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5 article(s) translated from Slovenian

Under the Surface

"Are you sure you aren't coming swimming with me?" he asked me while he was entering the cold water on the lakeside gravel. "You know I'm not . . . I don't like swimming," I replied, just as I do every time he asks me; as if he had forgotten, or else he does it because he doesn't want to remember. You will never know the real reason. I will never tell you. For us to spend the third summer, our summer together, by ourselves, without anyone interrupting us, there had to be a...

Cons: Cat

A cat jumped through the window. Jumped right on to the piano. And played on it, amazed: Whenever I jump, the piano sings. I was in the next room and I thought a spirit played. But then it was struck and the cat jumped through the window. When a new poet comes, the piano everywhere responds. But no one bothers him as they did the cat. All the world is enthralled: This man is mad. Or he is a poet. And everyone listens to his steps, that sing as if above a piano.

from “A Boy and Death”

Father was lying on the table dressed in his usual dark blue suit. He was uncovered, lying on a sheet, and standing at his feet was a vessel of holy water with an olive twig stuck in it. In his clasped hands he held the silvery black crucifix Anna had lent us, which from a distance flashed like a small, dangerous sign. Who had turned him out like a dead man? I pulled off my cold gloves, put away my scarf, and sat down in his chair, which had been pushed out of place. He lay there even...

The Promise

I don't look over my shoulder, no idea where I'm going and not an ounce of fear, falling like fluff from an eiderdown quilt and piercing the afternoon air, real as an hour of solitude or the fragrance of a certain herb: my wounds are healed over and all five senses in sync, harmonized to the birds and the sky, the grimy wall of an underpass with graffiti scratched in a child's hand, announcing I was here. But not only here, my lord, as you know, I go where you want...

Unanswered Plea

I learn things by myself, which is why it takes so long. I'm asking you to be patient. That's not asking much. I learn by myself, learn to cross the village, it's not every day I recognize you in the timberwork of the roof, the builders' sweat alight in the air even now. The river is sluggish here, the lake is asleep, one's step less heavy, but I'm no longer convinced I've read it right: instructions for painting a woodpecker's wings in red and...

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