SVECI

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.

© Vladimir Kopicl

THE SAINTS

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.

Translated into English by Nina Živančević