Nina Živančević
Translator
on Lyrikline: 9 poems translated
from: الصربية to: الانجليزية
Original
Translation
PRAVA LJUBAV
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Ljubav je setna plava zlatna i prava
Prestani sa šegačenjem piši svoju poeziju
Popi lek uglancaj cipele
Idi u školu mangupiraj se
Izađi iz sopstvene kule baci je u vazduh
Orlando reče
Podne je skromno i hrani se mrvama
Mali objekti govore Svahili i čuvaju
postmoderni postkomatozni sjaj gde noć drhti
I zatvara nad glavama šuštavi veo
Spašen od sigurne sigurnosti od mudrog znanja
Od siromašne informacije
Duž klizavog doka
Objekat se ugnezdio
Okrugao mudar i hranljiv
Ne progorava i krije skrivene dane čudan ukus
slavnu prošlost
Bezvremen je
Majko da li me voliš?
Majko da li ti je do mene stalo?
A meni, do tebe?
Eto, odgegaćeš se tom šljunkovitom stazom i ostavićeš me
Samu u svemiru ispunjenom zemičkama i zvezdama i
Sjajnim objektima debelim knjigama i glasnom muzikom
Sublimnim objektima veselim rečnicima zarobljenim vremenom
Ispunjenog šargarepama cveklom i ostalim lekovima
Djavoljim satarašem kaldrmom prstenjem od opala i kobaltnim sutonom
Laka kiša spira ogromne robote drske račune
Pozajmice i kredite glupe rekvizite optočene kremenom
Vraća mi se ljubav i sad je već
Setna plava zlatna i prava
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
LOVE IS TRUE
الانجليزية
Love is blue love is gold love is true
stop being childish write that poetry
swallow your medicine brush up your shoes
and go to school and be a fool
get out of your castle and blow it off Orlando said
noon is humble feeding on crumbs
small objects speak Swahili and retain their post
modern post comatose glamour where night shivers
and closes its shimmering veil
saved from certainty saved from knowledge
saved from the poverty of information
along a shady dock
an object takes its place
round and wise and nourishing
it says nothing about its hidden days about its strange taste
about its glorious past
it is extemporal
Mother do you love me?
Mother do you care?
And do I care, for you?
There you will trot
along the tiny pebble path and leave me all alone
in the universe peopled with buns and stars and
shiny trinkets staggering books and loud records
subliminal objects cheerful dictionaries encapsulated in time
with carrots beetroots thistle remedies
witch’s brews cobblestones agate rings cobalt sunsets
light rain washes away huge robots impertinent bills
mortgage loans stupid yawns hammered in
love comes back to me and is
blue gold and true
SMRT FILOZOFA
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Nikada nisam o tebi razmišljala sve dok nisi otišao
Sto je počišćen čaša prazna a tanjir
Pun grešaka samo si skliznuo kroz vrata
su bila zatvorena neko je na njih kucao
udjite rekoh
vetar ih je širom otvorio
a na njima starica izbrazdanog lica
pljuvala je krv donekle usamljena odevena
majci nalik ličila je na mene
osmehnula mi se i uputila mi
bezubu kletvu: Ja sam tvoja smrt, reče ona,
znaš šta, uzdahnula sam, nisam još spremna
nije mi još trenutak, treba da pročitam sve Stoike
da postignem Budino prosvetljenje…
spremi se brzo, prosiktala je, a ja sam je odgurnula, zalupila vrata
i pala na pod, zatim se probudila prekrivena užasnim znojem
upalila radio i slušala Baha
živela sa ljudima koji mrze poeziju
otkrića bejahu u modi glupost u trudnoći
I tu ti prsti Glena Gulda…
Jednom prilikom, reče on, susreo sam Boga
Kontrapunkt je najveća stvar, u muzici a i životu,
Pričao je on i zviždukao Bahove vesele varijacije
Peglao bore kristalnoj jasnoći zalivao leje domaćem životu
Hranio kućne miševe uzvitlanim očekivanjima
Koja nisu bila ni velika ni čvrsta niti pak hladna
Ona bejahu samo tihi odjeci glasnog
Stakata njene ludosti nesnosnog arpedja njegove veselosti
Tog gadnog kontrapunkta njegovog vašljivog obećanja…
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
PHILOSOPHER’S DEATH
الانجليزية
Never did I think of you before you were gone
The table was clean the glass empty the plate
full of my mistakes and you just slid through
the door was closed and someone was knocking at it
Come in I said
The wind pushed it open
That was an old woman with a ragged face
Spitting blood was somewhat lonely was dressed
Like my mother and looked like me
She smiled at me and toothless curse had reached
Me there, I am your death she said, oh I am not ready
Not ready right now have to read a lot of Stoics have to acquire my Buddha hood
Get ready she hissed and I pushed her away, slammed the door and fell down
