The Fish

I’m a carnivore, but a plant.

I’m God and man in one.

I’m a pupa. Humanity grows from me.

I have a perfectly spilled brain, like

a flower, so that I can love more. Sometimes I put

my fingers in it and it’s warm. Wicked people

say that other people drown

in it. No. I’m a belly.

I welcome travelers in it.

I have a wife who loves me.

Sometimes I get scared that she loves me

more than I love her and I’m miserable and

depressed. My wife breathes like a little

bird. Her body relaxes me.

My wife is afraid of the other guests.

I tell her no, no, don’t be afraid.

All the guests are single and for all of us.

A white match with a blue head has fallen

into my typewriter. My nails are dirty.

Now I’m mulling over what I should write.

One neighbor lives here. Her children make

a lot of noise. I’m God and I calm them down.

At one I’ll go to the dentist. Dr. Mena,

Calle Reloj. I’ll ring the bell and tell him

to pull out my tooth because I’m in too much pain.

I’m happiest in sleep and when I write.

The masters pass me from hand to hand.

This is necessary. This is as necessary

as for a tree that’s growing. A tree needs soil.

I need soil so I don’t go insane.

I’ll live for four hundred fifty years.

Rebazar Tarzs has already lived for six hundred years.

I don’t know if he was in that white coat

because I cannot tell them apart yet. When I write, I have

another bed. Sometimes I flow more like

water because water loves the most.

Fear hurts people. A flower is softest

if you put a palm on it. The flower enjoys

the palm. I enjoy everything. Yesterday I

dreamed that my father bent down to

Harriet. I get scared of other women and

that’s why I don’t sleep with them. But the distance between

God and young people is small.

In God there’s always one woman, and this is

my wife. I’m not afraid that the guests will tear me

apart. I can give them everything, but it still grows back.

The more I give, the more it grows. Then it floats away

to help other creatures. On one planet there’s

a collection center for my flesh. I don’t know

which one. Whoever drinks from it will be

happy. I’m a tube. I’m God because

I love. I have everything dark here, inside, nothing

outside. I can illuminate any animal.

I’m starving. When I hear the juices in my

body, I know I’m in grace. I’d have

to consume money night and day if I wanted

to build my life, but it still wouldn’t

help. I’m made for this,

to shine. Money is death. I go out to the terrace.

From there I see the entire landscape, up to Dolores

Hidalgo. It’s warm and soft like in Tuscany,

but it’s not Tuscany. I sit there with Metka and

look. The sun sets and we still sit and

look. She has arms like Shakti. I have

a face like an Egyptian animal. Love is

everything. Moses’s basket never

crashed on the rocks. Small horses walk

out of the flat landscape. Wind is blowing

from the Sierras. I go into people’s mouths head

first and kill them and give birth,

kill and give birth, because I write.

Translated from the Slovenian

Notes:

Read the Slovenian-language original, “Riba,” and the translator ’s note by Brian Henry.

Source: Poetry (May 2023)