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The majority of the works present were written in 1925 and translated in 2021.

This book (With the exception of the first poem, which I've held onto for some time now) was written in a single day. It is a Slovenian-to-English translation of the best of Kosovel's work.

An Ecstasy of Death

Everything is an ecstasy, an ecstasy of death!

Golden towers of the Occident Europea,

cupolas white — (everything, an ecstasy!) —

everything sinks in a boiling, red sea;

sun sets and in there dazing

is the thousand times dead human of Europe.

— Everything is an ecstasy, an ecstasy of death. —

Graceful, oh graceful death of Europea;

like a luxurious gilded queen

she'll lay in a coffin of darkened centuries,

quietly moribund, as though she was shutting

the old royal glorious eyes.

— Everything is an ecstasy, an ecstasy of death. —

Oh, from an overcast of a sundown (last

messenger announcing Light!)

blood swirls in my whacked heart,

oh, there is a scarcity of water in Europe

and we, people, drink blood,

blood of sugary clouds of yesterday evening.

— Everything is an ecstasy, an ecstasy of death. —

Barely born, already smoldering in the inferno of the evening,

all oceans are red, all oceans

of ichor, all lochs, and water is scarce;

no water to lavate guilt away,

for this human to expunge their heart,

no water - to extinguish

thirst for a silent, green morning flora.

And everything is a sunset and there will be no first light,

until we all die, who carry

the guilt of their deaths,

to the last one...

Oh, into this scenery, this scenery green

young green scenery, even in this,

evening sun, you will shine

with blazing rays? This one as well?

Sea floods green fields,

sea of an evening burning blood,

And there'll be no salvation,

until I and you fall,

until I and all of us fall,

until we shatter under the weight of red blood.

With golden rays, the sun shines

at us, corpses of Europe.

Negativist Totality

Ah, our lives are like a path,

enclosed, thight, lacking distance;

chests stabbed with desire,

negativist totality.


A green circlet is freezing

on a friend's grave.

Midnight raids…

Workshop - Pantheon.

When does the Intercity leave for Ljubljana?

Silvery fumes track and regroup,

cerulean mountains in front.

Art is a progressive,

cultural factor!

Freezing cold arrives in my heart.

Airplanes widen the horizon,

raising the cosmic awareness.

Love promotes the spirit.

Psychology of awareness.

Spirit, Soul, Reason.

Modern lyrics are falling apart.

2000 meters high up

perspective is a nought.

Autumn breeze on the sea.

Through nullness

into a red chaos.

Cosmic experience:

Shall you follow the silver autumn roads,

you can only experience cosmosness.

Darkening forests.

The century of automatization.

The Sky is not a place for metaphysics,

but is a space.

Up there in the attic hunger be my comrade,

be my unsweat bread.

Autumn of the white balconies.

Genius = spirit + reason.

Dark, cold night of autumn.

The wind of this autumn…


The air is freshened by rain

of the Secretive Moonlight

of September Karst.

The death of Majesty Dada

Order numeral 35.

Incidentally we see,

how the evening red down

endangers The Process.

Thus we enclose the evening

red dawn regularly,

when it rises,

through the Black Sea.

The golden spelutcher of a graveyard

the red down lights,


A lonely horse marches

the fields.

Wizards of Down.

The horse and its melancholy.

My Black Ink-pot

My black ink-pot is going for a walk.

In a tunic, that is.

Much like some fog…

All lands gazing, blind.

On hay a melancholic kitten lies.

Meowing on its golden viola!

Da, Da, Da.



Objects lacking a soul

A wardrobe with red panes.

Boredness sleeping by the corner.

Automobiles are a sensation.

Cosmic breath: an earthquake.

On a shining dawn,

the red ATOM.

Nenapisana moja beseda



Laugh of the Majesty Dada

riding a wooden horse.

Hi, hi.



Gendarmes are people of lowest qualities.

Serfs of their rulers' orderals.

I am a foreigner to this green field.

Cunning as a snake, free as a pigeon.

To live. Exiles plee to live.

To live, humans, appropriately.

Sun hangs in a tower.



I live in a land of European wildlife.

The symmetry is striking.

Political criminals all set free!

Everything is a negative. I stand by a negative total. Ljubljana. World. Serfdom. Freedom. Crumble! Everything - a negativity. At last negations create positivity, activity.


Celebrating articles.




in a grayzone of conditions,

in a melting fog of melancholy,

with a saddened steer

at the foggy future:

A confused Slovenian.

Our cells - healty?

As if they lay in some ash.

Come, freeze!

Clear facings,

shine at us!

As wintery silver,

look, time passes:

Our struggle

in sacrifice and labour.