Woke up covered with Gothic sweat
I turned on the radio and listened to Bach
Lived with some people who hated poetry
Serendipity in fashion stupidity in labour
Speedy fingers of Glen Gould
At one occasion he claimed he encountered God
Counterpoint is everything, like in music like in life
He said while humming along Bach’s exuberant variations
Ironing wrinkles of serenity sprinkling the lawns of domesticity
Feeding house mice thrilling expectations
They were not great they were not solid they were not cold
They were just miniscule whispers of that loud
staccato of her insanity that unbearable arpeggio of his complicity
that bloody counterpoint of his lousy promise
MORSKO DNO
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Noć će isprati šljunak
Uprskan blatom žudnja ekspresioniste
Slatkast otužan miris ćilibara smrad ćilibara
Neodredjen i Božji
Krajnje francuski znači rigorozan nezaštićen ozbiljan
Uplašen i zaboravan
Kamioni zgrušanih reči
Vesnici žudnje ministarstva čekanja
Kafići puni izazova
škole prepune pogrebnika imena pretrpana istorijom
šaljivdžije nabijene znanjem
Evo greške čujes kašalj gle ludaka
A mi se vozimo u magicnoj opni
Iza membrane prekrivene ledom i legendarnim ćutanjem
Hajde dodji dodji brzo
Uzdahu zenice moje koštana srži cveta mog
Taj cvet pokušava da odrzi obećanje koje
ti je dao na dnu
Najdubljeg purpurnoga mora
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
SEA BED
الانجليزية
night will wash away the pebbles
soaked in mud expressionist yearning
sweet sweet smell of amber the odour of amber
neutral and divine
very French and rigorous unprotected stern
scared and oblivious
the trucks loaded with words
sentinels of yearning ministries of waiting
cafes filled with challenge
schools full of undertakers names peppered with history
jokers stuffed with science
a bluff a cough a nut
he is a bluff and you are a nut
and we are riding in a magic shell
covered with ice and legendary silence
come to me right now
the eye of my apple heart of my flower
is trying to keep that promise it
made at the bottom
of the deepest crimson sea
AMAN ZAMAN*
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Neko je pokušao da me prevari
Neko je hteo da mi zameri
Neko je pokušao da sve to prelakira
Neko je uspeo da sve to zamaskira
Neko je želeo da me iznervira
Al muzika beše lepa pa pojačasmo ton...
A ti si i dalje puckao prstima
Okretao telefone i urlao na mesec.
Ti reče AMAN, a ja, ZAMAN!
U ime Boga i do kraja vremena
Koraka laka a teških misli
U beznadežnoj noći pod sjajnim nebom
U ledenom vazduhu do kraja vremena
Besnih kopita obezglavljeni jahači
Pomerismo očni kapak, ugledasmo RAHAT
I jarka svetlost obasja naš SAHAT...
Pa, vazi, BAŠI, nek devojke tkaju
sukno zaborava,
u ime Boga i do kraja vremena
simetrija toga groblja
pokopala je već toliko igrača
obeskriljeni orlovi i pospani lavovi
čuli su nam pesmu pre no što je snimljena za narod
pre no sto je uvežbana i složena u elegantne note
u besanom prisustvu, u strpljivom klepetu
ti rece AMAN, a ja ZAMAN,
aman, aman, do kraja vremena.
*pers.=u ime Boga (Ahman); do kraja vremena (zaman)
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
AMAN ZAMAN
الانجليزية
someone has tried to do me in
Someone was sad and really bad
Someone has tried to wash it off
Someone has tried to brush it down
Someone has tried to play the clown
Music was good and so we tuned in
And there you’ve gone snapping your fingers
Dialing numbers and howling at the moon
You said AMAN* and I said ZAMAN**
For the sake of Lord and to the end of time
My feet so light and thoughts so heavy
A hopeless night and shimmering sky
Cold thin air to the end of time
Tumultuous hooves and headless riders
If we move an eyelid will such RAHAT
And sheer light show the hour of SAHAT
OK, Bashi, let the girls weave the fabric
Of oblivion
You said AMAN and I said ZAMAN,
For the sake of Lord, and to the end of time
The symmetry of that cemetery
Has fed on so many dancers
The flightless eagles and sleepy lions
Have heard our song before it was recorded
Before we rehearsed and uttered these elegant notes
This sleepless presence this patient flutter
You said AMAN and I said ZAMAN
Aman, aman, to the end of time.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Aman- “until the end of” (in Persian)
**Zaman- “time” (in Pers.)
DOKTORI DOLAZE I ODLAZE
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Doktor je došao, pogledao me i šta mi je prepisao?
