Milan Dobričić 
ÜbersetzerIn

auf Lyrikline: 4 Gedichte übersetzt

aus: englisch nach: serbisch

Original

Übersetzung

Unfinished Rooms

englisch | Ryan Van Winkle

           YELLOW ROOM

For two years
it was a bare light bulb
by the side of the bed.

It was Tom Waits
if Tom Waits
was a light bulb.

I never found a shade that fit
and in summer I’d watch moths
swing low, singe their wings.

It was an attic room
with a slanted ceiling
and there were times

when it was so still,
cold and quiet,
it felt like camping.

           BROWN ROOM

There was one room where I was on top
and she was drunk, but competent
with her hand, her skin

           and my mouth was cotton dry, then wet
           and on the floor with us
           were stacks of parched books,
           books with thin, petite fonts.
           Like the back of a library, this room.

And it was only luck which stopped us,
let us finish with our others, in other
more furnished, less closeted quarters.

           RED ROOM

After painting the room brothel red,
smears of paint stuck
to the curve of her breast.

Late at night, we smelled the paint dry.
She had red dawning on her thigh.

This was something ripe I took, didn’t mind
                                           the smell.
By morning I was nauseous, my head stained
                                           by deep oil.

She wanted to hang her pictures on dry,
scarlet walls: a neat row of postcards,
the Japanese print over the fireplace.

And I wanted to go for a long walk,
shake my hair in the wind.
Never know what she chose.

           GREEN ROOM

She kept a Christmas tree
in the corner for four months.
By the time I pulled her
it was all branches.
The needles stuck
to our bare feet
and we brought them to bed,
furnished each other.
In the morning
her curtains
played shadows
on open walls.
She’d meant to hang
fairy lights, tapestries
but then the tree died,
the lease was up and
the carpet was covered
in pines.

           WHITE ROOM

My parents pulled
everything out:

the comics
from the closet

the LPs
the cassettes

the posters
the paperbacks.

The stains scrubbed
from the cream carpet.

The mattress my virginity sunk into
sits at the Salvation Army.

Home is not
a recognized place.

Home is a room
with a mirror

leaning against
the wall.

No thumbtack holes,
no coffee rings

on the nightstand.
A halogen light,

clean, surgical sheets.
It is almost done,

they say,
just a few more things

and the room
will be complete.

© Ryan van Winkle
aus: Tomorrow, We Will Live Here
London: Salt Publishing, 2010
Audio production: Ryan van Winkle & Colin Fraser (Culture Laser productions)

NEDOVRŠENE SOBE

serbisch

1)

Tokom dve godine
gola sijalica je stajala
pored kreveta.

Bio je to Tom Vejts
ako je Tom Vejts
bio sijalica.

Nikada nisam pronašao branik koji odgovara
i u leto bih gledao moljce
kako se nisko njišu, prljeći krila.

Bila je to potkrovna soba
sa nagnutim krovom
i ponekad

bila je toliko mirna,
hladna i tiha,
da je izgledalo kao kampovanje.

2)

Postojala je soba u kojoj sam bio na vrhu
a ona je bila pijana, ali sposobna
svojom rukom, svojom kožom

           a usta su mi bila suva ko pamuk, pa mokra
           a na podu sa nama
           bile su gomile sasušenih knjiga,
           knjiga sa tankim, petitnim slovima.
           Kao zadnji deo biblioteke, ova soba.

I samo nas je sreća zaustavila,
pustila nas da završimo sa našim ostalim, u drugim
u nameštenijim, neplakarnijim stambenim prostorijama.

3)

Nakon farbanja sobe u bordelski crveno,
mrlje boje se zaglaviše
u krivini njene dojke.

Kasno noću, mirisali smo boju koja se suši.
Imala je crveno praskozorje na svojoj butini.

Bilo je to nešto zrelo što uzeh, bez obzira
                                                na miris.
Do jutra sam postao gadljiv, moja glava umrljana
                                                dubokim uljem.

Htela je da okači slike na suvim,
skerletnim zidovima; uredan red razglednica,
japanska šara iznad kamina.

