Pitigliano

Ves najboljoš

Today is the birthday of the author of the photographs below, taken when she was last on a visit around here. Maybe she will inspire herself and create a painting after her own photograph (because she is the Aunt Who Took Up Painting). And maybe she will pridi cai again and make new photos. And maybe she will even accept my fb request. 😀 Tanti auguri!

Photo: DS & last LS

And this is how it looks now, our green wall, grazie ancora!

27-11-14 088 (1280 x 960)

Photo: MM

Pridi cai uncle

In Magliano

Today is the birthday of my pridi cai uncle. The story goes that a long time ago, when he, my mother’s brother, met my father’s uncle for the first time, that uncle made the historical error of saying Pridi kaj to him (which translates roughly as Do come over, but not quite yet). A bit later my uncle did just that with a big rucksack and stayed for a week.

Ever since, Pridi kaj has been uttered with a dose of fear in my family, but they have been almost the first words in Slovenian that my Italian amore learned and is happily repeating them left and right (hence his Italianised spelling pridi cai).

And my uncle has come to visit us in Tuscany, twice, stayed for a while, and then kindly informed us that he was having a too nice time to leave just yet:

In Pitigliano, photo: MM

The olives on the pizza were ten, the foam in the glass was just right (provided that we let him wash the glass by hand), the bestia was waking him up on time, and he – forever an avid reader and student of languages – needs some more time to learn the map of Tuscany by heart.

And this is the best thing he could say.

However, some things have been left for the next pridi cai (for example, those ancient Tuscan caves).

Happy birthday and here is a little blast for the past, which probably I would have never heard of if it wasn’t for you, translated by me on the spot. Enjoy and cin cin.

 ≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

The Rolling Stones get to meet my grandparents (Stonesi spoznajo moje stare starše) by Marko Brecelj, translated by Manja Maksimovič

In late afternoon they arrived 
In late afternoon they arrived 
Please come on in, have no fear 
Please come on in, have no fear 
Late afternoon is the best time 
The best time for a polite visit 2x

Late afternoon was drowned in darkness 
Mom was serving, we ate alone 
Late afternoon conversation was flowing 
Conversation was flowing and flowing was the wine 
The wine was flowing, the conversation was flowing 
The conversation was flowing, the neighbour flew in 
The neighbour flew in and said 

The walls are thin and the work starts at six 
The walls are thin and the work starts at six 

Dear neighbour, calm down 
Dear neighbour, don’t get upset 
Dear neighbour, calm down (why so quarrelsome) 
Dear neighbour, don’t get upset (why so quarrelsome) 

Who is this man, this man in the painting 
This stern, stern moustached man 
The painting on the wall is an old painting 
And the man in the painting is old, too 

This is my grandfather 
And the woman next to him is grandma 

What a nice picture
What a nice couple 2x

Shortly after midnight they left 
Their chauffeur Joe Smith was already sleeping 
Joe Smith, wake up!! And he started the car 3x

I opened the window and threw out the ashes 
The words and the smoke exited the room 

A faithful heart and a working hand

Zedd continues to prove that he does not have only a faithful heart and a working hand (zvesto srce in delovno ročico, courtesy of France Prešeren) but also a good eye, a good zoom and a good guide (hihi).

Photo: Zedd

All the roads lead to Pitigliano

Such a little town but most heavily represented on here and in my visits. Pitigliano, città del tufo (type of rock consisting of consolidated volcanic ash ejected from vents during a volcanic eruption.) There is something about it. It hums.

Photo: MM & friends

Two

Dane Zajc: Dva / Two

Translated by Manja Maksimovič

The ice of her body melts

underneath his hands.

The autumn of fruit is awakened beneath his fingers.

The autumn of her body.

Your body has the aroma

of moss under fruit, he tells her.

And as he tells her,

two forests of persistent thoughts

scatter in two cardinal directions.

With their caressing palms they pull down

rocky walls between their eyes.

I’m drunk from your legs, he tells her.

I’m dust on the rainbow of your breath,

she replies.

My body is baptised with your scent,

she whispers.

Afterwards they keep lying perfectly still.

And deep deep underneath them there is a rustle

of two forests encased in ice.

Yet they are lying quiet on the surface of silence.

So quiet that they can hear

a tall tall dam growing between them.

COLD WATER CASCADES OVER.

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As it happened, in Pitigliano, not to me! Photo: MM

Dane Zajc: Dva

Led njenega telesa se stali

pod njegovimi rokami.

Jesen sadov se mu prebudi pod prsti.

Jesen njenega telesa.

Tvoje telo diši

kot mah pod sadjem, ji reče.

In ko ji reče,

se dva gozda trdovratnih misli

razbežita na dve strani neba.

Z božajočimi dlanmi podirata

skalne zidove med svojimi očmi.

Pijan sem od tvojih nog, ji reče.

Prah sem na mavrici tvojega diha,

mu odgovarja.

Moje telo je krščeno s tvojim vonjem,

mu šepeta.

Potem obležita čisto mirna.

In globoko, globoko pod njima zašumita

dva gozda, vklenjena v led.

Ampak onadva ležita tiha na ploskvi tišine.

Tako tiha, da slišita,

kako raste med njima visok, visok jez.

MRZLA VODA PADA ČEZENJ.

Blown away by the better written

Rade Šerbedžija: Odnijeli me bolje napisani / Blown away by the better written

(translated by Manja Maksimovič)

this morning again i notice in your eyes
blue traces of our parting ways
whitened linen, unmet dawns, uncried nights

i wish to tell you at least something
which can be believed
but i know
that in my washed-out brain
there are only words said by others
and moves made by others too

how am i supposed to live
who finds it harder and harder to recognize myself among so many

i am blown away by the better written

how many times i’ve loved in vain due to them
and how many times i’ve failed on account of them
and yet
when you pass through our memory town
i feel and i know
we are still here
we have yet to be scattered by beasts

14-12-13 041 (960 x 1280)

Available In Pitigliano. Photo: MM

I jutros ti u očima opazih
modre tragove naših rastanaka.
Rublje izbijeljeno, zore nedočekane, noći neisplakane.
Zaželeh ti reći bar nešto
u šta se može vjerovati,
ali znam
u mome ispranom mozgu,
samo su tudje riječi
i tudji pokreti samo.

Kako da živim,
ja što se sve teže medju tolikima prepoznajem?
Odnijeli me bolje napisani!
Koliko sam puta, zbog njih, uzalud volio
i koliko puta, zbog njih, gubio..?

Al’ ipak
kad prodješ našim gradom sjećanja,
osjećam i znam,
još smo tu,
još nas nisu zvijeri raznele!