Imali smo mnogo pesama za večeru
Isuviše mnogo drama, tri loša romana i dve sumnjive novele
Pet imitacija za doručak i romansiranu biografiju za ručak
Vrlo je to loše za vašu ishranu vrlo loše vrlo rdjavo za vaš duh
VAŠ DUH NIJE AUSPUH VAŠ DUH NIJE AUSPUH VAŠ DUH
I tako doktori dolaze i odlaze grickaju trule grozdjice
Nose pohabane kabanice i pričaju dvosmislice
U životu punom traume dogme i slanine
slanine i dogme prasići i rolne
Stvoreni na dnu
Najdubljeg purpurnoga mora
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
THE DOCTORS COME AND GO…
الانجليزية
The doctor came and saw me and what did he prescribe?
You’ve had too many poems for dinner,
Far too many plays, three bad novels and two borderline novellas
Five doggerels for breakfast and a romance for lunch
Very very bad for your diet very very sad for your brain
WHAT A STRAIN WHAT A STRAIN WHAT A STRAIN
And the doctors come and go munching seedy sultanas
Wearing dirty bandanas reproducing an everlasting shock
In a life filled with schlock, schlock and sleaze,
mice and geese
Made at the bottom
of the deepest crimson sea
POSETA BLEJKOVOj KUĆI
الصربية | Nina Živančević
Napisali su debele tomove o Alenovoj poeziji,
Najposle, on se uvek odnosio prema svome delu - odgovorno,
Samo mi je jednom rekao “sramota, ipak su te uhvatili”,
Ali ko su to bili “oni”, nikada mi otkrio nije...
Verovatno je mislio na baba-roge kapatilazma,
Pa ipak, govorio mi je puno toga, ponekad bih u mislima
Otplovila daleko, ne slušajući ga, a ponekad bih utonula u san...
I verovatno bih uvek odgonetnula smisao njegovih reči
iako je to uvek bilo “verovatno” a ja samo ono “bih uvek”, biće
koje je želelo da promeni svoj život, taj život koji je
ličio na Beketov ili Džojsov, skrparen na tri različita jezika,
koji je uveliko gubio na suštini
priklanjajući se često baba-rogama novca i trenutka.
I dogodilo se upravo ono “verovatno” da sam nastavila da pisem
i širim mucavu reč nalik Gertrudi Stajn, a nisam bila čak ni “amerikanka u Parizu”, već prosto- ko što reče Alen- “luda žena iz Istočne Evrope u Njujorku, slična Naomi, napuštena od sviju, prepuštena sopstvenom ludilu.”
Medjutim, beše tu Piter, koji je nastavljao porodičnu tradiciju, An i Stiv i Bob koji su čuvali plamen da se ne ugasi,
prisutni na pogrebu,
a zatim svi ti lešinari, tipovi koji nikada nisu ni pročitali Suncokretovu sutru,
Predskazanje iz samoposluge, Vičitu, Vorteks i ostale sutre,
žalili su Alena, koji me je tapšao po stomaku tri meseca pred porodjaj...
Videla sam ga samo još jednom nakon toga išli smo u bioskop
i tad mi reče koliko žali što nema decu,
“mi, Istočni Evropljani se jako brzo kapiramo”, rekao je.
Medjutim, beše tu Piter, koji je nastavljao porodičnu tradiciju, An i Stiv
i Bob koji su čuvali plamen da se ne ugasi, prisutni na pogrebu,
pa ipak, nikada nije imao decu...
Mi, Istočni Evropljani se jako brzo kapiramo, rekao je.
Isuviše brzo mislimo, eto, to je to- dodao je, kad sam bila mlada.
Ali bili smo na meskalinu i podrazumevalo se da mislimo brzo—
Nista , baš ništa nije ni suvise ružno u životu, ni suviše lepo,
To nisam rekao ja, reče Ginzi, već veliki lama, Dudjom Rinpoše, a ja
Sam se smejala i kikotala, sve dok nije rekao
“Neću više da gledam tvoje tužno lice”!
