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ZLOČIN IN KAZEN

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

Aleš Mustar

trans. Manja Maksimovič (from Slovene)

Umoril sem kar samega sebe.
Ubil svoje iluzije, sanje
in zaspal kot angelček.
Tretji dan sem vstal kot sodni tolmač.
Kje si, Fjodor Mihajlovič, stari moj,
kje si, da se ga skupaj nažgeva z vodko?
Brat iz rane mladosti,
ki si me zadeval brez nedovoljenih substanc,
kradel noči in mi povzročl psihosomatska obolenja,
ko sem bil še medvedek, ki je hotel od blizu videti

zvezde.

Vstani od smrti, pridi za šank,
pripelji svojo imaginarno bando zločincev,
jaz pa bom pripeljal svojo realno,
da se pomerimo v pitju vodke,
kot enakovredni partnerji,
da postavimo črte.
Mi smo močni, rojeni zmagovalci,
mojih ne peče vest, poznam jih do potankosti.

Dnevno voham njihove potne dlani na zatožnih

klopeh in

koketiram s cipami, edina dobra plat poklica.
Vest je za romane.
Sodbe v imenu ljudstva - katerega? -, dragi moj,

so neučinkovite, ne povzročajo notranjega razkola,
vest obstaja le še v slabi ekranizaciji tvojega romana.
Vse je iluzija, poceni gledališka igra s še bolj poceni

igralci.

Vem, da te bom premagal, stari moj,
le tega ne vem,
kdo od naju je na boljšem?

I murdered myself of all people.
Killed my illusions, my dreams,
and fell asleep like an angel.
On the third day I resurrected as a court interpreter.
Where are you, Fyodor Mikhailovich, old boy,
where are you so we can get pissed on vodka together?
My brother from the early age
who got me high without illegal substances,
stole my nights away, and caused psychosomatic disorders
back when I was still a little bear who wanted to see

the stars up close.

Resurrect, get yourself by the bar,
bring along your imaginary bunch of criminals,
and Ill bring along my real one
so we can have a vodka-drinking contest
competing as equals,
and draw the lines.
We are strong, born winners,
mine are not the kind to be conscious-stricken, I know

them inside out.

I smell their sweaty palms in courtroom docks on a daily

basis, and

I flirt with prostitutes, the one advantage of my profession.
Conscious is for novels, conscious is romantic.
Verdicts in the name of the people - which people? - my

dearest,

are inefficient, they don't cause internal struggles,
and conscious only exists in a poor adaptation of your novel.
Everything is an illusion, a cheap theatre play with even

cheaper actors.

I know Im going to beat you, old boy,
I only dont know
which one of us is better off?

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