Pino Pograjc

Pino Pograjc (1997, Slovenia) graduated from the Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, with a double MA in English and Comparative Literature. He grew up in Kamnik, where he first read his poems in front of an audience at slam poetry competitions at the Kotlovnica Youth Center, winning several times. In 2022, the independent publishing house Črna skrinjica published his debut poetry collection Trgetanje, for which he won the prize for best literary debut awarded at the 38th Slovenian Book Fair. In March 2024, his second collection of poetry Trepete was published by the LGBT+ publishing house ŠKUC – Lambda, after which he won the “Young Pen” award, which is given out by the Delo newspaper. His third collection, Megalomast in Izbruhijada, was published by Črna skrinjica in November 2024. Schizofag, a collection of his selected works, translated into English by the author, was first published in 2025 as a part of Pograjc’s residency at the Mediterranea 20 Young Artists Biennale. The title comes from the fact Pograjc included the poems that deal with his queerness and schizophrenia diagnosis.

More about the translator

Translated by Pino Pograjc

Burlesque / Burleska

people drink orange juice
on the balcony of the open ward
because it supposedly helps
the pills for addiction
hit harder

an old man offers his benzos
to a guy in a neck brace

a bipolar guy yells at them
and snitches to the nurses

the ratio of male
to female nurses
reduces significantly with each transfer
from a closed
to a semi-closed
to an open ward

a Buddhist sits down at the table,
she thought she had experienced enlightenment,
but really she was throwing dinner plates
at her family

the alcoholic next to her is trying to overcome the DTs
because there are no bottles here
to stifle them

a woman walks in
wearing a pink tracksuit
and makeup on pouty lips

a few minutes ago, she was pressing them
against a young addict
who is now sitting next to her,
holding her hand

because of her sunglasses
we don’t know
who her prophecy is aimed at

in a week
one of you
will fall in love with me
Translated by Pino Pograjc
na balkonu odprtega oddelka
se pije pomarančni sok,
ker menda pomaga,
da tablete proti odvisnosti
močneje primejo

starček ponuja svoje benzote
moškemu, ki nosi opornico za vrat

bipolarec ju nadere
in zatoži medicinskim sestram

število medicinskih tehnikov
se v primerjavi s sestrami
občutno zmanjša ob vsakem prestopu
z zaprtega
preko polzaprtega
na odprti oddelek

za mizo se usede budistka,
ki misli, da je doživela razsvetljenje,
v praksi pa je metala krožnike
v svojo družino

ob njej alkoholik premaguje tresavico,
ker tu nima steklenic,
ki bi jo zadušile

vkoraka naličena ženska
v roza trenirki
in z nabuhlimi ustnicami

nekaj minut nazaj jih je pritiskala
na mladega odvisnika,
ki zdaj sedi ob njej
in jo drži za roko

ker nosi sončna očala,
ne vemo,
komu namenja prerokbo

v enem tednu
se bo nekdo izmed vas
zaljubil vame
In French / Po francosko

my roommate in the open ward knows
I find it hard to fall asleep
because of bad thoughts,
so he suggests
I play music at night

when he compliments my selection,
I make playlists for him

he teaches me French,
but we get no further than
s’il vous plaît

in art therapy
he always uses charcoal
to draw black cubist pictures
and laughs at me
when I draw aliens
who are taking me away from Earth

we don’t talk much,
instead, we pass a piece of paper back and forth
over coffee
and write down scenes from a play,
line after line

he always leads the story
towards a woman smoking weed
on a bed

and I always guide it back to him,
the protagonist
Translated by Pino Pograjc
moj cimer ve,
da težko zaspim
zaradi slabih misli,
zato mi predlaga,
da ponoči predvajam glasbo

ko pohvali moj izbor,
zanj sestavljam playliste

uči me francosko,
a ne prideva dlje
od s'il vous plaît

na terapiji risanja
vedno uporablja oglje
za črne kubistične motive
in se mi smeje,
ko narišem vesoljce,
ki me odpeljejo z zemlje

nisva zgovorna,
zato si ob kavi izmenjujeva list,
na katerega piševa
dramske prizore,
repliko za repliko

zgodbo vedno usmeri k ženski,
ki leži na postelji
in kadi travo

jaz pa vedno k njemu,
protagonistu
Eruptum XXI. / Izbruhek XXI.

