Charles Simic 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 7 poems translated

from: الصربية to: الانجليزية

Original

Translation

JUTARNJI BLUZ (odlomak iz pesme)

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

[...]

Dojadilo mi je da furam sreću,
Da glumatam zadovoljstvo;
Kao da mi je sve potaman,
Kao da mi je baš sad krenulo,
Da sam upravo odigrala životnu rolu
I izvukla na lutriji glavnu premiju.
Žudim za nečim čemu ne znam ime.
Za nečim što bi mi izmenilo život
Okrenulo ga tumbe, naglavačke.
Iskliznulo me iz šina,
Kojima se vozim po tačnom redu vožnje.

Došlo mi je da pokupim svoje prnje
I da nekuda zbrišem.
Tamo gde niko ne bi znao za mene.
I gde bih zaboravila na samu sebe,
Kao na ljubavnika sa izbledelim licem.
Da činim samo ono što mi je volja,
Što mi se prohte.

Da za to ne tražim razloge,
Ne tražim pokriće.
Da jezdim drumovima brzim kolima
Ne misleći ni na šta i ni na koga,
Dok unaokolo vrućina se tetura,
I klimakterično sunce me prati kao pas lutalica.

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

MORNING BLUES (excerpt)

الانجليزية

[...]


I'm fed up with faking happiness,

Playacting contentment

As if it was all just fine,

As if things are beginning to go well

Now that I've played the role of my life

And won the big prize at the lottery.


I yearn for something I have no name for,

For something that would change my life,

Turn it upside down,

Make it leave the rails on which I travel

Making punctual stops.


I feel like gathering my rags

And making my getaway

Someplace where no one knows about me,

Where I forget about myself

And the pale face of my lover,

To do what I want,

What I damn well please.


I don't need reasons, excuses

To speed down a highway in a fast car

Not thinking about anything or anyone

While around me the heat staggers

And the climacteric sun trails after me like a stray dog.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

TAKVE PESME PIŠEM

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Trebalo bi da imam novog ljubavnika,
Ovog da se ratosiljam
Kao konzerve kojoj je istekao rok upotrebe.

Trebalo bi brza kola da vozim
Kroz prozor kosa da mi vijori
Kao kod kakve Rozamunde
Što na konju jezdi.
Takve pesme pišem.

Trebalo bi do podne da spavam,
Da se izležavam na širokom krevetu
Kao poleglo žito po „majčici“ zemlji.
Trebalo bi da ne marim za vreme;
Da ne kaskam, da ne žurim.
Da ispijam dan za danom, do dna – naiskap!
Noć po noć, kao cigaretu za cigaretom.
Pa, opuške – pod potpeticu!
Reči na žar. Vrućicu u pesme.
Takve pesme pišem.

Trebalo bi usku haljinu da nosim.
Ramena krznom da ogrćem.
Na visoke štikle da se penjem.
Da se nafrakam i nakinđurim,
Kao božićna jelka –
Da me ne prepozna ni rođena majka.

Trebalo bi da sam vedra, nasmejana, zavodljiva.
Da pevam i plešem do tri izjutra.
Da sam svesna svojih ženskih draži
Kad mi kakav pastuv priđe.
Takve pesme pišem.
Trebalo bi da me ne dotiču
Žaoke, bodlje, bumbara i osa.
Maramicom kao kap znoja sa čela
Da obrišem svaku boru, brigu.

Trebalo bi da imam dovoljno love
Za kiriju, porez i još pride.
Lova dobro dođe kad ponestane ostaloga.
Kad zature se poljupci, kad iscure reči.
S lovom mogu disati na kredit!

Trebalo bi telo svoje da sunčam
Na kakvoj steni,
Daleko od dokova Sunovrata.
Trebalo bi iz zemlje Apatije
U zemlju Želja da emigriram,
Sve da želim ničeg da se ne odričem.

Trebalo bi u mirišljavoj peni da se kupam
Žilet veni da primičem.
Takve pesme pišem.

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

THE  POEMS I WRITE

الانجليزية

I ought to have a new lover,

Get rid of the one I have

As if he were a can with a past-due date.


