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HERBERT KUHNER Romancier, Lyriker, Dramatiker und Übersetzer ist 1935 in Wien in geboren. Er emigrierte 1939 in die Vereinigten Staaten und studierte an der Lawrenceville School und Columbia University. Nach Wien kehrte er 1963 zurück, wo er als ein freier Schriftsteller und Übersetzer lebt.

Die Wiener Zeit

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Remigration

Another topic I have “touched upon” is “remigration.” This word is a neologism, which means coming back to where you have been driven out.I've always said that I wanted a smooth ride, but I couldn't help rocking the boat. Rocking seems to be in my genes.

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Remarkable People

On the road I have traveled, I have met many remarkable people. First I name my friend and mentor the late Emile Capouya. “Mike” encouraged me over the years and published two of my books in New York.

Milena Merlak Detela

Born in Ljubljana, Milena Merlak studied Psychology and Comparative literature; emigrated to Austria in 1960. She writes in Slovenian and German - her works have been published in Slovenian, Austrian and German literary magazines. She has written five books of poetry: Sodba od zgoraj (The judgement from above), 1964; Beseda brez besede (The wordless word), 1968; Zimzelene luči (The evergreen lights), 1976; a trilingual (Slovenian, German and English) Kaj je povedala noč (What night reveals), 1985; and Die zehnte Tochter (The tenth sister), written only in German, published in 1985. Merlak writes short stories as well. Thematically, her literature features the existential problems of Slovenian minorities. She translates Slovenian literature into German.

The Sleepwalker’s Death

Her long hair
got caught
in the wheel of night;
she was brave.

Unjustly condemned
she suffered
as she spun around;
she was bright.

The catchpoles below
knew nothing
but their own hunger;
she was merciful.

She didn’t know
that night is life.
She didn’t know
that beauty dies first;
she was alive and beautiful.

Now she’s dead.

Tod der Mondwandlerin

Mit zu langem Haar
verfing sie sich
im Folterrad der Nacht;
sie war kühn.

Unschuldig verurteilt
quälte sie sich in
schwarzen Wirbeln;
sie war hell.

Die Schergen des Bodens
kannten nur ihren
eigenen Hunger;
sie war barmherzig.

Sie wußte nicht:
die Nacht ist das Leben;
sie wußte nicht:
die Schönheit stirbt als erste;
sie war lebendig und schön.

Nun ist sie tot.

Übersetzung v. Herbert Kuhner
© by Milena Merlak Detela

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