A ja sam želeo da odem u dugačku šetnju,
rastresem kosu na vetru,
da nikad ne saznam šta je odabrala.

4)

Držala je novogodišnju jelku
u uglu četiri meseca.
Kada sam je izvukao
imala je samo gole grane.
Iglice su se zabadale
u naša bosa stopala
i uneli smo ih u krevet,
nameštali jedno drugo u noći.
Ujutru
njene zavese
stvarahu senke
na golim zidovima.
Planirala je da okači
vilinska svetla i tapiserije
ali je drvo umrlo,
najam je istekao a
tepih je bio prekriven
borovinom.

5)

Moji su roditelji sve
izvukli napolje;

stripove
iz plakara

ploče
kasete

i sve postere,
knjige.

Mrlje oribane sa
kremastog tepiha.

Madrac u koji je potonula moja nevinost
sedi u Armiji Spasa.

Dom nije
prepoznato mesto.

Dom je soba
sa ogledalom

oslonjenim o
zid.

Bez rupa od eksera,
bez prstena od kafe

na noćnom stočiću.
Halogeno svetlo,

čisti, hirurški čaršavi.
Skoro je gotovo,

kažu,
još samo nekoliko stvari

i soba će
biti kompletna.

Prijevod: Milan Dobričić
The translation is based on an earlier version of the poem.

Window, Not Sky

englisch | Ryan Van Winkle

We dreamed and a bird flew
into our bedroom window

like a heavy book
dropped in the dark.

Not a crack appeared
in your eyes but this lingers

inside me like that dream
when we were in bed and you spoke

with her mouth
at my shivering dick,

saying, “I love you, I know what you love.”
Even dreaming I knew this was wrong

but my dick is a simple machine, a straw.
Her mouth was hot as blood

and as you slept she cut me open, smiled
and swallowed so hard I had to pull

your gold hair apart and kiss your cheeks
as if I'd never loved another, as if I knew

you would die.
                            So now I can't fall

back to sleep and wake you up
the slow way in which I'd fix you a bath.

We go outside. The grass is damp and gets caught
between our toes and we find this bird,

his neck broken by clear, sunlit sky –
more like a fish than a bird. His wings

folded behind his back in prayer.
His body below a window
hard as waking, sharp as grass.

© Ryan van Winkle
aus: The Good Dark
London: Penned in the Margins, 2015
Audio production: Ryan van Winkle & Colin Fraser (Culture Laser productions)

PROZOR

serbisch

Sanjali smo i ptica udari
u prozor naše spavaće sobe

poput teške knjige
koja se zatvori u mračnom

delu biblioteke. Ni pukotina se ne pojavi
u tvojim očima ali ovo

stoji u meni poput onog sna
kada smo bili u krevetu a ti

se pretvori u moju bivšu, njena usta
na mojoj drhtavoj kiti govore,

„Volim te, znam šta ti voliš.“
Čak i u snu znao sam da je to pogrešno

ali moja kita je jednostavna mašina, slamka.
Njena usta behu topla kao krv

i dok si spavala ona me je rasekla, ukrala
seme, osmehnula se i progutala i ja se

probudih sa ovim
i morah da razdvojim tvoju zlatnu kosu

i poljubim ti obraze kao da nikad nisam voleo
drugu, kao da sam znao da ćeš umreti, pa sad

ne mogu ponovo da zaspim i budim te
polagano kao da ti spremam kupku.

Izlazimo, trava je vlažna i lepi se
između naših nožnih prstiju i pronalazimo tu pticu,

njegov vrat je slomilo jasno,
sunčano nebo – više poput ribe

nego ptice. Njegova krila sklopljena
iza leđa kao u molitvi. Njegovo telo

pod prozorom
koji uopšte ni nije nebo.

Prijevod: Milan Dobričić
The translation is based on an earlier version of the poem.