I ought to drive fast cars,

My hair flying out of the window

As if I were some Rosamund

Riding on a horse.

These are the poems I write.


I ought to sleep till noon,

Spread myself over a great big bed

Like wheat over "sweet mother" earth.


I ought not to care about time,

Not to move slowly, not to hurry,

To drink each day down to its dregs,

Night after night—like a chain-smoker—

And step on a butt with my heel.

Words are embers. I burn myself into poetry.

These are the poems I write.


I ought to wear tight dresses,

Drape my shoulders with furs,

Wear high heels on my heels,

Paint myself and cover myself with jewels

Like a Christmas tree—

So my own mother doesn't recognize me.


I ought to be cheerful, smiling, flirty,

To sing and dance till 3 a.m.

Mindful of my sex appeal

When some stud approaches me.

These are the poems I write.


Thorns, bumblebees and bees with their stingers

Ought not to touch me.

With my handkerchief I'll wipe every worry and wrinkle

As if they were drops of sweat on my forehead.


I ought to have enough dough

For rent, taxes and a few more things.

Money comes in handy when there's nothing else.

When kisses are misplaced, when words all trickle out.

With money one can breathe on credit.


I ought to tan my body on some rock

Far from the piers of Disaster.

I ought to emigrate from the land of Apathy

To the land of Wishes

So I can desire all and renounce nothing.

I ought to bathe myself in scented bubbles,

Draw a razor to my vein.

These are the poems I write.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

SORRY, GOSPODE

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Švorc sam Gospode.
Prazno srce, prazna pica,
Izvrnuti džepovi moje duše.
U glavi tek ponešto zveči
Kao u konzervi prilog za Crveni krst.
Tutni nešto, Bogo, u moj buđelar.

Prazna sam i bez prebijene
Srce mi pišti ko čajnik.
Negde vidici pucaju od lepote,
Ovde sumrak pritisko kapke.

Sve sam protraćila, proćerdala.
Sve spiskala.
Sad Ti udeli, nahrani, isceli.
Pre nego što ubeležiš,
Daj pljugu, daj kintu,
Daj kitu, ovoj grešnici.

Daj mi danas.

Niti sijem, niti žanjem,
Niti predem,
Tebe poslušah, Bogo,
Sad Ti pobrini se za me.
Izležavam se do podne.
Danju unaokolo cunjam, gluvarim,
Noću nad rukopisima il po barovima
Dreždim, krvarim.
Ujutro stajem na hladan pod srca
Tvog sina, tvog čeda.
Njušim njegovo međunožje
Kao keruša svoje male.
Jer, Ti kaza:
Sve što hoćete da vama čine ljudi,
Činite i vi tako njima.
Al šutnu me taj čova,
Istrese me kao pesak iz sandale.

Više mi ništa ne ide od ruke –
Uska vrata, tesan put.
Ne bulji u mene, Bogo,
Ne drži me zemljina teža,
Nacvrcana sam, gubim korak,
Ulica mi je sve krivlja,
Kuća sve dalja,
Pruži ruku, pruži prst,
Ko luču, ne ko prut.

Život cvili kao usna harmonika,
Daleko sam zabasala.
Ne razlikujem više vrste ptica,
Biljaka, drveća, strane sveta,
Rečne od morskih riba,
Izvor od ušća.
Snove po kojima gacam
Od ulice kojom njišem kukovima.

Više puta voleh zauvek,
Moje srce beše vrela ringla,
Sad je vrč razbijen.
Seks neuprljan ljubavlju,
Moja je deviza.
Sve druge želje stresoh
Ko kišne kapi sa kaputa.
Gospodi pomiluj!
Pevam o duši utopljenoj,
Koju ne mogu na obalu izvući.
Kao obešena divljač vise moje ruke.
Pomozi! Izbavi!
Daj mi – usta na usta!

Voleh gorka pića, žestoke momke,
I koješta još,
Priznajem Ti, Bogo,
Ne mimoiđe me nijedan greh.
Kao Tvoje telo,
Moje srce je jastučić za igle.

