Graham McMaster 
Übersetzer:in

auf Lyrikline: 7 Gedichte übersetzt

aus: kroatisch nach: englisch

Original

Übersetzung

misa na web-u

kroatisch | Dražen Katunarić

                     Jean-Luc Wauthieru


stvaraš web 
jer dragi Bog 
te neprestano stvara

vrijeme prelijeće web
opkorači dugi dan tvoje
samoće

odozdo na web-u
sasijeci Kronov spol
da oćutiš se bezvremenim

misa na web-u
za nakanu ispale hostije
s usana čežnje

na web-u glas djevojke
ovlaži ti tabane
pjevaše sveto i profano

i da te jednom dotaknem
i dodirnem ti haljine
moje srce bilo bi cijelo
a sve rane bi nestale

Oh Bože
prepoznah te na web-u
po mirisu mlijeka
bezazlenom osmijehu
jednom otkucaju čistog srca

lomio si web na pola
i pružao mi kruh koji je još mirisao
na zlaćano klasje pod suncem
pružao mi čašu gustog plavca
koja me opila od ljubavi

© Dražen Katunarić
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

mass on the Web

englisch

                      to Jean-Luc Wauthier


you create the Web
for the good Lord
creates you without cease

time flies across the web
bestrides the long day of your
solitude

from on high on the web
cut Chronos’ sex
to feel eternal

mass on the Web
for the intention of a fallen wafer
of the lips of longing

on the Web a girl's voice
moistens your soles
sang sacred and profane

could I but once touch you
and touch your skirts
my heart would be whole
all wounds would vanish

Oh Lord
I could tell you on the Web
by the smell of milk
the harmless smile
one beat of the pure heart

you broke the web in two
and proffered me bread still smelling
of the gold ears beneath the sun
offered me a glass of thick Plavac
that fuddled me with love

Translated by Graham McMaster

kompilacija

kroatisch | Dražen Katunarić

Ne znam odakle puše
tramontana
slijeva il' zdesna
da u ušima titrati

...the answer my friend
is blowing in the wind...

nasloni se na moje rame
i slušaj muziku ljeta
ptice su blizu
gnijezde se oko zvonika
u Lodèveu
pa razlijeću oko njega
dolje srce odbija satove
snuje o nemogućem

čuješ li onu staru melodiju
u zraku

...che colpa ne ho
se il cuore è uno zingaro e va


u ljeto 2010-te
sreo sam jednog Ciganina
u crnoj košulji
s bijelim biljegom na tjeme n u

rasplakao je mnoge žene
i stidljive muškarce
kad je svirao na harmonici

... catene non ha, il cuore è uno zingaro e va.


srce je sladunjavo
sedam puta zašećereno bademom
nećeš ga očistiti
ne ulijepiš li prste
između do i fa

srcu nije dovoljno
da otima protekle sate
želi ih utopiti u malo vanilije
i predati zaboravu

...e si fermerà chissà...
...e si fermerà chissà...

© Dražen Katunarić
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

compilation

englisch

I do not know from where
the tramontana blows
from the left or right
to flicker in the ears

... the answer my friend
is blowing in the wind...

lean on my shoulder
listen to the summer's music
the birds are close
nesting around the bell tower
in Lodeve
and fly around it
below the heart strikes the hours
dreams of the impossible

do you hear that old melody
in the air

...che colpa ne ho
se il cuore e uno zingaro e va


in summer 2010
I met a gipsy man
in a black shirt
a white mark on his head

many women cried
and shamefaced men
when he played upon the accordion

... catene non ha, il cuore è uno zingaro e va.

the heart is cloying
seven times sugared with almond
you will not clean it
unless you paste your fingers
twixt do and fa

for the heart it's not enough
to snatch the hours passed
it wants to steep them in vanilla
consign them to oblivion

...e si fermerà chissà...
...e si fermerà chissà...

