Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Anni Sumari
Ground beef. We are all
ground beef.
This insight is from my father.
When I was a child, he told me not to go
to the road where cars run over children and they
become ground beef. I believed it,
but my own conviction is that
we are ground beef all the time, we consist
of death, I’m the nearest direct
garbage chute to hell, I stink of decaying
ground beef, my brains are of a certain amount
of ground beef, amazing how enjoyable
ground beef can be.
When I was the age of
the Crucified One, I thought I’d reached
the full age of a human being, at least metaphorically,
as well as averagely, generally historically –
from this day forth everything is luxury.
Extravagance. Years go to the left from the origin.
As if ground beef were being mystically edified,
the further behind the best-by date is left.
The more, the longer
you stand in the middle of the road
and a truck never comes.
Fiction comes
last, comes
and stays definitive.
The bottom line settles everything,
autobiography is
the right word.
Translated by Sarka Hantula
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