Lidija Nikčević: Stanica

Great Britain

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

FRANCE

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Germany

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Italia

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Albania

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Poland

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Russia

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Slovakia

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Sweden

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

Slovenija

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar

North Macedonia

SABATO’S PHOTOGRAPH

On my table — shapes of letters, a few quotations

and a recent photograph of Ernesto Sabato.

There he is, smiled with a raised eyebrow

Walking towards the lense. (Even so we don’t

see each other.) Then, notes for a short essay

about a new edition of Tunnel, writen for the next

issue of our weekly. While watching

the elderly face and unrealised eyes, i actually

think of the one and onlyu reader. More or less the same people

are going to read the prose I ‘m talking about,

and my poem, which I ‘m writing right now.

The same people, this one amn, have reda this

somewhere else at least once — on some other form,

signed by others, and — which happens most often –

with a different order of words, if not already

similar to this. The same people have, in different places,

found the menaning, or failed to notice it — in essays,

poems, in everything that’s Ever been written. Even so, I go on writing;

like this, I may sometimes surpass reality. I also set sail

towards sin, my good Juan Pablo!

Translated by Evald Flisar