Translated by Graham McMaster

tvoja braća trče

kroatisch | Dražen Katunarić

tvoja braća trče
u zemlji Kronosa
koraci im izbrojeni
sjene združene
igraju igrice za sebe
u samoći bez riječi
provjeravaju poruke
i opet trče

tvoja braća ne žele upoznati
ni radosti ni tuge
ni ljubavi ni mržnje
trče bez većeg naprezanja
zategnutih mišića
ravnomjernih kretnji
koraci im izbrojeni

tvoja braća postala su gluha
za izgovorene riječi
razvezuju slušalice
iznenađena lica
kimaju glavom
u nevoljama tišine

tvoja braća trče
provjeravaju poruke
i opet trče
u zemlji Kronosa
s laganom naprtnjačom
nabacana prezira

tvoja braća trče
ne dotičući bokove laktovima
šutljivi, ozbiljni, odsutni
s krunom bešćutna sjaja
koraci im izbrojeni
sjene oduljene

© Dražen Katunarić
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

your brothers run

englisch

your brothers run
in the land of Chronos
their steps numbered
shadows combined
they play games for themselves
in seclusion with no words
check out the messages
and run again

your brothers wish to know
neither joy or nor sorrow
love nor hatred
they run without much effort
of taut muscles
in even movements
their steps numbered

your brothers went deaf
to spoken words
they unwind the earphones
surprised faces
nod the head
in troubles of silence

your brothers run in trainers
check out the messages
and run again
in the land of Chronos
with a light knapsack
of piled contempt

your brothers run
not touching hips with elbows
taciturn, serious, absent
with a crown of callous glory
their steps numbered
shadows elongated

Translated by Graham McMaster

SOBE IZ PREGRAĐA

kroatisch | Dorta Jagić

poneke
meke sobe iz naših predgrađa
nikada nisu bile izvan svoje kuće,
nikada u gustoj šumi
nikada nisu pale u more
i smočile se
da bi im se zato raspale papuče, espadrile
i pustile ih na slobodu
zato se meke sobe plaše
uvijek istih razbijanja tanjura,
curenja plina, upale gušterače i kože,
nose sunčane naočale usred noći
dok čitaju vikend ljubavne romane
stalno zalijevaju cvijeće po kući
a ono postaje plastično
i nemirno
kao silnim poljupcima
zlostavljana djeca

© Dorta Jagić
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

ROOMS FROM THE SUBURBS

englisch

the occasional
soft room from our suburbs
has never been outside its house,
never in the thick woods
never fallen into the sea
and got wet
for their slippers, espadrilles, than to fall apart
and set them free
and so the soft rooms fear
always the same breaking of plates,
leaking gas, skin and pancreas inflammations,
wear sunglasses in the night
while they read weekend love novels
constantly water flowers round the house
and they become plastic
and restless
like with forceful lisses
abused children

Translation by Graham McMaster

SOBA SVJETSKE PUTNICE

kroatisch | Dorta Jagić

kad se vratim kući s isprljanim koferima
što da radim?
dugo stojim i pitam se na pragu
zašto svi putevi ne vode ni u rim ni u moskvu
već u ovu sobu?

u ovu suhu očevu kocku
u tvrdu kutijicu stalnih dimenzija,
smiješno nakaznu u svom stajanju
kao sobni bicikl

ja, velika i zlatna
s tekućim putovnicama u kosi
studentica svjetskih aerodroma
svezana uvijek iznova
s četiri sigurnosna pojasa
njenih praznih zidova

još jednom nakon mora
sjesti s poderanom kartom u ovu sobu
otprilike je
kao da se objesim naglavce
obješena o tanku kuku na zidu,
o splet okolnosti,
o slučaj
o zamah leptirovih krila u pekingu
obješena o nečiju želju
da ovdje čekam velike dane
krstitke, svadbe i mature
kao obiteljska
šunka

© Dorta Jagić
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

ROOM OF A LADY TRAVELER

englisch

when I come back home with my sullied suitcase
what shall I do?
I sat long and wonder at the sill
why all roads lead not to Rome or Moscow
but just this room

to this dry paternal cube
to the hard box of constant dimensions
ridiculously distorted in its standing
like an exercise bike

I, large and golden
with fluid passports in my hair
a student girl of world aerodromes
always bound again
with the four safety belts
of its empty walls

once again after the seaside
to sit with a torn ticket in this room
is about like
hanging upside down
pendant from a thin hook in the wall,
from force of circumstances
from accident
the flutter of butterfly wings in Peking
pendant on someone's wish
here to wait for the big days
of christening, wedding and graduation
like the family
ham on the bone