Who’s that schizin’ over there?
Iztok Osojnik

at the psychiatric hospital they sat us in a circle

at group therapy
each of us had to answer
if you could be any animal,
which animal would you be?

the therapist was noting down the answers
of taciturn birds,
wolves
and cats
until it was my turn

I said
I would like to be a whale

after a short silence I added
because they don’t have any natural predators

the therapist was staring at me,
tapped the patient next to her
on the shoulder
and whispered
what do whales eat?

with his one good eye he looked at her,
his head wrapped in gauze,
and murmured
krill, I think

she nodded,
content
that I pose risk
only to myself

next
Translated by Pino Pograjc
Ko to tamo šizi?
Iztok Osojnik

v polju so nas posedli v krog

na skupinski terapiji
je moral vsak posebej povedati,
katera žival bi bil najraje?

terapevtka si je na kratko beležila
odgovore redkobesednih ptic,
volkov
in mačk,
dokler nisem bil na vrsti jaz

povedal sem,
da bi bil najraje kit

po kratki tišini sem dodal,
ker nima naravnih sovražnikov

terapevtka je buljila vame,
potrepljala pacienta
na sosednjem stolu
in mu zašepetala,
kaj jejo kiti?

s svojim enim očesom
jo je pogledal iz povite glave
in ji zamrmral,
mislim, da plankton

ona je pokimala,
zadovoljna,
da sem nevaren
samo sebi

naslednji
Eruptum XIV. / Izbruhek XIV.

[Homosexuals of today] jiggle their bottoms, put their little fingers in the air and with their little castrato voices moan about what those ghastly heteros put them through. They behave like fairground freaks.
Brigitte Bardot

when we were playing The Incredibles on the playground,
I always wanted to be Violet

when we were playing Charlie’s Angels,
I always wanted to be Lucy Liu

when the day and play was over,
I stuffed my bag,
locked myself in the school bathroom
and waited
until I found the courage in my spine
to go home

I was meandering,
my walk home was a labyrinth,
winding paths,
searching for a way
to avoid the older boys

when I spotted them
on the road ahead
and couldn’t hide anymore,
I suppressed the sway of my hips,
tried performing easiness with my hands,
always stiff,
and with all the seriousness I had in me
I fixed my stare on the road

sometimes they didn’t even say a word,
they just shut up
and observed me

but they always sniffed me out

even if I turned into air,
even if I turned into them
Translated by Pino Pograjc
[Današnji geji] tresejo svoje riti, dvigujejo mezince v zrak in s svojimi kastratskimi glasovi stokajo o tem, kaj vse so jim prizadejali ti grozni hetiči. Obnašajo se kot zabaviščne spake.
Brigitte Bardot

ko smo se na igrišču igrali Neverjetne,
sem vedno želel biti Violeta

ko smo se igrali Čarlijeve angelčke,
sem vedno želel biti Lucy Liu

ko je bilo dneva in igre konec,
sem natrpal torbo,
zaklenil sem se v šolsko stranišče
in čakal,
da v hrbtenici najdem pogum,
da se odpravim domov

hoja je potekala v vijugah
po labirintu,
iskanju načinov,
kako se izogniti starejšim fantom

ko sem jih zagledal
na poti pred sabo
in se ni bilo več mogoče skriti,
sem zatrl zibanje bokov,
moje roke so igrale sproščenost,
vedno togo,
in z vso resnostjo, ki sem jo premogel,
sem strmel predse

včasih niso rekli niti besede,
včasih so le utihnili
in me opazovali

a vedno so me izvohali,
četudi sem se spremenil v zrak,
četudi sem se spremenil vanje
Palestine / Palestina

written on 25th June 2022

a Palestinian writes to me
that he sometimes walks
along a street of abandoned buildings

men dressed in white shirts
lean against the walls
and look at him

when he looks back
at the chosen one
for the night,
he steps towards one of the ruins,
slowly enough
for the man to follow

on the broken glass,
among the fragments of brick and cement,
the manly Muslims
almost always
spread their ass cheeks for him