The Ocean I Call Mine

englisch | Ryan Van Winkle

Flies land on her wrist, legs, the tips of her eyes
remind us we are alive. “Go find something dead,”
she says. And the sun is here for us, the wind

takes our hair like a sail. The ocean I call mine
as if I was floating inside its womb. She says
she feels this too. We are looking at the stretch
of our mother –

both of us from the same place, but opposite. And
it is strange to look at an ocean you've known
your whole life and to see it from another side.
Like catching

your mother drinking a beer before church on Sunday.
You must look at her and admit Yes – this is my mother.
Flies will land on the lip of her glass. Gentle as a tide

she will brush them away. One shore is not a woman
nor a man. You need a boat to see them in their swell.
And am I anything like an ocean,

can I surprise someone by opening my hand as a wave?
May I too have a moment in sunlight when a boy or a girl
will look at me and say, “Father,
Father I need a boat.”

© Ryan van Winkle
aus: Red, Like Our Room Used to Feel (audio CD)
Forest Records, 2010
Audio production: Ryan van Winkle & Colin Fraser (Culture Laser productions)

OKEAN KOJI NAZIVAM SVOJIM

serbisch

Muve sleću na njen zglob, noge, vrhove očiju,
podsećaju nas da smo živi. „Idite pronađite nešto mrtvo,“
kaže ona. A sunce je tu za nas, vetar

uzima našu kosu za jedro. Okean koji nazivam svojim,
kao da plutam u njegovoj materici. Ona kaže
da i sama to oseća. Gledamo u raskrečenost
naše majke – –

oboje sa istog mesta, ali naspram. I
čudno je gledati okean kog si znao
celog svog života i videti ga sa druge strane.
Poput zaticanja

majke kako pije pivo pre Crkve u nedelju.
Moraš je pogledati i pomisliti Da – ovo je moja majka.
Muve će sleteti na usnu njene čaše. Nežno poput plime,

ona će ih sprati. Jedna obala nije ni žena
ni muškarac. Treba ti čamac da bi ih video u njihovoj nablekloj
slavi. I pitam se da li sam imalo poput okeana ili

da li mogu iznenaditi nekog otvaranjem svog dlana poput talasa.
Mogu li i ja doživeti trenutak na suncu kada će me dečak ili devojčica
pogledati i reći, „Oče,
Oče treba mi čamac.“

Prijevod: Milan Dobričić

Untitled (Howe)

englisch | Ryan Van Winkle

                                                                       “I think the sea is a useless teacher”
                                                                                  Marie Howe, From Nowhere


How I
looked towards
your eyes as if they
were nothing but waves
and all I learned from the sea
is that it took the sand and never
spoke what it wanted and when we
needed cool it was cool and when we
needed hot it was only a radio signal from
over the sound, coming in weak from Long
Island and when you needed hot you looked in-
to my eyes and said, Love, your name is darkness
and I said, that is not my name, that is the name of my
teacher, the sea, or a fisherman wishing into waves all night
with his wife keeping the light on then off and all he or I ever
got from the sea was a vocabulary which, like sand, fades and fades.

© Ryan van Winkle
aus: The Good Dark
London: Penned in the Margins, 2015
Audio production: Ryan van Winkle & Colin Fraser (Culture Laser productions)

[Kako sam gledao]

serbisch

                                                          „Mislim da je more beskoristan učitelj“
                                                                                          Meri Houv, Niotkuda
 

Kako sam gledao
u tvoje oči kao da one
nisu bile ništa do talasi
a sve što sam naučio od mora
je da je uzimalo pesak i nikad nije
govorilo o onome što sam ja hteo i kada
nam je trebalo hladno bilo je hladno i kada
nam je trebalo toplo bilo je samo radio signal
iznad zvuka, koji nam stiže slab sa Long Ajlenda
i kada je tebi trebalo toplo pogledala si u moje oči i rekla
Ljubavi, tvoje ime je tama a ja rekoh da to nije moje ime, to
je ime moga učitelja, mora, ili pak ribara koji baca želje u talase
celu noć a njegova žena drži svetlo upaljeno pa ugašeno i sve što smo on ili                                                                                                                         ja dobili
ikad od mora bio je rečnik za koji novine kažu da se iz dana u dan sve više                                                                                                                           i više smanjuje

Prijevod: Milan Dobričić