Pandorine statve
JOŽE SLAK / ŽIVLJENJEPIS
Nekoč, že dolgo tega, so se glavni in stranski bogovi s prijatelji spet malo veselili. Bili so prav židane volje in kot se pogosto zgodi, so se odločili pohecati na račun smrtnikov tam doli na zemlji. Vzeli so pogančka iz dolenjskih gozdov
in ga poslali k japonskim mojtrom v uk. Malce so se pokrohotali na njegov račun, nato pa pozabili.
Leta zatem se je neko božanstvo v poštarja preoblečeno klatilo po svetu. Pot ga zanese v Jordan kal, nenavadno
domovanje zagleda na robu gozda. Japonski vrtiček, ribnik s krapi, v vrtači pa lisaste krave in traktor s kmetom na delu.
- Kdo pa stanuje tukaj, se pozanima pri kmetu.
- Ah, umetnik je, slikar, odmahne kmet z roko, drugo drži na volanu, traktor ni konj.
- Ti si pa nov ?
A poštarja že ni več. V miško se dene in firbčno pod vrati v hiško se stisne.
Kako urco za tem se spet miška pojavi, zadovoljno si brčice mane in se po mišje hahlja.
- Tale, si reče, se nam je pa posrečil... Iz pobiča mojster, ostal je poganček, postal je budist.
Naslednjič na žurko ga povabimo medse, da nam po svoje zapoje.
In že se miška v krilato žival prelevi, skoči, zleti, nikjer je več ni.
Kmet pa še zlepa ni mogel pozabit, da se je enkrat nov poštar na njivah iskal.
JOŽE SLAK / CURRICULUM VITAE
Once upon a time, a long time ago, the chief and the lesser gods and all their friends were having a party.
They were in a mighty merry mood and, as it often happens, decided to play a little prank on the mortals
down on ole’ Earth. They took a pagan lad from the woods of Dolenjska and sent him off to the Japanese
masters to be their student, had a good laugh or two on his expense and then forgot about it.
Years passed and on one day, some deity or another was wandering around the earth disguised as a postman.
Its travels took it to Jordan Kal, where it noticed an unusual abode at the edge of the forest.
A Japanese garden, a pond filled with carps, and next to it a vale where motley cows grazed around a farmer
on a tractor.
- Who lives there in that little house? The deity asked the farmer.
- Ah, an artist type, a painter, the farmer waved it off - careful to keep the other hand on the wheel, of course, the tractor isn’t a horse after all.
- You’re new around here, aren’t you?
But the postman had already vanished. It turned into a little mouse and hid, curious, under the house.
An hour later or so, the mouse appeared back, cheerfully stroking its whiskers and chuckling to itself as mice often do.
- This one, it said to itself, this one turned out just great… From a lad to a master, stayed pagan yet turned Buddhist. Next time, we’ll invite him to our party so he can sing us a quirky song.
And the mouse grew wings, hopped up and flew away before you could say ‘hey!’
As for the peasant, he long kept jolly memories of that greenhorn postman searching his way round the fields.
HANNA PREUSS / ŽIVLJENJEPIS
Pred davnimi leti bradati se mož odpravi na vzhod. Iskal je navdiha, a našel je ženo.
- Vzamem, kaj je, si reče in ženo pripelje domov.
Ta žena pa imela poseben je dar. Druge so tkale in šivale, pletle, ta pa iz zvokov svetove gradila.
Domotožje, ljubezen, žalost, veselje, vse znala je urno v zven spremenit. Ljudje so se čudili,
od daleč hodili, da so poslušali, kaj tam zveni.
Tako se, vidite, pripeti, da prav v naših krajih sonorična misel vzbrsti in od tod spet v druge dežele
se širi.
HANNA PREUSS / CURRICULUM VITAE
On a distant day long ago, a bearded man traveled to the East. He sought inspiration there but instead found himself a wife.
- I’ll take what I can get, he thought, and took the wife home.
As it turned out, this wife had a special gift. While others knit and sewed garments, she wove worlds out of voices. Be it homesickness, love, sadness or joy, she could turn them all into melody in the blink of an eye. People were amazed, they traveled from all around to listen to the sound.
And so it was, you see, that the sonorous arts sprang up in these parts, from where they now hum into distant lands.
JAKA ŠIMENC / ŽIVLJENJEPIS
V pradavnih časih, še pred internetom, so božanstva kdaj rada po zemlji hodila. En zimski dan so se namenila mulcem poklice deliti. En hotel šofer je postat, drug župan, eden pa bil je zjutraj zaspan
in ko je končno prišel na dvorišče, sedel na ograji samo še kosmati je vrag.
“Kaj boš pa ti, ” je malega vprašal. “Saj nič ne znam...” “ Se boš že naučil! Povej, kaj bi rad. ” Mulček pomežikne v dež in v mrak. “ Najraje bi znal delati luč. ” “ Kakšno luč?” star vrag se začudi. “Luč pač: iz teme svetlobo, in dan iz noči.” “ To sploh ni poklic,” se kosmati razburi. “Pač,” pravi mali, ki bil je pretkan, “Vsakemu tisto, kar delal bi rad ! ”. Vrag se namuzne, zakašlja, zažvižga in že ga ni več.
Mulček pa izučil se v mojstra je z leti luči: iz teme svetlobo zdaj dela in dan iz noči
JAKA ŠIMENC / CURRICULUM VITAE
In ancient times, even before the internet, deities liked to stroll around Earth now and then. One day in winter thus, they set out to bestow vocations on little brats. This one wanted to be a bus driver, that one a mayor, and then there was one who slept awfully late and when he finally made it to the courtyard, the only deity still there was a hairy devil sitting on the fence.
“And what do you wanna be,” he asked the little boy. “Well, I don’t really have any skills…” “You will learn! Just tell me what you want.” The boy blinked into the murky rain. “I’d like to know how to make light.” “What kind of light?” the old devil asked, puzzled. “Well, light, from darkness to bright and day from the night.” “That’s not even a vocation!” blurted the hairy one. “It is, too,” replied the cunning lad “to each one whatever he wants to do, wasn’t it?” The devil smiled, he coughed, whistled and then vanished in a puff of smoke.
And so, the little boy in time became a master of light: from darkness to bright and day from the night.