•

his sister
was fighting depression,
so they placed evil eyes
on her body

they let the healer
light her incense,
rasp her prayers in the dark,
cast out the demon

when his family finds him out,
they cast him out as well

•

after the funeral
of a murdered journalist,
after the videos of police violence
against the pallbearers
he asks me
is this how saints are made?

his questions
do not demand an answer,
at least that’s how he asks them

after the videos of a girl crying
in front of her demolished home
he tells me
that neither my neighbors
nor I
will ever feel fire
the way he does

•

when he comes back home,
he is welcome again

the sounds of explosions
drown out the strife

the sounds of gunfire
remind them how easily
blood can rip from the body

until a few years ago,
the people of my village
had never even heard
the word “gay” before

but they’ve always known
what loss feels like
Translated by Pino Pograjc
spisano 25. 6. 2022

Palestinec mi napiše,
da se včasih sprehodi
po ulici zapuščenih stavb

na stene se naslanjajo moški,
oblečeni v bele srajce,
in gledajo za njim

ko pogleda nazaj
v izbranca večera,
stopi proti eni izmed ruševin
dovolj počasi,
da mu ta lahko sledi

na razbitem steklu,
med okruški opek in cementa,
mu možati muslimani
skoraj vedno
nastavijo rit

•

njegova sestra
se je borila z depresijo,
zato so na njeno telo položili
zlobna očesa

vrački so pustili,
da prižge kadila,
hrope molitve v temi,
iz nje izganja demona

ko je njegova družina
izvedela, da je gej,
so izgnali še njega

•

po pogrebu
umorjene novinarke,
ob posnetkih nasilja policije
nad nosilci truge,
me vpraša
ali tako nastanejo svetniki?

njegova vprašanja
ne zahtevajo odgovora,
vsaj tako jih postavlja

ob posnetkih dekleta v solzah
pred razstreljenim domom
mi pove,
da nikoli ne bomo
ne jaz
ne moji sosedje
čutili ognja,
tako kot ga on

•

ko se vrne domov,
ga zopet sprejmejo

zvoki eksplozij
preglasijo spore

zvoki strelov
opomnijo na trganje
krvi od telesa

v moji vasi
nekaj let nazaj
še vedeli niso,
kaj je to gej

že od nekdaj pa vedo,
kaj je to izguba
Faggot / Buzi

I would much rather have gay porn playing
on a screen on my torso
(not unlike the Teletubbies)
than wave a rainbow fan in my hand

I don’t need to cool off,
buy pink T-shirts,
I need to feel
heartburn and hallucinations,
rage and pride

who killed the punk fairy?
pixie dust ravaged the body,
lesions covered him,
no one believed anymore,
not in the utopias of the future,
not in the death of assimilation

Perfume Genius sings
our body is stretched
and holding one breath

everyone married and adopted,
mowed the lawn, wiped the floor
and bought and bought

all that was left was a leather jacket,
sold for thousands at an auction

now it’s peeling,
gathering dust in a closet

and sharpen the palm
and sever the flesh,
harvest the pit
and spit out the rest

to shoulder our pain
Translated by Pino Pograjc
veliko raje bi predvajal gejevske porniče
na ekranu na trebuhu
(podobno kot Telebajski)
kot pa mahal z mavrično pahljačo

ne rabim se ohladiti,
kupovati roza majic,
čutiti moram
zgago in privide,
bes in ponos

kdo je ubil toplega pankerja?
vilinski prah je opustošil telo,
lezije so ga prekrile,
nihče ni več verjel
v utopije prihodnosti
ne v smrt asimilacije

Perfume Genius sings
naše telo je raztegnjeno,
drži en vdih

vsi so se poročili in posvajali,
kosili travo, pomivali tla
in kupovali in kupovali

ostala je zgolj še usnjena jakna,
prodana za tisoče na dražbi

zdaj se lušči,
nabira prah v omari

nabrusi dlan,
prereži meso,
žemi do koščice,
izpljuni ostalo

da preneseš bolečino
excerpt from “Megalomaim” / izsek iz »Megalomasta«

I have to finish winter days in the minor key
because I get eaten by the cold,
because the complex is fed only if you keep being the victim,
and Leal Neale sings in some song
with a jumpy tempo:
I have my sadness
and that is sacred