Lord Radić

Radić is trading top-hats.

Rather trate hats than humans.

Black horses, standing on white snow,

breeze, breeze, breeze: whereto?

I long for solitude.

Run away, to the fields,

the midst of all snow,

in the silent whiteness of the heart,

sleep, sleep, sleep.


To pass away.

The red chimney sings.

Nom, Nom, Nom.

Is, is, is.

No piece.

The modern-most poet breaks forms to arrive at the living of indirect life.

Detective no. 16

"Good morning."

I have just

finished dreaming.

Winter mornings shine.

Silver sky.

"I am a detective."

(Senior, is it

my fault?)

"You truly are dangerous

and run no business,

a casual poet. - 

I shall not

touch you."

(Oh, stand up, The Collective!)

An Investigation.

A confiscation.

Outside sun shines brightly.

Detective does not understand

the poems of mine,

haunting him

on silvery feathers

of a wintery sunilly



A cop.


A bat.

Silvery sun,

an admiral.

Jump, monarch, off your chair

and be as I am,

then smile,


with me

into this silvery

sunny wintery time.


Art is a danger to the State.

The State is a danger to Arts.


Remain cold, heart!



Orient Express heading to Paris via some viaducts.

Arms - chained.

Cars are taking a run.

I cannot, though.

My thought-electricity

is stuck in Paris.

The smell of medicine

coming from a hospital.

Ew - 

spit, curse!

Ew, ew,



Tired human European

stares blankly into the golden eve,

darker than the

soul they carry.


Civilization knows no heart.

Heart knows no civilization.

Extorted struggle.

Evacuation of souls.

Evening burns like a flame.

Death of Europe!

Pitty! Pitty!

Mister Professor,

Do you understand livelihood?


Melancholic accordion.

A session of swimming.

Blue waves.

Shoe size 40.

Istria is dying.


Europe is dying.

Sports, economics, politics.

Nipon counters Russland.


New culture: humanhood.

New politics: humanhood.

New arts: for a human being.

Europe is arriving at its death-bed.

You treat it with H₂SO₄.

A time of sorrow.

A curtain has exposed a New World.

The buildup of a new Europe.

Electric earthquake.


Feces are gold

and so gold is feces.

Both = 0

0 = infinity

infinity = 0

A B <

1, 2, 3.

Who has no soul,

needs no gold,

who has a soul,

needs no gold.

I, A.

Gold rush. People are having a gold rush. Capitalism. Feces are gold. Gold is feces, for they are used as such. Culture = maid, a maid of Capital.

I protest!

Y'all, sitting in theaters,

bars and coffee shops

and other commodity centers:

I protest!

In the midst of pain,

unintelligible struggles

I curse you,

a Screw-me son of a Screw-us nation.

I, poor being,

poor and lost,

who searches for saviouring strive

at their home.

I, filled with sorrow,

a Screw-me son of a Screw-us nation.

Ljubljana takes a nap

In the Red Chaos comes

New Humanhood! Ljubljana naps.

Europa dies off in a Red Dawn.

All communications cut.

Oh, they are cableless!

A blind horse.

[Your eyes are shattered as though

they arrive from Italian portraits.]

From brown walls

white towers rise.

A flood.

Europe is stepping into a grave.

We come with a hurricane.

With deadly gasses.

[Your mouth is filled with blood.]

Ljubljana naps.

Conductor on the tram naps.

In the coffee shop "Europe"

they read the Slovenian nation.

Poundings of Billiard Balls.

A Slovenian artist can never cry happy.

What is to celebrate?

The conditions?

A dead human being



Fall, ya corpse!
Do roses of whiteness come

from your heart, or do you

colour them with some blood?

Fall, fall, fall!

You have no roses.

A serf of mechanics. Transmissions.

Revolutionary ideals die off.

Fall, fall, fall!

Gray stonery. Hide away, moonlight!

A dead land.


Oh, lie, lie, European lie!

Only destruction can kill you!

Only destruction.

Cathedrals and parliaments:

lie, lie, European lie.

Furthermore: The League of Nations is a lie,

lie, lie, European lie.

Collapse, collapse!

All these museums of Faraones,

all the chairs of Arts.

Lie, lie, lie.

Oh, Sophia, oh, cathedral.

Oh, corpses, who shall saviour

Europe. Oh, corpses,

white corpses, you guard the Continent.

Oh, lie, lie, lie.

Collapse, collapse, collapse!
Millions are dying,

though Europe lies.

Collapse. Collapse. Collapse!

Evacuation of the spirit

A spirit in space.

A flame of thunder is shining through dusk.

Spirit burns in space.

Magic light being shielded.