Sorry, Gospode,
Nisam ja ni Marta ni Marija Magdalena.
Tvoj sam ispljuvak, tvoja slina.
Sad, sve stavi na kantar.
Ne priteži i ne zakidaj.
Odreži!
Obnevidi mi srce, liši me vida.
Patiti i platiti.
Gospodi pomiluj!

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

SORRY, MY LORD

الانجليزية

I'm penniless, my Lord.

Empty heart, empty pussy.

The pockets of my soul are turned inside out.

In my head something tinkles

As in a Red Cross box.

Slip something in my wallet, Lord.


I'm empty and broke.

My heart whistles like a teakettle.

Elsewhere, landscapes burst with beauty.

Here darkness presses on the eyelids.


I squandered everything, blew it away

As if there was no tomorrow.

Now it's Your turn to give me something.

Feed me, heal me

Before You write it down in Your book.

Give me a butt, a lousy nickel.

Give this sinner a cock.


Give me this day.


I neither sow nor reap,

Nor do I weave.

I obeyed Thee, Lord,

Now You take care of me.

I laze in bed past noon,

Loaf around all day with nothing to do.

Nights I spend in bars or over my manuscripts,

Keep vigil, bleed.

In the morning I step on the cold floor of my heart.

Your son, Your darling,

I sniff between his legs

The way a bitch sniffs her litter.

You said: Do unto others

As you would have done unto you.

But that man gave me a kick,

Shook me like sand out of a sandal.

I suspect other heels dance now

On his heart's stage

While mine lies hollow like a gutter

Beaten by lethal drops of rain.


Nothing comes easy to me anymore—

Narrow gate, narrow path.

Stop staring at me, Lord.

Gravity won't hold me up.

I'm tipsy, I've lost my footing.

The street grows even more crooked.

My house is even more distant.

Give me Your hand, extend Your finger

Like a torch, not a whip.

Life wails like a mouth organ.

I've thoroughly lost my way.

I can't tell from the birds,

Plants, trees, cardinal points,

Sweetwater fish from the deep-sea kind,

The source from the mouth of a river,

The dreams over which I wade

From the street where I swing my hips.


Many times I fell in love forever.

My heart was a hot stove.

Now the jug is broken.

Let there be sex unstained by love

Is my slogan now.

Every other desire I shook off

Like raindrops from a coat.

Have mercy, Lord.

I sing of a drowned soul

Which I can't drag to the shore.

My hands hang like wild game.

Help me! Rescue me!

Give me—mouth-to-mouth!


I loved strong drink, violent men,

And other such foolish things.

I confess to You, Lord,

Not a single sin eluded me.

Like Your own body

My heart is a pincushion.


Sorry, Lord.

I'm neither Martha nor Magdalena.

I'm what You spat out, Your discharge.

Now weigh it all on Your scales.

Don't tip them, don't cheat on me.

Go and weigh them.

Blind my heart, take away my sight

To suffer and pay.

Lord, have mercy on me.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

BIĆU OPAK BABAC

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Vidim biću opak babac,
Mršava kao pljoska
Kao i sad što sam.

Ne od onih debelguzih
Što valjaju za sobom zadnjice,
Kako veli Selin.

Ne od onih dobroćudnih baba-tetaka
Uz čije je meke i punačke mišice
Lepo prisloniti obraz.

Više nalik onim strašilima za ptice
U našim baštama
Punim rumenih paradajza
Kao dečijih obraza.

Ima takvih bakutanera
Živahnih i ljutih kao osice
Sa očima navrh čela,
Sve vide, sve čuju, i imaju primedbe –
Gunđala od rođenja.

Zvocaću i torokaću povazdan.
Kokodakaću kao kvočka pilićima
O vremenima kada bejah
Mlada i zgodna cura,
I kada momke vrteh oko malog prsta.

Ždrepce i pastuve dok krotih
Sevom oka, sevom suknje.
Prećutkujući sva neverstava
I sve jade,
Kao izgubljene bitke general.

Kao bapcu sve će mi biti dozvoljeno.
Da igram bridž i da plešem
Okretne igre moga doba.
Okretaću se i saplitati
O sopstvene štapičaste noge,
Udenute u trup kao čačkalice u ćevap.