A najviše je voleo onaj Blejkov stih “Bože, što si me načinio
toliko različitim od drugih, Gospode,
što si me načinio pesnikom?”
Audio production: Radio Belgrade 2
A VISIT TO BLAKE’S HOUSE
الانجليزية
They wrote hefty volumes on Allen’s poetry
After all, he took himself quite seriously
Just once, he said, “it’s a shame, they’ve got you”,
But who were “they” he did not say…
He probably meant – the gargoyles of capitalism,
But he said so many things. and sometimes
I would drift away, and sometimes I would fall asleep…
And I would probably always outguess what he meant
but it was just “probably” and I was just a “would”
who wanted to change her life, living like
Beckett after Joyce, tinkering with three languages to
Write in, losing the essence biiiig way
Obeying the gargoyles of money and place biiig time,
And it was just “probably” that I would write and earn my credit
Like Gertrude Stein, as I was not
An American in Paris, as I was just- like Allen had mentioned
Before “A crazy Eastern European, in New York, somewhat like
Naomi totally left alone, to her own madness….”
Then Peter, repeating the family pattern, Anne and Steve
And Bob keeping a tiny flame, a hope
Their presence at the wake
And then the vultures, people who never read the Sunflower sutra
The supermarket oracle the Wichita the Vortex, the Sutras
Allen patting my belly three months before I delivered my baby
I saw him only once after that we saw a movie
He regretted for not having children,
Then Peter, repeating the family pattern, Anne and Steve
And Bob keeping a tiny flame, a hope
Their presence at the wake
But he had no children
We, Eastern Europeans understand each other quickly, he said,
We think too fast, of course Allen said to mini- me
But we are on mescaline and we’re supposed to think fast—
Nothing, just nothing is too horrible or too beautiful
Whatever it appears to be, it’s not me, Ginzy said, but
Dudjom Rinpoche, and I kept laughing and laughing
“I don’t want to see you sad face anymore”, he added.
He loved that old Blake’s “O, Lo’ why did you make
me so different from the rest of the world, good Lo’,
why have I become a poet?”
MRVE
الصربية | Vladimir Kopicl
Mrve leže na stolu, čekaju da se sasuše,
ako ih Neizbežno i pre toga ne pokupi.
Isto tako je sa mnom, govorim levoj ruci
dok usporavam drugu, što još želi da radi.
Brzina ne užasava, dok je ne dostižemo:
ona je uvek sa nama, čak i kada nas nema,
odsutnih, tupih, u snu.
Tu nas nikad ne prestigne.
Da li sam sanjao mrve?
Ne, to se nije desilo, bez znatnijeg gubitka.
One se uvek sasuše, i u dubini mora:
to bih hteo da kažem, kada bi bilo tačno.
Dobro je i ovako. Posedeću još malo,
leći: neka me pokupe.
Tako se otvara svet što ne zna za gubitak
jer je davno dobijen da ne bi bio smrvljen.
CRUMBS
الانجليزية
The crumbs lie on the table waiting to get dry
just in case the Unavoidable forgot to collect them.
The same with me, I speak to my left hand
while slowing the other hand down, the one which would rather work.
The speed does not frighten us as long as we cannot obtain it;
It is always with us, even when we are not around,
when we are absent, numb or asleep.
It never reaches us there.
Had I dreamt of the crumbs?
No, it did not happen, no significant loss here.
They always dry out, even at the bottom of the deepest sea:
This is what I was about to say, had it been correct elsewhere.
It is also good this way. I will remain seated a bit longer,
go to bed, let them collect me.
In this way we open the world which suffers no loss
as it was gained awhile ago so that it wouldn’t crumble down.
SVECI
الصربية | Vladimir Kopicl
Sunce stoji u nebu i to se zove dan.
Ali ono je tamo i kad se zove noć.
Juče sam video potok koji traga za zečićem,
malim, titravim, smrznutim,
sivih drhtavih šapica,
ali bilo je leto i nije ga pronašao.
Opet se nisu sreli.
Šta će biti na zimu?
Ni štap, ni šargarepa, ni propast, ni idila.
Možda jave na jesen, kad spreme konačni izveštaj.
Tako stoji i Mesec, on ne zna zašto je tamo,
blizak Zemlji i nebu, ali od svega udaljen
kao da nema dužnost, nikakvo opravdanje.
Ni da odmogne sebi, ni da pomogne drugom.
