Ľubica Christophory.sk

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Kôra stuhla do svalov

silniem.

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The bark of a tree has grown stiff
to form muscles

I´m getting stronger

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Len počkaj!
Подожди!

A hneď bude po daždi

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Do vody sa pokorím
iba po lakeť,
v dôvodoch sa vynorí
ďalšie ale, čo keď?

…a vietor sa
vída s chvíľou, chvíľou

Tam kde sa svetlo stráca
a láska nie je cítiť,
to, čo predtým rástlo,
teraz hnije v tichu vitrín

…a vietor sa
víta s chvíľou, chvíľou

Všednosť ma zvádza svojou farbou
a očami len hľadám,
kam by som spadla
nadol

…a vietor sa
zmieta chvíľou, chvíľou

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Keď sa ráno stalo dňom
rieka tiekla korytom
voda dlhá kričala, koryto si hľadala

Keď sa rieka stala dnom
obráteným korytom
voda malá z toho dna
keď sa rieky rozvodnia

Voda volá z toho dna
keď sa rieky rozzvonia
voda tečie z toho dna
rieka, keď je slobodná

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Toto je text jednej mojej piesne, pre mňa osobne jednej z najdôležitejších. Až po tomto víkende konečne viem, čo to taká rieka je. Bola som na vode.

Mám modré kolená, spálené ruky a otvorené srdce.

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In a morning becoming a day,
a river was flowing in its bed
Its water was screaming in its length,
seeking its bed

The river became its own bottom,
a reversed bed
water from the bottom – as petty as it was
just like a river overflows

The water is calling from the bottom
when the rivers are ringing

The water is flowing from the bottom
when the rivers are breaking free

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These are lyrics of one of my songs – probably my dearest one. But only after this weekend I am well aware of what it means to be IN a river. I´ve been rafting.

My knees are blue, my arms burnt but my heart open.

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Moja krása
pripravená pre iných

nalepí sa
v električke

na sliny

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My beauty
for eyes waiting for me sick

shall in a tram
to someone else´s spits

stick

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Hodinár na Masnej ulici
už nemá na hodiny

čas

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The watch-maker in the Masná street
has no more time

for clocks

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Masná ulica is a street in an older part of Brno (where I live), not very far from the city centre. It is widely inhabited by Romanese people which gives the old-time-buldings a special atmosphere which I usually enjoy very much. Not to mention, how much I like “ancient” watch-makers´ shop windows which are very rare these days. I found the most beautiful one in L´wiw, Ukraine in the centre. A good old sleeping 19th century view, lovely.

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Tento víkend som strávila v okolí hradov žltých a iných kvetov Bítov a Cornštejn, a tiež v brnenských štvrtiach Žabovresky, Komín a Medlánky. Svet sa niekedy krásne volá. A vonia.

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Na duši defekty,
zhrdzavené obvody po zime

kvety tlačia na puky

porušené

do jari sa
rozvinie

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Breakdown on my soul,
rusty circulations after the winter

flowers keep pressing on their buds

the damaged

shall into the spring
unfold

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Zapliesť sa s tebou
do noci

nechať odpočinúť ruchy
do ticha dýchania

Ovce na pašu vyháňam,
nech ich vlk spočíta

spánkom sa zmeníme
do snov

rozkvitám

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Čakám na návrat jari
na pokraji

sĺz.

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I´m waiting for the spring to return
on the edge of my

tears.

(This one is slightly difficult to translate because of a collocation in Slovak “na pokraji síl” meaning “on the edge of your strengths”, i.e. when you are lost and tired of carrying on doing sth. I put a wordplay here, putting “tears” instead of similar sounding “strengths.”)

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Mrazivá jar ako prúdy dažďa dopadajúce na čakajúcu zem. Nemôžem vstrebať všetky budúce lúče, schnem a opäť padám do kaluží. Sklá sa mlžia a rozjasňuje sa nebo, ako keby som nebola ja tou, čo pred mesiacom, a predsa toľko minulých dní a slov a ticho a hluk. A tanec, čo ma čaká a neminie.

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Frozen spring like rain streams falling down onto the waiting ground. I can´t devour all the future beams, I keep drying up and falling back into the puddles. There is vapour on the windows, a shine behind them again as if I wouldn´t have been the same as a month ago, and still so many days have gone in the past and so many words have been uttered and silence and noise. And the dance, waiting for me to be done.