Bakutaner i po!
Klicaće i aplaudiraće mi,
Mladi pametnjakovići skupljeni oko mene.

Bakuta kao reš kifla sa susamom –
Takva ću biti,
Svakom zapadaću za zube, kao i ranije.

Dok sa velikim šeširom i haljinom do poda
Budem šetala po predelima bivšeg života,
Mirišući žutilovku, diveći se vresu,

O svaki čičak zakačinjući podsuknju-dušu.

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

I’LL BE A WICKED OLD WOMAN

الانجليزية

I'll be a wicked old woman

Thin as a rail,

The way I am now.

Not one of those big-assed ones

With buttocks churning behind them,

As Celine said.

Not one of the good-natured grandmas and aunties

Against whose soft and plump arms

It is nice to lay one's cheek.

I'm more like a scarecrow

In our gardens full of rosy tomatoes

Like children's cheeks.

There are some old crones

Who are both vivacious and angry as a bee

With eyes on top of their heads

Who see everything, hear everything and have an opinion-

Grumblers since birth.

I'll squawk and chatter all day,

Cackle like a hen over her chicks

About the days when I was

A young, good-looking girl,

When I led boys by the nose.

Colts and stallions I tamed

With the flash in my eye, the flash of my skirt.

Passing over infidelities and miseries

The way a general passes over his lost battles.

I'll be free to do anything as an old woman,

Among things I still can and want to do

Like playing bridge or dancing

The light-footed dances of my days.

I'll spin and trip on my sticklike legs,

Attached to my body like toothpicks to a kabob.

  That old hag sure can boogie!

The young smarties gathered around me

Will shout and applaud.

An old woman like a well-baked bun with sesame seeds,

That's what I'm going to be like.

I'll stick between everyone's teeth, as I did before,

While with a wide hat and dresses down to the ground

I stroll through landscapes of my past life.

Smelling the furze, admiring the heather,

On every thistle catching my undergarment—my soul.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

EVERGREEN

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Dosta mi je usamljenih žena.
Tužnih. Ucveljenih. Napuštenih.
Čije duše plutaju
Kao boce s porukom bačene u more.
Dosta mi je narikača.
Dosta saučesnica, družbenica, sestara.
Usedelica i udavača. Večnih udovica,
Čija srca cure i kaplju
Poput pokvarenih slavina.
Dosta mi je tog pogrebnog marša.
Nemam više ništa s vama.

Dosta mi je majčica skočica
I vernih ljuba oborenog pogleda –
Čuvarkuća lanjskih snegova i rajskih vrtova.
Dosta mi je vaših spomenara i herbarijuma,
Ispresovanih himena i ispeglanih bora.

Dosta, vaših zamrznutih talenata
Što se krčkaju u loncu Njegovog omiljenog jela.
Vaše crne džigerice i pohovanog mozga.
Vaših praznih kreveta i uglancanog parketa
Po kome klizi mesečina
Umesto šekspirovske životinje s dvoje leđa
Nemam ništa s vama.

Dosta mi je vaših otežalih zadnjica,
Podvaljaka, podočnjaka, pobačaja.
Vaših dijeta, depilacija, ondulacija.
Vaših dekoltea, visokih potpetica,
Šliceva, i ostalih udica.
Dosta mi je te nožice ispod stola,
Tog pogleda ispod oka.
Licitiranja i rasprodaja:
Ko-će-kome, Ko-će-koga.

Dosta mi je vaših aperitiva i deserta
Mladih stršljenova i bezopasnih bumbara –
Vaših slatkih otrova.
Na smrt voljenih i ljubavi do kraja života.
Vašeg Sedmog neba što seže
Do vrhova Njegovih cipela. Vaših
Vitlejemskih jasli – Njegovog međunožja.
Dosta mi je vašeg „Po željama slušalica“.
Vaše never more stara je pesma,
Evergreen vaših kasnih proleća.
Sve bi dale za jednog muškarca
U liku bespomoćnog boga,
Vi Adamova rebarca.
Nemam ništa s vama.

