Hi everyone,

I stumbled upon Steemit a few days ago and and it is slowly getting under my skin. It feels like something you just want to be a part of... and here lies my problem. :) You see, I come from a country called Slovenia. My mother language is Slovenian and, although English is a language I use to communicate with people around the world, I am not confident enough to use it for public blog style writing.

So, while I search for ways to contribute original content to this growing English speaking community, I will share the first three chapters of a story written in 1957 (then published in 1970) by Vladimir Pavšič, better known by his pseudonym Matej Bor, my grandfather and one of Slovenia's most expressive literary creators of his time.

Hope you enjoy. ;)

A Wanderer in The Atom Age

I

A wanderer went through the atom age
and watched,
how the trees were flying away from it.
He hurried after them:
»Don’t go, trees!
If you go,
your shadows too will go,
and if they go,
where would I, a wanderer, rest,
weary of walking
through the atom age?«
But the trees with their shadows
fled and fled.
»Don’t go, don’t go!«
the wanderer called after them,
»If you go
the gardens too will go,
since they will long for you;
and if the gardens go
the birds will go as well,
since they will long for them;
and if trees, gardens and birds go
love too will follow them;
and if love goes —«
Stll the trees did not listen;
they fled and fled
abandoning the atom age.

II

A wanderer went through the atom age
and once he was fairly high up
he looked down
where the atom age lay:
everywhere,
far as the eye could reach,
concrete and iron,
iron and concrete
in all sorts of shapes,
which in the neon lights were casting
long immovable shadows across time.
The wanderer was watching all this
and when he thought how
useless his heart was
amidst it all
he shed a tear.
It fell upon the ground
and a bird which stood there drank it.
And having drunk it, said: »Bitter is your tear.
Why is it so bitter?«
And before the wanderer could say
his usual »don’t know« -—
the bird was dead.
He took it in his hand
and carried it down where the atom age lay
to bury it.
But all in vain:
everywhere concrete and iron,
iron and concrete,
and not enough earth breeding flowers and birds
to make a bird’s grave
and plant a flower upon it.

III

A wanderer went through the atom age
and in the market squares where all things are for sale,
from apricots to lilies of the valley
in early spring,
he bartered away his heart.
And having sold it,
said: »What now?«
He asked a canary: »Shall I buy you?«
»What would you do to me now that you’ve no heart?«
He asked a dog: »Shall I buy you?«
»You would only beat me now that you’ve no heart.«
He asked a star: »Shall I buy you?«
»Where could you put me now that you’ve no heart?«
At last he resolved to build
a hut,
there on the outskirts of the atom age;
and this he did.
When people passing by it asked:
»Who lives in this hut
that never opens the windows or the door?«
the hut replied:
»A man who hides inside
from shame at having sold his heart.«
»He must have sold it cheap,«
they said, and drove on in their limousines
right through the atom age.






P.S.:
The book dedication I found on the opening page, written to his daughter (my mother), is hard to translate as it is a rhyme/dedication entangled (huh, did I use this word right?) in the title, but I can try to translate the meaning of it.

Manja,
a wanderer in the atom age
not a prophecy, a mere warning only
Matej Bor: Tatamiro (as she used to call him)