I listen to Trevor Powers like gospel,
he sings
in some song with a calm tempo:
there was sadness in the water, too

wonder
how I caught it

wonder
how it started

I’m driving to Nova Gorica
and as Blood Orange I’m listening to
Arthur Russell and translating him into music,
is it all over my face?
can you see
how it’s all over my face?
caught me,
caught me,
is it all over my face?
catch the wave with me,
the love wave,
don’t be mad
that you caught me

you caught me

love dancing

I think of nothing,
I remember nothing,
I just float,
full of fumes,
smoked by the bonfire

loneliness is a condition
I’ve lived with my whole life,
but bored – never, nuh-uh

for a moment
you held me
in the second person,
it took hold
in the love cloud

but don’t worry,
I’ll rewind the tape again,
I’ll go back to the start,
I’m going to leave you before we mean something,
because there’s not enough space in me
for you

but
for now,
please listen

in a song by Armand Hammer
someone sings about the seasons:
it breaks out of me,
call it time

the hands on the clock are flowing like water,
we have no idea how
for months the heat didn’t leave the body,
the heat didn’t leave this room,
we grew out our nails
and our hair formed a braid

I search the walls with a flashlight:
something will have to die here,
can you hear?

a poem is forming
for you,
a real one
Translated by Pino Pograjc
zimske dni moram končati z molovskimi toni,
ker se mraz zažre vame,
ker se kompleks hrani le, če si žrtev,
in Lael Neale v neki pesmi
s poskočnim tempom
poje
imam svojo žalost,
in ta je sveta

kot gospel poslušam Trevorja Powersa,
ki v neki pesmi s počasnim tempom
poje,
da je bilažalostše v vodi

zanima me,
kako sem jo ujel

zanima me,
kako sem jo začel

in se vozim v Gorico
in Blood Orange poslušam
ter v glasbo prevajam Arthurja Russella,
ali je po mojem obrazu,
ali vidiš,
kako je po mojem obrazu,
ujel si me,
ujel si me,
ali vidiš po mojem obrazu,
ujemi val z mano,
ljuboval,
ne zameri,
da si me ujel

ujel si me

v ljuboplesu

nič ne mislim,
ničesar se ne spomnim,
samo pljujem,
poln hlapov,
odimljen od kresa

samota je bolest,
s katero živim že celo življenje,
a dolgčas, to pa ne

za trenutek
si me prijel
v drugi osebi,
prijelo je
v ljuboblaku

ampak brez skrbi,
spet bom prevrtel kaseto
na začetek,
te zapustil, preden nekaj pomeniva,
ker v meni ni prostora za dva,
za zdaj pa poslušaj:

v komadu od Armand Hammer
nekdo poje o letnih časih

izliva se iz mene,
reci temu čas

kazalci se pretakajo,
nimava pojma, kako
mesece ni šla vročina iz telesa,
ni šla vročina iz te sobe,
nohti so se nama razrasli
in lasje spletli v eno

z lučjo iščem po stenah:
tu bo moralo nekaj crkniti,
ali slišiš?

snuje se mi pesem zate,
taka
prava
excerpt from “Megalomaim” / izsek iz »Megalomasta«

I adore Beyoncé and the Vogue remix of her track,
her pop conversation with Madonna
that the dancefloor speakers tremble from,
she tickles our queer hairy armpits,
she addresses us like a goddess,
tells us to release all that’s repressed,
to redirectall that anger to her,
to give it to her,
she cantake it,
but as much as I glorify her,
Beyoncé hasn’t seen a fifth
of what the average faggot has seen

Fran Lebowitz said
that AIDS killed
the front row of theatres,
the elites of art production in New York
because the first-class artists
with the highest standards
always had the most sex

art is first-class sex,
painting is a first-class caress,
philosophy is a first-class lick,
music is a first-class moan,
poetry is a first-class snivel
on the edge of the bed
after an orgasm