Igračica bih da sam na trapezu,
Hodačica po žici, ukrotiteljica lavova.
Kroz obruč vatre bih da skočim
U svako grlo ili srce,
Da bih se ponovo rodila u porođajnim bolovima.
Sve bih isto, a sve drukčije.
I njegovu bih ljubljenu glavu
Na mom trbuhu – Salominom pladnju.

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

EVERGREEN

الانجليزية

I've had enough of lonely women.

Sad. Miserable. Abandoned women

Whose souls float like bottles

Thrown in the sea with a message.

Enough of professional mourners.

Enough of companions, sisters, dispensers of condolences.

Old maids and marrying types,

Eternal widows whose hearts leak and drip

Like rusty faucets.

Enough of that funeral march.

I don't want anything more to do with you.


Enough of Mother Hubbards

And faithful wives with their eyes lowered—

The guardians of last year's snows and Gardens of Eden.

Enough of your herbariums and picture albums,

Dried up beavers and ironed-out wrinkles.


Enough of your frozen talents

Simmering with His favorite dish in a pot.

Your black liver and fried brains.

Your empty beds and waxed floors

Over which moonlight slides

Instead of Shakespeare's beast with two backs.

I have nothing in common with you.


Enough of your big asses,

Double chins, circles under the eyes, abortions,

Diets, depilations, hairdos,

Low-cut dresses, high heels.

Enough of playing footsie under the table,

The meaningful look under the eye,

Auctions and bargain sales:

Who-will-do-what-to-whom.


Enough of you aperitifs and desserts.

Young studs and sugar daddies.

Your sweet poisons,

Loved to death till death do us part,

Your Seventh Heaven that rests

On the tip of His shoes.

Your Holy Mangers in the crotch of His legs.

Enough of your: "Our listeners request."

Your "nevermore" is an old song,

Evergreen of your late springs.

You'd give anything for a man

In the image of a helpless god,

Adam's rib.

I don't want anything more to do with you.


I'd like to be dancing on a trapeze,

Walking on high wire, taming lions.

Through a fiery hoop I'd jump

Into everyone's throat or heart,

So I can be born again in labor pains.

I'd do everything the same way and everything differently

With his beloved head on my belly—

As on Salome's plate.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

ANTROPOMORFNI ORMAR

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Više nema mesta. Prepuni smo kao ormari.
Ono što smo slagali, red po red,
Savijali, pakovali. Previjali na rane.
Ono što smo kačili na kuke,
Ređali na vešalice;
Zimske želje, letnje snove,
Sunčeve zalaske, snežne vrhove,
Tvoje-moje uzdahe-jecaje –
Sad ispremeštano leži ovde-onde.

Zaboravljeno. Skinuto u žurbi.
Bačeno u ćoše. Okrenuto naopačke.
Ono neophodno i ono manje važno
Nabacano jedno preko drugog sad je.
I okraćalo. I tesno. I skrojeno po meri.
I izbledelo, i šljašteće – tu je.

Slomljeno Adamovo rebarce.
Otkinuto anđeosko krilo.
Krzno ljubavi i ljubav s flekom.
Prstenje. Češljevi. Duhovi. Moljci.
Niko se tu više ne može snaći.
Gde se delo? Prevrni! Pomeri!
Izgubljeno. Pa u zagrljaj vraćeno.
Leluja paučina. Miš gricka.
Leptir širi krila.

Trn u oku. More na izdisaju.
Dan-noć. Voli-ne-voli.
Izbaci-ubaci. Daj-uzmi.
Ovo na hemijsko. Ovo Luciferu.
Ovo Ciganki. A ovo – nikako!
Nabori žudnje. Isprano srce.
Plačni muslin. Arijadnine niti.
Pridevske čipkice. Aoristi.
Rečenice-restlovi. Krljušti reči.
Iz fioka vire, vise. Obamrli. Večni.
Cure. Kaplju. Liju suze. Liju slasti.
Sline sati. Život iznošeni.

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

ANTHROPOMORPHIC WARDROBE

الانجليزية

There's no more room. We are full.

Everything we stored, layer by layer,

Folded, packed in as if bandaging wounds.

