The Ofi Press Magazine

International Poetry and Fiction from Mexico City

2 Poems Published

By Ivo Frbéžar, Slovenia (Published in Issue 12)

 

 

Anti/ Soneti

 

52.

 

I never sleep I live and dream and I dream when

I live and when I sleep thats living as well said

Fernando Pessoa we are only what we dream

And don't see what we see but only 

 

What we are Mr.Krakar too had determined the world

He had observed from his skyscraper almost everyone

He equally hated to some extent he felt alone

In his own dreams there was not much human left

 

In it he become a mischievous old man that waits for

A gust of wind to tip him memories he'd like to write

But even his dreams he doesn't remember likwise titles

 

Have faded do not laugh at my forgetfulness

He begged converse with me so that I will remember

Who I am and that I'm not somewhere else

 

Ivo Frbéžar is a Slovenian poet, writer, editor, illustrator, graphic designer and photographer. He also publishes through MONDENA Grosuplje, Slovenia. Ivo lives in small village called Mala Ilova Gora in Slovenia and studied Comparative literature and literary theory on Filozofska fakulteta in Ljubljana (Faculty of Art in Ljubljana), and LSPR (London School of Public Relations. He is a member of DSP, Društvo slovenskih pisateljev (Assosiation of Slovenian Writers) and Slovenskega centra PEN (Slovenian PEN Centre), as well as being a member of the Translators & Linguistic Rights Commitee (T&LRC). Ivo has published 12 books of poetry, short stories, haiku and aforism. His work has been translated into English, Italian, Macedonian, Bulgarian, Polish, and Serbo-Croatian languages.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Invenciones

Ivo f.

Translation from Slovenian by Juan Octavio Prenz


Afirmo que no estoy

loca. Todo lo veo tajante y

preciso. No quiero morir de

hambre. Los calambres de estómago, creo, no me

matarán. Parálisis tuve ya en mi

juventud. A veces deseo también estar

ciega. Algunos están 

convencidos de que existen

momentos de locura, así como existen

momentos de alegría.

No, de veras no estoy

loca. Afirmo que sé lo que

hago. Con gusto te contaría algo. Quiero. No sé

cómo hacerlo. No es sencillo. ¿Cómo 

te cuento lo sencillo? Quiero contarte lo que

no te he contado hasta ahora. No sé por dónde

comenzar. Quiero que sepas, por ejemplo,

que siempre y en todo

he mentido. No he tenido coraje para decirte

la verdad. Me imagino

historias, fábulas, como si todo fuera

verdad. He pensado que a la gente le cuentas

fácilmente lo que es verdad y lo que piensas

que piensas. Y después de un instante todo ha

terminado. La lengua 

engaña. Son palabras

que dejas caer, porque temes que vengan