corner, not finding a way to tear yourself
rom the world. Sadness is the signification of your existence,
Sole thing to separate you from others. At least
With it to cheat reality, your reality
Told so many times before. Thus, you'll be going from one
Place to another, but, in truth, you're not going to go anywhere.
175