LUBOMÍR FELDEK
(9 de octubre de 1936, Žilina) es un poeta eslovaco, novelista, dramaturgo y traductor. Marido de la escritora Olga Feldeková.
Prosa
1980 – Van Stiphout , román
2004 – Moja žena Oľga a nekonečno
Poesía
1961 – Jediný slaný domov
1970 – Kriedový kruh
1973 – Paracelsus
1974 - Severné leto
1976 – Dvaja okolo stola
1980 – Poznámky na epos
1986 – Milovanie pred usnutím (zostavil Ján Zambor)
1986 – Slovák na Mesiaci
1990 – Plakať je krásne
1991 – Usmiaty otec
1992 – Odzemok na rozlúčku a 19 jarmočných piesní
1999 – Milovanie v pokročilom veku
2003 – This Side Up
2004 – Lekárnička zamilovaných
2006 – Slovák na Venuši
Los retiros de la poesía
1974 – Severné leto
1977 – Oravské motívy
1991 – Usmiaty otec
2003 – This side up
Ensayos
1977 – Z reči do reči
1982 – Homo scribens
1989 – À propos svědomí (vyšlo len v češtine )
1998 – Svet je aj inde (spoluautorka Oľga Feldeková )
2006 – V otcovej Prahe
2007 – Prekliata Trnavská skupina
2008 – Homo politicus
2009 – O nákazlivosti š ťastia
2013 – Ťahák z dejín slovenskej literatúry od Lomidreva po Malkáča
Drama
1977 – Metafora
1978 – Teta na zjedenie
1979 – Jánošík podľa Vivaldiho
1982 – Smutné komédie
1986 – Utekajte, slečna Nituš
1988 – Umenie neodísť
1988 – Skúška
1990 – Dve hry o pravde
1995 – Smrť v ružovom
1995 – Teta z Prahy
1999 – Hraj, noha, a ty, druhá, tancuj
2000 – Z dreva vyrezané
2002 – Horor v horárni
2012 – Stalin v Žiline
Creación para niños y jóvenes
Poesía
1959 – Hra pre tvoje modré oči
1961 – Jediný slaný domov
1963 – Telefón
1964 – Novoročné pozdravy
1966 – Kolesá, krúťte sa!
1967 – Hlava, ktorú som mal vtedy
1967 – O hluchej babke a vnúčikovi Zlatúšikovi
1968 – Stratený zverinec
1968 – Kuchárska kniha pre deti
1970 – Škorec výletník
1970 – Kto mamke pomáha?
1972 – Hviezdičková rozprávka
1974 – Na motýlích krídlach
1977 – Jantárový svet
1979 – Veselý album zvierat
1982 – Päť detektívov
1991 – Papagáj Kolumbus
Prosa
1965 – Zlatúšik
1968 – Zelené jelene
1970 – Rozprávky na niti
1970 – Zvířecí báje (vyšlo v češtine )
1972 – Kúzelník a kvetinárka
1972 – Kocúr a jeho chlapec
1974 – Modrá kniha rozprávok
1983 – Zelená kniha rozprávok
2003 – Veľká kniha slovenských rozprávok
2004 – Modrozelená kniha rozprávok
2011 – Čiernobiela kniha rozprávok
Traducciones
1981 – Preklady , rozsiahly výber prekladov
1981 – Opitá loď a iné básne , spoluautorstvo na preklade básní A. Rimbauda
1999 – Moje malé milenky , preklad básní Jeana Arthura Rimbauda
2001 - Sonety , druhé vydanie v roku 2006 (preklad sonetov W. Shakespeara; v roku 2006 obohatený aj o preklad Shakespearovej básne Milenkin nárek)
2005 - Romeo a Júlia , 3. preklad do slovenčiny (Jesenská, Kot) (II. vydanie 2009)
2005 - Sen svätojánskej noci
2005 - Trojkráľový večer
2005 - Antonius a Kleopatra , preklad pôvodne vznikol pre potreby SND, kde mala hra premiéru 16. júna 2002
2006 - Ako sa vám páči , preklad vznikol pre potreby SND, kde mala hra premiéru 21. júna 1996; text bol inscenovaný na Letných shakespearovských slávnostiach v roku 2006
2006 - Hamlet , v poradí 4. preklad do slovenčiny (Hviezdoslav, Jesenská, Kot), ktorý mal premiéru 14. septembra 2007 v Sále činohry SND (II. vydanie 2009)
2007 - Othello (II. vydanie 2009)
2008 – Skrotenie čertice , preklad hry W. Shakespeara známejšej pod názvom Skrotenie zlej ženy
2008 - Búrka
2009 - Macbeth , preklad pripravený pre Slovenské komorné divadlo v Martine, kde mala hra premiéru 12. júna 2009
2009 - Tri tragédie , spoločné vydanie prekladov hier Hamlet, Othello, Romeo a Júlia
2011 - Zimná rozprávka
2012 - Kráľ Lear
2013 - Oko za oko
2013 - Dvaja veronskí šľachtici
2013 - Veľa kriku pre nič
Luna de madera
Se ahogó en el Orava Juan Luna
cuando a través del río hendido
regresaba desde la taberna a su casa.
