{"id":819,"date":"2018-03-14T20:11:29","date_gmt":"2018-03-14T20:11:29","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/?p=819"},"modified":"2023-12-21T13:14:54","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T13:14:54","slug":"robert-simonisek-slovenia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/robert-simonisek-slovenia\/","title":{"rendered":"Robert Simoni\u0161ek, Slovenia"},"content":{"rendered":"

Robert Simoni\u0161ek, Slovenia\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Member of the Board\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Translated by the Mary Kathryn Dunn and Katarina Raku\u0161\u010dek.<\/p>\n

Biography<\/p>\n

Robert Simoni\u0161ek (1977) is a poet, writer, art historian and curator. He studied philosophy and art history in Ljubljana (Slovenia) and Graz (Austria), he received a master and doctoral degree from the latter. His poetry debut was published in 2003 under the title Drowned Catalogue (Potopljeni katalog), his second collection Autoportrait Without a Map (Avtoportret brez zemljevida) in 2008, two years leater the collection of poetical short stories Melancholical reflections (Melanholi\u010dna zrenja) was published. The author gained domestic critical acclaim with his psychologically crafted novel The Room Under The Castle (Soba pod gradom, 2013), which was nominated for the Slovene novel of the year. His relationship to poetry, art, culture and the world was articulated in the essay collection The Crash of Spaces (Trk prostorov, 2015), which received a prize for the best Slovene essayist work of the year. His so far latest poetry collection are Migrations (Selitve, 2013). Simoni\u0161ek’s texts and books are translated into different languages, his work has been included in several domestic and foreign anthologies. In Slovenia and abroad he published numerous articles on the field of Art history. He is a member of Slovene Writer ‘s Association and PEN. He collected and translated into Slovene poems by Desmond Egan and the novel Lucy Gault by Irish author William Trevor. He currently lives in Slovenia as a writer and a curator who is specialized on international exhibitions.<\/p>\n

House<\/strong><\/p>\n

I would like to stop here,
\nperhaps only for a few months,
\nmaybe for a few winters.<\/p>\n

Life is less predictable
\nthan newspaper columns, their
\nposition unchanged since yesterday
\ncaricatures sedated with power.
\nLife is brighter than the thinnest glass,
\nwhich flies to the ground and dashes
\nbefore we delay our decisions.<\/p>\n

I do not mind if the ceramics are dull
\nif the door hinges voice their creeks
\nand the windows leak sharp air,
\ngnawing the bedroom at night.<\/p>\n

I want to gather thoughts under these ceilings,
\nlisten to the echo’s variations,
\nreturn through a long corridor
\nand imprint myself into an autumn landscape.<\/p>\n

All faded lives were
\nhesitant to make agreements
\nsometimes in dangerous places,
\nsometimes in the procession of good wizards.
\nLet the white walls rise high
\nand rest their gestures
\ntired of sidewalks,
\nlet me sit by the flame,
\ndrawing spirits behind my back.<\/p>\n

I would like to stop here,
\nhand over my torn passport to time.
\nThen I will lock the front door,
\ncarry on with the same reason,
\nbefore the night reaches the hedge.<\/p>\n

Portrait of 1981<\/strong><\/p>\n

Outside – perhaps an early spring
\nor late autumn, it’s difficult to distinguish
\ndetails and the splatter on the edge
\nOf a black-white composition
\ncould be a tree or a man in motion.<\/p>\n

Undoubtedly, I stand alone in the middle,
\nwith a satisfied expression,
\nin tightly fitting trousers with braces,
\nbut if the photo hadn’t found itself in a family album,
\nI would have hardly recognized myself.<\/p>\n

Although much is predicted:
\nslightly raised nose,
\neyes closed, long and thick hair,
\nbrighter than today,
\nas the light was different
\nthat distant afternoon –
\nso we agreed at today’s table.<\/p>\n

Nobody else is in the picture –
\nmy father is probably at the factory
\nor cutting down trees in the deep forest,
\nmy mother is in an office miles away,
\npreparing lunch in her mind,
\nand my sister will come later,
\nwhen the house is finished.<\/p>\n

I \u2013 or what later became me \u2013
\nwith a stick in my right hand,
\nready to play, to climb into someone’s lap –
\nposing before the babysitter,
\nwaiting for something.<\/p>\n

