Michael Hofmann

/Združeno kraljestvo, 1957

(Velika Britanija), rojen leta 1957 v Freiburgu, Nemčija, v Anglijo prišel leta 1961. Sedem let je študiral v Cambridgeu, od leta 1983 živi v Londonu. Izdal šest pesniških zbirk in številne prevode iz nemščine; njegova verzija Brechtovega Dobrega človeka iz Sečuana je bila uprizorjena v londonskem National Theatre.

Pesmi

Iz A v B in spet nazaj / From A to B and back again

Severna linija podzemske je pridrla na plan,

zapuščala je tračnice kot vijugava brazgotina.

Tam je bil Barnet, postaja moje goltniške zapore, na trnjih,

da bi bil dostojen svojega imena, pogovoren, neškodljiv, plehek.

Kraj je bil sončnen in prenatrpan, opečnat in zeleno pristrižen,

imel je po eno-od-vsega-in-dve-mesnici

provincialnih mest. Kot prvo, vpadel sem

v porodnišnico po slučaju...

Vratar je bil nepismen, ampak skupaj

sva našla tvoje ime, spodaj med O-ji,

in tam si bila ti, moja pogumna ljubezen,

v razvezani bolniški halji, ki ni pokrivala ničesar;

bleda; na prazni infuzijski cevki; polna vneme, da mi razkažeš

brazgotine, par čednih križcev,

kot dvoje prepletenih kavljev, eden v metropoli

in drugi malo bolj stran, v brezbrižnih predmestjih.

The Northern Line had come out into the open,

was leaving tracks like a curving cicatrice.

There was Barnet, my glottal stop, trying hard

to live up to its name, colloquial and harmless and trite.

The place was sunny and congested, brick and green trim,

it had the one-of-everything-and-two-butchers

of a provincial town. First, I dropped into

the maternity hospital by accident...

The porter was an analphabet, but together

we found your name, down among the Os,

and there you were, my brave love,

in a loose hospital gown that covered nothing;

pale; on an empty drip; and eager to show me

your scars, a couple of tidy crosses

like grappling hooks, one in the metropolis,

the other some distance away, in the unconcerned suburbs.

Hiša mojega očeta ima mnogo bivališč / My father's house has many mansions

Kdo bi rekel, da spadava skupaj,

moj oče in jaz, med sprehodom, z rokami

za hrbtom, kot je priporočal Goethe?

Najini težki spogledi so naju gnali naprej - prihodnost,

zagozda pločnika z najinimi čevlji v njej...

v tvojem primeru peščenimi, visokimi, odmevajočimi cokljami;

in v mojem, z mednarodno zdelanimi - vidnimi

a neslišnimi — teniskami protestnega gibanja.

Mama je z okna z glavo zmigovala nad nama.

Bil sem višji in hitrejši, a bolj obziren:

napet, prevelik, zgolj toleriran, sem se ustavil

in počakal nate. Hotel sem deliti življenje s tabo.

Živeti s tabo v tvoje pol hiše v Ljubljani,

na tvojem drugem naslovu: se pogovarjati in brati knjige:

spoznati tvoja dekleta, kratko postrižena, črna, oralna;

hoditi po nakupih z rdečim poceni denarjem v supermarket;

si deliti mravlje v kuhinji, neopremljene sobe,

zimsko pokvarljivo vodovodno napeljavo. Družina je bila

ponižanje in obveznost... Trije koraki do tvojih vrat

so bili trije koraki do nebes. A bili so samo obiski.

Na zabavi za tvoje študente - moja iniciacija! -

sem ceremonialno zvrnil usnjen kozarec slivovke.

Potem pa nič. Hotel sem, da bi se tvoja mešanica

užaljenosti in ponosa v meni raztegnila v ponudbo enakosti.

Je končni namen očetovstva zgolj in samo nasvet...?

V ekstazi svoje rasti ti grmovje ob privozu

opraska karoserijo, premakne vzvratno zrcalo.

Vsako leto te heraldično slivovo drevo v tvojem vrtu

preseneti s svojimi majhnimi, gnilimi plodovi.

Who could have said we belonged together,

my father and my self, out walking, our hands held

behind our backs in the way Goethe recommended?

Our heavy glances tipped us forward - the future,

a wedge of pavement with our shoes in it...

In your case, beige, stacked, echoing clogs;

and mine, the internationally scruffy tennis shoes -

seen but not heard - of the protest movement.

My mother shook her head at us from the window.

I was taller and faster but more considerate:

tense, overgrown, there on sufferance, I slowed down

and stooped for you. I wanted to share your life.

Live with you in your half-house in Ljubljana,

your second address: talk and read books;

meet your girl-friends, short-haired, dark, oral;

go shopping with cheap red money in the supermarket;

share the ants in the kitchen, the unfurnished rooms,

the fallible winter plumbing. Family was abasement

and obligation... Three steps to your door

were three steps to heaven. But there were only visits.

At a party for your students - my initiation! -

I ceremoniously downed a leather glass of slivovica.

But then nothing. I wanted your mixture of resentment

and pride in me expanded to the offer of equality.

Is the destination of paternity only advice...?

In their ecstasy of growth, the bushes along the drive

scratch your bodywork, dislocate your wing-mirror.

Every year, the heraldic plum-tree in your garden

surprises you with its small, rotten fruit.