:: SlovoKult:: literARTour :: 2020 ::
:: Marija Grubor :: Dorit Trebeljahr ::
Yana, play some music about ends
about full stops and closures
about reluctant composures
about from the truth harshly uprooted exposures
whispered over the shoulders
you know, those who left you with the taste
of a fugitive three centuries running away from hordes
of a defendant three centuries waiting in the court’s corridors
of a slave three centuries digging the African mines unexplored
only to learn at the end
that the horde is stronger than you
that the court’s working hours have expired
that there is no gold
that youth should be spent wisely
playing tetris at home.
come on, find me some music
about wasted time
about victimless crime
about the aborted ambition of being prime
about twentyish years of roaming around
through labyrinths of pathetic ends
tripping on undisclosed thoughts
and wasted verbs.
today is the end of the ends.
don’t come near me.
you are all dead
and I don’t conceive deaths any more.
only you, Yana, come, come,
and find me some music about ends.
:: Translated from Macedonian :: Elena Prendjova ::
:: Dorit Trebeljahr :: Untitled :: 2014