Belongings we hung by a hook,

Belongings we lined up on hangers,

Winter wishes, summer dreams,

Sunsets, snowy peaks,

What's yours-what's mine, sighs and sobs—

Now shifted every which way.


Forgotten. Taken down in a hurry.

Thrown in the corner. Turned inside out.

What is indispensable and what is less so

Thrown on top of one another.

Once made to measure, then grown short,

Grown too tight, faded or shiny—it's all here.


Adam's little broken rib.

The plucked angel's wing.

Venus's fur and love-stain.

Rings. Combs. Ghosts. Moths.

No one can find anything here.

Where is it? Turn it upside down! Rummage!

Lost, then found again.

Rejected, then cherished again.

Cobwebs sway. The mouse gnaws.

The butterfly spreads its wings.


Torn in the eye. The sea on its last breath.

Night-day. Loves-doesn't love.

Throw it-keep it. Give-take.

This to the dry cleaners. This to the devil.

This to the Salvation Army. And this—not in your life!



The creases of lust. Washed-out heart.

Weepy muslin. Ariadne's thread.

Adjectival lace. Aorist.

Sentence-rags. Flake of words. Peek out

Of drawers, dangle. Expired. Eternal.

Trickle. Ooze. Shed tears. Drip pleasures.

The snivel of time passing. Used-up life.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003

ŽENSKO PISMO

الصربية | Radmila Lazić

Neću da budem poslušna i krotka,
Mazna kao mačka, privržena kao pseto;
Sa stomakom do zuba,
Sa rukama u testu,
Sa licem od brašna,
Sa srcem-ugljenom,
I njegovom rukom na mojoj zadnjici.

Neću da budem zastavica-dobrodošlica
Na njegovom kućnom pragu.
Ni zmija čuvarkuća pod tim pragom,
Ni zmija, ni Eva, iz priče o Postanju.

Neću da hodam između vrata i prozora,
Da osluškujem i razabiram
Korake od noćnih šumova.
Neću da pratim olovno pomeranje kazaljki,
Ni padanje zvezda –
Da bi se on pijan zaglibio u mene kao slon.

Neću da budem udenuta goblen-bodom
U porodičnu sliku:
Kraj kamina s klupčićima dece,
U vrtu s kučićima dece.

Pa ja, kao hlad-drvo,
Pa ja, kao zimski pejzaž.
Statueta pod snegom,
U venčanici s naborima i volanima
Odleteću u nebo.
Aleluja! Aleluja!
Neću mladoženju.
Hoću sedu kosu,
Hoću grbu i kotaricu,
Pa da krenem u šumu,
Da berem jagode
I skupljam suvarke.

Da je već sve za mnom,
I osmeh onog mladića
Tada tako drag
I ničim zamenjiv.

1988/89

© Radmila Lazić
Audio production: Drugi program Radio Beograda / PEN centar Srbije

A Woman’s Letter

الانجليزية

I don’t want to be obedient and tame.

Coddled like a cat. Faithful like a dog.

With a belly up to my teeth, hands in the dough,

Face covered with flour, my heart a cinder

And his hand on my ass.


I don’t want to be a welcome flag at his door,

Nor the guardian snake under his threshold,

Neither the snake nor Eve from Genesis.


I don’t want to pace between the door and the window,

To listen hard and be able to distinguish

Footsteps from night sounds.

I don’t want to follow the leaden movement of the watch hands,

Nor see falling stars

For him to gore me drunkenly like an elephant.


I don’t want to be sewn with needlepoint

To the family portrait

Next to the fireplace with balled-up children,

In the garden with little tots,

And I— the shade tree.

And I— the winter landscape,

A statue under the snow.

In a pleated wedding dress

I’ll fly to heaven.


Alleluia! Alleluia!

I don’t want a bridegroom.


I want gray hair, a hump and a basket

To go roaming in the woods,

Picking strawberries and dry twigs.


With my whole life behind me,

The smile of that boy,

Once so dear and completely irreplaceable.

From: Radmila Lazić. A Wake for the Living. Poems (Bilingual Edition). Translated from the Serbian by Charles Simic. Graywolf Press, 2003