Green windows of a luminiscated

bullet-train crossing a viaduct.

I myself burn and light my own paths;

blindfolded only feel the current,

they don't observe the light of mine.

Further, all shake, as I do,

as in a deadly gaze.

They do not know that is a shaking

of wings, which ask not to expand,

enlighten as golden fire into the night.

They curse at the police of the Sun,

who sleep through the night

like the petty bourgeoisie randos.

Thus all people sleep through the night

and feel no magic enlightenment,

shining inside me, outside me.

People are the Evacuation of the Spirit.

Anomaly of Psychology.

Red Atom (III)

From all these crisis, a new Power shall emerge,

put the Old Ways before a verge,

humans then willing to encourage

what is insincere, shall shatter!

And a human, aware of the true goal

(oh, the star of their soul shall show them the way)

shall expend their wings in the midst of that wind

and the dead poem shall fall back silent.

No norms, laws; only labour

shall inform the humanity the new paths

leading the heart of the genius,

for the later will be followed by the Über,

and our labour shall give birth to a new Power,

to shatter the System and build new foundations.

Untitled (A translation of Kosovel's "Nenaslovljena pesem" by Lesley Zore)

Unlatch all museums! 

Unlacth all museums! 

Europe is haunted by corpses - ideas.

Open museums for nationalism,

for dead ideas.

Unlatch all speluchers!

R. I. P.!


Boston condemns Einstein.

Einstein is blacklisted.

Is relativity dangerous?

In Berlin Chinese students are being arrested.

Are Chinese students dangerous?

The SHS is to get a new government.

France, Spain - Morroco.

Promoter of terrorism.

Gendarme of terrorism.

Big figures live in accordance with their own laws…

People in accordance with paragraphs:

§ X: 14 days of prison.

§ Y: Hanging.

§ Z: Exile.

I've been in prison for 21 years now.

Hanged 10 times.

I'm in eternal exile.

Hey, dear, you'd sorrow?

Though I cannot cry

for I am sharp as steel

issued to shatter a heart.

Foreign lands and ourselves





Do we all believe in the silent

truth that we live?

Why fashion, what is Europeanhood

and humanhood? TO BE.

Truth be with us, and if

we help it rise,

we have thus solved the question

of life. Living a true life.

To play belief.

Preceding the capitulations

The Final Communion.

Imaginary humanitarian league

of nations - a league of different 

shticks - in Geneva.

Sterile parliamentarism.

Secretive diplomacy.

America. Golden dollars.

The Spirit is superior in its speed to the Orient Express.

Neron in a red murderous coat.

A Human plees: Let me be human!

Mystic Lights

Mystic lights of Theory.

I live in poverty.

The meaning of Solar Energy.

A cow views its shade in the water,

with no understanding for the image.


The politics are dying.

Weeping others.

Living limestone.


Like a mole the black train moves

beneath the mountains.

Fronted by a grey window there I see a grey face.

Statics of sadness: melancholy.


Worldly events and



But here only thatched roofs thrive.

On the roof somebody taps

a saddened march.

March, human, out of the land of injustice and fraud!

Widened sun takes a walk

like a deadly butcher

marches the village.

That very sun weeps.

To the New Age!

The New Age arrives

in Collective Property,

New Age arrives

for the Worker and the Poet.

Death to technically mechanical


All problems are problems of humans.

Counter the system of Taylor!

Humanists with purple beards…

New age is due to arrive,

when every worker will be a human,

when every human will be a worker.

New Age is due to arrive

through the Slave Revolt.

My Poem

My poem is an explosion,

a wild breakup. Disharmony.

My poem does not wanna meet you,

who carefully, willfully,

remains a dead aesthet, museum nerds;

My poem is my face.

CONS: Icarus

Ambitionless Slovenian.

Slovenian - three rubles.



This bloody human has now died.

A Slovenian, bounded by Black Forces.

A Slovenian's family tree


Slave the Serf.

Slave the Servant Serf.

Slave the Enslaved Servant Serf.

Slave II.

Slave the Subordinated III.

Servant IV.

Janez Subordinate, Fearful, Ambitious-Desirous.

A talk in the dusktime

There are bars on our windows.

White barricades.

Indians knew nothing of Gravity.

Yet, the dynamite explodes

in News Zealand, too.

Senior with Astrakhan!

No arithmetic midpoint

has been found between the Old and the New.

A human may be old and young.

A golden boat appears in the distance.

Laws of Nature = ethics???

You can understand it

with little physics as well.

Hanged corpses swing

by the trees and the poles.

Entry fee: one ruble.

It's raining.

A human talks with the Cosmos.

A Barn shows up before the window.