Pero ¿qué cielo sería el del Orava
si tuviera que quedarse sin luna?
Tallaron pues los oraveños otra
de madera de abeto.
Cuatro hombres la pusieron en el cielo,
Allí encontraron a los ángeles de alas blancas–
No descendieron nunca del cielo a la tierra.
Abandonaron a cuatro mujeres en la tierra
y con ellas también a sus treinta y siete hijos.
Cuando hacen el amor con los ángeles en el cielo
sus hijos le lanzan bolas de nieve al claro de luna.
En invierno, en verano nieva en Orava
de día, de noche allí brilla la luna de madera.
La muerte como un trueno
Juan Trueno sentado en la taberna, no tiene fuerzas para levantarse del vino.
Y en la pared del local el abrigo se inclina hacia su copa,
Desde el perchero el abrigo se inclina hacia su copa,
se le abre el cuello –¡dame un sorbo al menos!
Su sombra bebe por motivos políticos.
Ya estuvo en chirona varias veces –no enmendarás con nada a esa sombra .
La última vez fue por ofensa al Jefe del Estado.
Les gusta denunciarle –así se quitan de encima
a un alborotador.
Y su abrigo bebe porque las brujas desnudas
cerca revolotean con sus escobas, y siente la comezón de poseerlas.
Ya cien veces gritó "¡Te atrapé!" –pero es como un hechizo.
Siempre pesca con la manga sólo una vara de la escoba.
Y Juan Trueno –sólo tiene vino en la cabeza.
¿Hay cabezas del Estado? ¿Brujas? Él no se da cuenta.
Apura su copa. Se desploma bajo la mesa. Oh, ¡qué gran trueno!
...Un año después las moscas del vino todavía rondan
sobre su tumba.
Versiones de V. Oleríny, M. Lenghardt y J.J. Padrón
SMILING FATHER
He seemed alive.
But my father was alive assuredly
when in Sasinkova Street mortuary
they brought him from the freezer on a trolley
to show to me and my wife.
In life he'd merely clouded,
like he'd left death far behind.
And he had too –
since his brief life
slipped from his hands when scarcely he'd reached fifty;
history's course changed almost all in him,
then illness cancelled out the rest.
The dissident brain, linked
to the pain-killing diversionists,
steadily camouflaged his goal –
he wanted what he didn't,
he didn't want what he did.
After death the surgeon took it out –
and my father came to life.
It was him again,
court president, with great bald head,
calling his family jovially, "Let's go!",
as if the trolley before the freezer
was an old Tatra, model '57.
And because he'd come in a rush, it seemed,
and in the euphoria the razor slipped –
here was his smile again!
(If such a name can be given
to the jagged and masterful scar
the autopsy left on his crown.)
CHILDREN’S REVOLUTION
"A child's face too is a weapon?"
the beaten batons wondered.
Bloodily they flamed
with longing for revenge.
Thus began that gentle
revolution of our children.
Years and years we lived
spellbound in silence, meekness, fear,
so that we could bring to the world those children
who today advanced
with faces against batons
to free us from that curse.
And freed,
instantly we advanced with them!
And the batons shamed blood-red
took to flight.
DIFFERENCE
The man tries to spit out the lie
but it sticks to his palate
and grows in his mouth,
and when he finally spits it out,
as if on invisible chewing-gum –
the farther that spittle flies
the more vehemently the lie returns to his mouth
and the man does not get rid of the lie,
and he knows that what he is not rid of
is a lie.
The woman lets go the lie with ease
as if blowing a bubble to the wind,
and without it she could cross to the other side,
but she goes after it
and tries to catch it in her mouth again,
for the lie escapes her
and the woman thinks that what flees from her
is truth.
And all the while truth goes
on beautiful long legs.
MAKING LOVE BEFORE SLEEP
Somewhere smoke issued from a bachelor's house
and twilight fell.
We are making love, and the thoughts
run round in our heads
as if they had places to go.
We make goodbye love, we make slumberous love.
The first smile flies from you – the butterfly
that mated this evening
with the butterfly of your lips – those are winging
behind him.
Your scent too is going off to sleep among the roses.
And your eyelashes slowly go on little legs
to the anthills of night.
I hear your nails grow southwards.
A streamlet leaks from the corners of your mouth:
today's last
voice.
The two waves of your breasts have risen
and become swans,
they have spread their snow-white wings
and are dragging the bed to Denmark, so 'tis said,
along with us, who are making love before sleep,
to hear the golden coach.
But your eyes, restless twins,
those are not yet sleeping,
and while the story's happening
they change places under the eyelids
like sun and moon.
We wake – and you're a virgin once again.
TWO AT A TABLE
We two at a table are silent and I say:
– How quiet you are, except that you're crying.
How hurried your legs are, under the peaceful
muscles.
How blue are your nails, as they grow
in time to the music.
How beautiful is your blood, as it moves
round the house.
How slender your eyes are while gazing
(each of them shines late into the night).
How long is your loosened voice.
And yet it's the only one of us
ready to leave its own tracks behind.
Translated by John Minahane
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