Čak se dobro i ne vidi, deluje kao zaboravljen,
čim ga zakloni oblak ili uglovi kuća.
Ne živi sasvim građanski, deluje privremeno
kao prolazna večnost, tup sjaj bratoubistva.
Sve to o nečemu govori, ali nema rešenja,
ili je sasvim nemo ko prazna govornica.
A sutra, umesto zvezda, tamo će stajati sveci
i bivši zvezdani svod biće sjajem narogušen,
ispunjen blagom toplinom, pomalo zajebanom
jer sveci ništa ne govore dok im se tako ne kaže.
Ali ko da im kaže u onoj pustoj praznini
u kojoj sve izvan njih deluje kao ekran,
ko glup dokumentarac na hladnom oku TV-a.
Sav mir u ovom svemiru providan je ko staklo
po kome protrči zečić i šapicom ga zamaže.
Možda će doći i drugi, da ga šapicom umije,
a možda ipak i neće. Kraj nema ravnoteže.
THE SAINTS
الانجليزية
The sun is shining thus we call this event a day.
But it stands there when we say it’s night time.
Yesterday I saw a stream looking for a rabbit,
a tiny one, shuddering, frozen,
with grey and trembling little paws,
And though it was summertime it didn’t find it.
They failed to meet again.
And what will happen when the winter arrives?
No stick, no carrot, neither downfall nor an idyll.
Perhaps they will tell us in autumn, once the final report was made.
The Moon stands there as well, it does not know why it was hung there,
close to the Earth and to the sky but so distant from them
as if it did not have its duty or an excuse for it.
It cannot neither harm itself nor help an other.
We cannot even see it clearly, it seems forgotten by them all,
as soon as the cloud covers it over or some corners of a house.
It does not live in a civil manner, it appears like a temporary thing
as transient as eternity, with its dumb glow like a fratricide.
All this is trying to tell us something, but there’s no solution to it,
or the solution appears to us silent like that empty speaker’s podium.
And tomorrow, at that very spot, we’ll be able to observe the saints
and the previous starry firmament will be damaged by its glitter,
filled out with gentle warmth, a bit screwed out,
as the saints never say anything unless they are told to do so.
But who is to tell them anything in that vast vacuity
in which all things except for themselves appear as the screen,
a dumb documentary in the cold television eye.
All peace and tranquillity in this universe are transparent like glass
across which a bunny rabbit runs smearing it with its paw.
Perhaps another rabbit will show up instead trying to clean it with its own paw
and perhaps it will not. The end has no need for balance.
GERING U KARIBIMA
الصربية | Vladimir Kopicl
Zanimljivo je biti živ
i iznad svega korisno
za čovečenstvo.
To je mera bola.
Zora me nikada nije sebi zvala
i moja put je tamna. Koža
sumraka sama zaklanja sunce
i noću budi se sama.
Posle ostaje rumen iz koje nastaju zraci
i belo perje pada sa anđeoskih krila.
Gering je sanjao meseršmit
jer je voleo zlato.
Volim zlato Geringa u rukama
i svetle od brzine nečujne avione koji nose
ovaj na drugi svet.
Moj seks u susret Karibima.
Tako zora je tamna
blještave senke su tamne
i tamno ulje u vrču.
Taman je čak i kokos i tamna deca
što dugo ispijaju njegov sok
držeći smeđeg Geringa danima među zubima.
Njihov smeh tad je zvonak
zlatan u majske zore kada sanjaju praznik
svog prvog lenjinskog bola.
Umreću i svet će opet biti dosadan.
Klopka za hladne dane.
GŐRING IN THE CARIBBEAN
الانجليزية
It is interesting to be alive
and above all other things it’s useful
for mankind.
That is a measure for pain.
The dawn has never invited me
and my skin is dark. The skin
of twilight covers the sun by itself
and wakes up at night by itself.
The pink sky remains afterwards, the redness that creates the
sunshine and white feathers are falling off the angels’ wings.
Gőring dreamt of “messerschmidt”
because he loved gold.
I love to see Gőring’s gold in my hands
and the airplanes bright with speed, the soundless ones which
carry my sex towards the Caribbean.
Dawn is dark there,
bright shadows are dark there and oil in jugs as well.
Even the coconut is dark there as much as the children
who drink its milk for hours
clenching their dark Gőring between their teeth for days.
Their laughter rings happily then
and it is golden in the dawns of May
as they dream of the holiday of their first Leninist pain.
I will die and the world will become boring again.
A trap for cold days.