Jana Putrle Srdić (Ljubljana, b. 1975) is a poet and intermedia art producer, occasional writer of film reviews and translator of poetry. She cooperated in different art projects, combining poetry with new media and published 3 poetry books: Kutine (Quinces, 2003); Lahko se zgodi karkoli (Anything could happen, 2007) and To noč bodo hrošči prilezli iz zemlje (This night the beetles will come out of the ground, 2014). The translated poetry books are entitled: Puede pasar cualquier cosa (Buenos Aires, 2011), La noche en que los escarabajos surgieron de la tierra (Madrid, 2015), and Anything could happen (New York, 2014). In numerous countries around the world (Europe, Russia, South America) she appeared on poetry festivals. She has translated poetry from English, Russian, Croatian and Serbian (Robert Hass, Sapphire, Ana Ristović, Contemporary Russian Poetry).
Fish
No matter how carefully you cut into the belly of this wonderful silver fish and clean the entrails, wipe the dust from the shelves, and place fragile objects somewhere high, safety will not save you from fear. Misery doesn’t ensure a good poem. The closeness of death only makes you more alone. Filled with joy, like an aquarium with spawning fish, we watch the ducks follow one another with their shovel-like feet, one two one two in a line. There is an order in everything, some feathery lightness.
(Translated by Barbara Jurša)
Riba
Če še tako previdno prerežeš trebuh te čudovite srebrne ribe izvlečeš drobovje obrišeš prah s poličk in postaviš ostre predmete najviše te varnost ne bo rešila strahov.
Beda ne zagotavlja dobre pesmi. Bližina smrti te zgolj naredi bolj samega. Napolnjeni z veseljem kot akvarij z drstečimi ribami gledamo race ki si sledijo z zamahi lopatastih nog en dva en dva v vrsti. Neki red je v vsem skupaj. Neka peresna lahkost.
Un pez
Aun cuando le cortes con mucho cuidado la tripa a este maravilloso pez plateado sacas las entrañas quitas el polvo de las repisas y pones los objetos frágiles más alto, la seguridad no te salvará de los miedos. La miseria no garantiza que un poema sea bueno. La cercanía de la muerte sólo te hace más solitario. Llenos de alegría, como un acuario con peces que frezan, miramos los patos que se siguen uno al otro con brazadas de pies palmeados, uno dos uno dos en fila. Hay un orden en todo esto. Una ligereza de pluma.
(Traducción de Barbara Pregelj)