Translation by Graham McMaster

DJETINJASTE SOBE

kroatisch | Dorta Jagić

neke stare sobe iz djetinjstva
s vremenom postanu sve ovisnije
o prašini i pažnji,
musavo infantilne, inatljive.
djevojčice-starice.
naprimjer, ako je ovo zbilja moja soba
zašto ne sjaji kao pronto
sama od sebe kao prije
zašto pušta toliko kilograma prašine
dnevno na sve te vrijedne stvari?
kao da potajno ušmrkava
tu sivu vampirsku perut
ili je ubrizgava ravno u vaze, tepihe, mene
ne bi li na nešto mučno zaboravila.
ne. ipak ta djevojčica-starica
fini mljeveni ostatak stvari
taloži za svoj umirovljnički «5 o'clock» kakao
koji će sjetno pijuckati
s drugim napuštenim sobama iz kvarta
kad je ostavim zbog nekog
zrelijeg
drugog

© Dorta Jagić
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

CHILDISH ROOMS

englisch

some old rooms from childhood
in time become ever more dependent
on dust and and attention,
fussily infantile, contrary.
little girls-old ladies.
for example, if this is really my room
why does it not shine like johnsons wax
all by itself as before
why does it give out so many kilos od dust
each day on all those worthwile things?
as if it were in secret snorting
this grey vampire dandruff
or shooting right into the vases, carpets, me
as if to forget something painful,
no. after all that girl-old lady
deposits the fine ground remains of things
for her pensioner "5 o' clock" cocoa
that shell sip with melancholy
with the oder abandoned rooms
in the neighbourhood when I leave it for some
riper
other

Translation by Graham McMaster

HOTELSKE SOBE

kroatisch | Dorta Jagić

ponekad
u nekim nepočišćenim sobama
starog hotela Babilon
nema više ni plastičnih natikača ni jeftinih slika,
naprosto su ishlapile od nedodirivanja,
a noćne su lampe propale bez zvuka kroz tepih u mrak
i eto nigdje nikakav skoreni
ljudski trag na bilo čemu, zavjesama
samo mrtve muhe
i ustajala svjetlost na stropu
skupa zuje niski poluton.
dva debela konopca leže na podu
kao pozaspale, trudne zmije
i ne javljaju se
nikome na telefon.
nasred sobe sjedi sam
tzv. jaki čovjek s golemim bicepsima.
slaže pasijans, puši mljevenu
ptičju kugu sa aromom višnje.
tvrdi da ima sve blago ovog svijeta
ali nigdje ne stoji da je on bog
ni u osobnoj,
ni u vozačkoj ni u arhivi.
po cijele dane ništa ne radi
samo gricka slova iz vrećice s
instant juhom, umjesto televizora
el ninjŏ mu na prozor nanosi
uvijek nove kamikaze
diše na jednjak, psuje na jetru
iskašljava u strahu
male čavle i spajalice
briše prašinu, stvara prašinu
pjeva malu tužaljku
kada će ući Sobar
kada će me istući Dobar
oplijeniti i
zavezati za stolac

© Dorta Jagić
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

HOTEL ROOMS

englisch

sometimes
in some untidied rooms
of the old Babylon Hotel
there are no more plastic mules or cheap pictures,
theyve just evaporated from lack of touch,
and the night lights sunk without a sound through
the carpet into dark
and so nowhere any crusted
human trace on anything at all, curtains
only the dead flies
and the stagnant light upon the ceilin
together buzz a low semiton.
two thick ropes lie on the floor
like somnolent, gravid snakes
and answer no one on the telephone.
in the middle of the room, sitting alone
the so-called Strong man with vast biceps.
playing patience, smoking ground
bird plague with a scent of dark cherry.
he claims he has all the bounty of the world
but nowhere does it say that he is god
neither in his ID
or driving licence or in the files.
days at a time he does nothing
only nibbles letters from a bag
instant soup, instead of the television
el nino on his window casts
always new kamikazes
breathes on his gullet, curses in the liver
coughs out in fear
small nails amd clips
wipes the dust, the old dust
sings a little dirge
when shall the valet come in
when shall the Good beat
and plunder me and
bind me to the chair

Translation by Graham McMaster