I look in the mirror
and pull a conifer needle from my shoulder blade
like Natalie Portman in Black Swan,
my eyes are red from the spices

in Italian a pine is called pino,
and I stare at my reflection for so long
that I turn into a pine tree

the smoker’s phlegm in the sink is my lake,
the cotton buds are my daffodils
Translated by Pino Pograjc
obožujem Beyoncé in Vogue remix njenega komada,
njen pop pogovor z Madonno,
ki iz zvočnikov trese plesišča,
žgečka naše kosmate kvir pazduhe,
kot boginja nas nagovarja,
naj spustimo vse, kar je potlačeno,
naj jezo preusmerimo nanjo,
naj ji jo damo,
saj jo lahko prenese,
a naj jo še tako poveličujem,
ni Beyoncé videla niti petino tega,
kar je videl nek povprečen peder

Fran Lebowitz je rekla,
da je z aidsom umrla
prva vrsta dvoran,
elita umetniške produkcije New Yorka,
ker so najboljši umetniki
z najostrejšimi standardi
vedno največ seksali

umetnost je prvovrstno seksanje,
slikarstvo je prvovrstno božanje,
filozofija je prvovrstno lizanje,
glasba je prvovrstno stokanje,
poezija je prvovrstno cmerjenje
na robu postelje
po orgazmu

gledam v ogledalo
in kot Natalie Portman v Črnem labodu
iz lopatice potegnem iglico,
oči imam rdeče od začimb

v italijanščini boru pravijo pino
in tako dolgo strmim v svoj odsev,
da se spremenim v borovec

kadilski pljunek v umivalniku je moje jezero,
palčke za ušesa so moje narcise
excerpt from “Eruptusseia” / izsek iz »Izbruhijade«

and when a journalist from the national station
sends you a message asking you for a statement,
blurred and anonymous,
regarding abuse in the psychiatric hospital,
say no,
because hey, you weren’t abused,
you were the one abusing you,
and anyways,
you weren’t completely yourself back then,
much less was your memory whole

but perhaps you remember, still,
faintly,
that you were tied to a bed
(which you can understand),
and you remember
the nice nurse telling you
I don’t like
what goes on in here either,
but come on,
try to keep yourself safe
(and this is hard for you to understand)

and when your dad tells you
you know, you scared the hospital staff a bit,
remember your childhood on the Adriatic coast
and the small snarling dogs
that you were told
are more afraid of you
than you are of them

we’re all so afraid all the time,
we’re so afraid
that we even get scared of ourselves

dear friend,
you’ll probably read or hear these verses,
and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you
that I wrote about you,
but the night that I found out
you tried to escape the world,
I cried like a pussy,
I cried like a dipshit,
because if you weren’t here anymore
you wouldn’t be among us anymore,
it’d be us experiencing the void,
you know what I mean?

it’s tough being on the one or the other side
of suicide,
I knew that before,
but it really is tough being I
and being we at the same time

on the night that I found out,
I sat in the garden,
cried
and wrote this poem:

a dog is locked in a room,
scratching and howling
because he smelled his owner’s blood
before it’s been shed,
he already smelled it
when she locked him in the room,
he already smelled it
when she couldn’t get out
of bed again,
so he followed her everywhere
because we follow when we hunt
and we bark at strangers
when we don’t recognize their voices
and we shouldn’t assume
that others will be more alert
to the dangers of the world
when we are not
Translated by Pino Pograjc
pa ko ti piše novinarka z javne,
da bi rada tvojo izjavo,
zatemneno in anonimno,
glede afere o zlorabah u psihiatrični bolnci,
jo zavrn,
ker ej, sej te niso zlorablal,
sam sebe si,
pa tko ali tko tkt nisi biu ti
u celoti,
kaj šele tvoj spomin

mrbit se pa useen spomnš,
bežno,
da si biu privezan na pojstlo
(in to lahko še razumš),
in se spomnš,
da ti je prjazn tehnik reku
sej tud men ni všeč,
kaj se tuki dogaja,
sam dej,
poskrb zase
(in to teži razumš)

pa ko ti fotr reče
veš, mal si prestrašu osebje bolnce,
se spomn otroštva na jadranski obali
in mejhnih renčečih psov,
za kere so ti rekl,
da se te bolj bojijo,
k ti njih

usi se skoz sam bojimo,
tok se bojimo,
da se že sami sebe ustrašmo

prjatlca,
tele verze boš vrjetn slišala alpa brala,
in oprosti, da ti nism povedou,
da sm pisou o teb,
sam tist večer, ko sm zvedu,
da si nm probala uit,
sm cmizdriu k pička,
jokal sn se k kreten,
ker če te ne bi blo več,
te ne bi blo več z nami,
med nami bi bla praznina,
a štekaš?

