Andes
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Tomaz Salamun
Tomaž Šalamun was born in 1941 in Zagreb. He has published over thirty books of poetry and frequently teaches at American universities, including Pittsburgh, Richmond, and Texas.
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Andes - Tomaz Salamun
ANDES
TOMAŽ
ŠALAMUN
Andes
by Tomaž Šalamun
Translated by Jeffrey Young and Katarina Vladimirov Young
Translation © 2016 by Jeffrey Young, Katarina Vladimirov Young, and Tomaž Šalamun
Introduction © 2016 by Jeffrey Young
Afterword © 2016 by Tibor Hrs Pandur
All rights reserved.
To reprint, reproduce, or transmit electronically, or by recording all or part of this manuscript, beyond brief reviews or educational purposes, please send a written request to the publisher at:
Black Ocean
P.O. Box 52030
Boston, MA 02205
blackocean.org
Cover Art and Design by Abby Haddican | abbyhaddican.com
Book Design by Nikkita Cohoon | nikkita.co
ISBN 978-1-939568-18-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Šalamun, Tomaž, author. | Young, Jeffrey, 1968- translator. | Young, Katarina Vladimirov, translator.
Title: Andes / Tomaž Šalamun ; translated from the Slovenian by Jeffrey Young and Katarina Vladimirov Young, with the author.
Description: First edition. | Boston : Black Ocean, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016027531 | ISBN 9781939568182 (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Šalamun, Tomaž--Translations into English.
Classification: LCC PG1919.29.A2 A6 2016 | DDC 891.8/415--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016027531
FIRST EDITION
CONTENTS
Notes on the Translation
I
Among the Chestnuts
Concluding of a Small Ball
I Touch Rough Canvas on the Deck Chair
Plasma, Small Bread of Avala
Ostrich Galvanized with Cylinder
He Acquainted the Dead One with the Habsburgs
He Exclaimed
Breath Comes from Disfigure
She Had Black and Beautiful Eyes
To Speed. To Throw Laundry into the Coffin
Lunch and the Evening
Two
A Mouse Got Caught in a Pot in Katorga
Poems
And Under the Skull Breathes Cosmé Turra
II
Under Glass Air Spews
She Said Proudly, Not Shouted
Hedgehog
Grotto
Tigris Fioreto
Horse Doesn’t Betray
Dado
Reconquista
Whirl
Know What! I Want!
The Ravine
Hermes Was Able to Change the Soles of Every Shoemaker
Ptuj
Buy His House in Kambreško
According to the Raftsman’s Floor Plan to Operate on Brain Nucleus
Skull Base
Big Yellow Blind with Java
Who Doesn’t Hide behind the Altar
Nino
Vadyanyiti (from behind)
With Air
Hydrogen, List of Birds in the Astrakhan Province
III
Pink Case
On the Open Sea
Filibert the Fair
Ferrara, Ferrara
The Stream
White Greeks
Nijinsky and I
The Pupil
Ajusco
Joseph II
Foreigners
Breakfast with Him
Grain of Practices
Tuft Presses Me
Indians Little Japanese
The Blossom Falls, People Die
Tuscany
First Africa
The Crouching Ones Are Drawing Near Them
Beloved Metka
Turn
IV
Chipped Steps of Paolo Mancini
We Won’t Argue over One Worker
Gioventu Universitaria Fascista
Life
Joseph Wrapped Mary into Thickly Woven Canvas
Brother Who Falls on Brother as If They Were from the Same Oven
Throwing the Bicycle over the Fence
Syracuse
Mail to Austin
We Will Tear Your Throat with Blueberries
We from Aragon
Daughter Drew In Also the Herbarium
Morning
Hoops
You Cry Because My Love Isn’t Deeper, I Know
V
From Stone
Pouring
The Forest
Money Shots
The Cell
David Schubert
Tomile!
Blocked Symmetry
The Hill
Martyrdom
Afterword
NOTES ON THE TRANSLATION OF TOMAŽ ŠALAMUN’S ANDES
Great poets/foretell their own deaths in a single line.
— Tomaž Šalamun, from his book Amerika (1973)
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
(1855)
But my soul is a fire that suffers if it does not blaze.
—Stendhal, quoted by Albert Camus in the introduction to L’Envers et l’endroit (1958)
This translation, like most of Tomaž Šalamun’s work published in English to date, was born from a collaborative effort with the author. Sadly, it is also the last translation of an original manuscript that he would complete and authorize before his death, in December 2014, at the age of 73.
Our cooperation began in sunnier days, during summer 2012, as an offer to help him prepare rough translations of his poems in English. Since starting work on a documentary about Šalamun earlier that year, I could see how busy he was with all manner of literary activities and obligations. It would have been impossible for me to make this offer were it not for the happy fact of my marriage to the artist Katarina Vladimirov, who was born and raised in Šalamun’s adopted hometown of Ljubljana. Though, as Šalamun told us, it was more her training and instincts as a painter than their shared mother tongue that gave him confidence that we