Lidija Nikčević: Stanica

Great Britain

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

FRANCE

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Germany

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Italia

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Albania

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Poland

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Russia

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Slovakia

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Sweden

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

Slovenija

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs

North Macedonia

ON THE INTERNATIONAL ROUTE MUNICH — SALONIKA

On a dirty train,

international route Munich — Salonika,

I am trying to read Rober Musil’s The Man Without Qualities.

But this, I come to realize, is surely impossible in places like this.

I reach for a banal substitutes:

to continue reading infinitely harder is

than to find a dozy idler

in every carriage, first or second class no matter,

on all train routes.

 

Interestingly, this international train

frequently stops even at stations that are local:

I seek invisible symbols in this disobediance of schedule.

 

I find it is better to give up on reading.

Thus, I am silent and watch,

first, the nightly landscapes of Slavonia,

then, opposite myself, the mirror –

I see my two modest travel bags,

Seemingly not so heavy luggage.

But I fell it is impossible to get rid of.

 

As the train pulls away

and day comes close

I think it does not matter

at which station to disembark

whose luggage to take.

Translated by Nikolai Jeffs