jeba je bit na eni alpa drugi strani
samomora,
sj sm že prej to vedu,
sam je res jeba bit in pr seb
in med nami

tist večer, ko sm zvedu,
sm sedu tm na vrtu,
cmerou
in napisou to pesm:

pes je zaprt v sobi,
praska in tuli,
ker je zavohal lastničino kri,
ki se še ni prelila,
zavohal jo je že,
ko ga je zaklenila v sobo,
zavohal jo je že,
ko spet ni zmogla
vstati iz postelje,
in ji je zato povsod sledil,
ker sledimo, kadar smo na lovu,
in na tujce lajamo,
kadar ne prepoznamo njihovih glasov,
in ne smemo se zanašati na to,
da bodo drugi bolj pozorni
na nevarnosti,
ko sami nismo
Lotophag / Lotofag

In a lake, small enough for there to be no waves,
in the one next to the cabin, there grew lotus flowers,
and the surface was being repeatedly, like rain
making a fool of you when you try to catch it,
disturbed by the falling leaves of the evergreen tea shrub,
bent over the muddy shore.
I tell myself that I own my mind,
despite the spell, but I won’t admit to it
until it truly hurts.
We’d heard many times that the lake
turns into a natural tea because of the shrubs,
that you can get high by simply
dipping your feet in the brown sediment.
That time can, under the influence of mornings,
shrink into a broken nerve
or expand into another universe.
I could write down what you said,
what I said. I forget nothing,
but today I am tired of repetition.
There was a scene of pink buds opening up
and of you lying in one of them,
a petal covering your pre-consequential sex
and it’s true, I may not have had it on my mind,
at least not all the time. But I am disrespectful
in my gaze. How could I not be? Who would not be?
Among the yellow seeds you can dance in a way
that when you wake up sober the next day or the day after,
when tomorrow starts eating into you, you understand nothing.
True perversion – I understand everything,
despite the spell.
Translated by Pino Pograjc
V jezeru, dovolj majhnem, da ni bilo valov,
tistem ob kolibi, so rasli lotosi,
gladino pa so vedno znova, kot dež,
ki se ti roga, ko ga poskusiš ujeti,
motili padajoči brsti zimzelenega čajevca,
ki se je nagibal čez blatno obalo.
Pravim si, da mislim s svojo glavo,
čeprav urok, ampak si ne bom priznal,
dokler ne bo zares zabolelo.
Večkrat smo slišali, da se jezero
zaradi grmov spremeni v naravni čaj,
da si zadet od brozge, četudi samo
potopiš stopala v rjavi sediment.
Da se glede na jutro čas pod vplivom
ali skrči v pokvarjen živec
ali raztegne v še eno vesolje.
Lahko bi zapisal, kaj si rekel,
kaj sem rekel jaz. Ničesar ne pozabim,
ampak danes sem sit ponavljanja.
Bil je prizor, v katerem so se odprli roza popki
in ti si ležal v enem izmed njih,
cvetni list je zakrival tvoj predposledični spol
in res je, morda res nisem razmišljal o njem,
vsaj ne skozinskoz. Sem pa nespoštljiv
v svojih očeh. Kako ne bi bil? Kdo ne bi bil?
Med rumenimi semeni lahko plešeš tako,
da ti dan ali dva kasneje, ko se zbudiš trezen,
ko se prihodnost zažre vate, ni nič jasno.
Prava perverznost – meni je vse,
čeprav urok.

Pino Pograjc

Translated by Pino Pograjc

Burlesque / Burleska

In French / Po francosko

Eruptum XXI. / Izbruhek XXI.

Eruptum XIV. / Izbruhek XIV.

Palestine / Palestina

Faggot / Buzi

excerpt from “Megalomaim” / izsek iz »Megalomasta«

excerpt from “Megalomaim” / izsek iz »Megalomasta«

excerpt from “Eruptusseia” / izsek iz »Izbruhijade«

Lotophag / Lotofag