Bravo – echoed in the background,
\na car slowly cirlcles the yard,
\nan oversized hand covers my forehead.<\/p>\n

Lake<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening,
\ndoes not depend on me actually,
\nit never had.<\/p>\n

That graceful ability of water
\nto invites us to herself
\nwith almost telepathic grace,
\nneeds no clarification.<\/p>\n

Nothing happens,
\nwhen rush sails toward green hills
\nand ragged cloud approaches to swan,
\nwhen a meter and a half big catfish rises
\nfrom the bottom and surprises fisherman’s hand.<\/p>\n

If the sail clings to the wind
\nand paddle stops in the air,
\nit is enough to pass by
\nand withdraw the brench out of the way,
\nmaybe recognize a familiar face
\nor sit on the edge of a silent backwater.<\/p>\n

Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening,
\ndoes not depend on me actually,
\nit never had.<\/p>\n

But even if I stay inside,
\nthere is no difference
\nbetween the boy who picks up a stone
\nand throws it as far as possible,
\nand me, throwing through another membrane
\nwhat will be written.<\/p>\n

From the bottom we are both protacted by the surface.
\nCircles are spreading
\nbehind our backs –
\nthe only trace of this silent game,
\nwhich lasts from morning to night.<\/p>\n

Windless<\/strong><\/p>\n

Low clouds retain watercolor,
\nspilled on the procession of streets, metal
\nand city models on the screens,
\nwhich flashing new names alternately
\nand turn over animal blood in us.<\/p>\n

The icy granite under the feet
\nand the air around the heads \u2013
\nI am the bond among the pines \u2013
\nis built out of noise that no generation
\nis able to bring the over the horizon.<\/p>\n

The weather is calmer than rumors,
\nmore flexible than womenswear,
\nwhich steam on the squares.
\nWe sit and fight with mirrors
\nand statues carved out the air.<\/p>\n

When the planes of unrest flap,
\nsolutions snap known forms –
\nonce they discover olive complexion,
\nsecondly Ceres gesture.<\/p>\n

When we fumble for the windows
\nof the Mediterranean and cool in halls,
\nsea vegetation falls without resistance.
\nBut when my forehead wrinkles,
\nI see people asking on the staircases:
\nHow to wake up the wind,
\nburied in the mountain, the wind,
\nthat will move us away
\nfrom the wrong meridian?<\/p>\n

Music<\/strong><\/p>\n

When the certain wave splashes,
\nthe new energy ilumines the forms.
\nI’m overwhelmed by the sound,
\nnothing is no longer out of reach,
\nwhat was difficult it is easier.<\/p>\n

The smile swings through the air,
\nevery thing becomes what it is.
\nHouses fly to the notes.
\nPeople at the station wake up,
\nand if I remove the glass,
\nwater flows between the fingers.<\/p>\n

It pleases my nerves,
\nvanishing on its cliffs
\nand trust the altitude,
\nthey take breath on this flight
\nas a spoiled teenager,
\npreparing herself for the party.<\/p>\n

I love how we surrender to highways,
\nhow we press car meters
\nand I allow her to be seduced,
\nwhen the rhytm wraps around my neck,
\ntaking coins from my pockets,
\nputting mountains and seas in my jacket.<\/p>\n

And from eternety I know
\nthat the adventures prefer rock
\nand classics belong to those who understand.<\/p>\n

Therefore I lose control,
\nif someone sneaks and reduces the volume,
\nbecause nobody knows,
\ndoes not exceed in such way,
\nwhen the certain wave splashes
\nmusic \u2013 our cheapest shelter.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Robert Simoni\u0161ek, Slovenia\u00a0 Member of the Board\u00a0 Translated by the Mary Kathryn Dunn and Katarina Raku\u0161\u010dek. Biography Robert Simoni\u0161ek (1977) is a poet, writer, art historian and curator. He studied philosophy and art history in Ljubljana (Slovenia) and Graz (Austria), he received a master and doctoral degree from the latter. His poetry debut was published […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3554,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[171,161],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/819"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=819"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/819\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3553,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/819\/revisions\/3553"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3554"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=819"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=819"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=819"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=819"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=819"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}