Goran Čolakhodžić 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 6 poems translated

from: croatian to: english, romanian

Original

Translation

Lov

croatian | Goran Čolakhodžić

Lovio sam zečeve
obilno i nečujno:
nišan je ubijao, nije bilo pucnja,
krznene su vreće padale bez odgode
na suhu travu sumraka. Ostajali su
kruti, otvorenih očiju, bez kapi krvi
na stegnutim ranama, zapravo smiješni,
neopasni u toj smrti koja nije
preotela život, pa je bila prozirna.
Meni nije nestajalo metaka,
a ni njima smrti: stalno su je producirali
po humcima i jarcima.
Spušta se jesen, bit će da je to.

© Goran Čolakhodžić
from: Na kraju taj vrt
Zagreb: Jesenski i Turk, 2015
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

Hunt

english

I hunted hares

abundantly and inaudibly:

the crosshair killed, no shots were fired,

furry bags fell promptly down

on the parched grass in the dusk. They remained

stiff, eyes open, with not a drop of blood

on their clenched wounds: in fact, ridiculous,

innocuous in their death which had not

taken over life, and so was see-through.

I did not run out of bullets,

and neither did they of death: they produced it constantly

in ditches and on mounds.

Autumn is falling, it’ll be that.

Translation: Goran Čolakhodžić

Ministarstvo obrane

croatian | Goran Čolakhodžić

Tko je venuo za cijelim
nikada nije došao do sreće

Živjeti jutros: čekati priču
a samo rečenice držati za vlasi

Stvari su veće od naše mutne sreće
duže od privida vječne prisutnosti
jače od veze od svijesti do svijesti

Za razliku od lijeske
na platanu se ne može popeti:

ljuske se odvajaju i padaš
na prepukli asfalt pred ministarstvom

Parada tenkova
zapravo ničime ne mijenja prostor
a najmanje vrijeme

U cijevi je budućnost
i nekoliko prošlosti mesa –

pod čelikom čuči
povratak na početak
i kraj

Povijest se dijeli prolaskom brigada

od njihova marša
ne možemo preko

© Goran Čolakhodžić
from: Pred gradom su kosci
Zagreb: Hrvatsko društvo pisaca, 2018
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

Ministry of Defence

english

Whoever yearned for wholeness

was never satisfied

 

To be alive this morning: to be waiting for a story

yet to grip mere sentences by the hair

 

Things are bigger than our vague happiness

more constant than the illusion of eternal presence

stronger than the links between this consciousness and the next

 

Unlike a hazel bush

you cannot climb a plane tree:

 

bark flakes off and you fall

down on the cracked asphalt in front of the Ministry

 

A parade of tanks in fact

does not change space in any way

still less time

 

In the barrel of the gun lies the future

and the manifold past of the flesh –

 

under the steel there lurks

a return to the beginning

and the end

 

History is divided by the passage of brigades

 

Because of their march we

cannot get across

Translation: Goran Čolakhodžić

S balkona u šumi

croatian | Goran Čolakhodžić

U Versaillesu svijetli metal
moderne Europe
udara i pjeva miru u čast:
smanjen na sjenku, Veliki rat
priziva proljeće, makove, mise.

Pod kestenima, u sivilu malo
rasvijetljenom Francuskom, shvaćamo
koliko program sadrži junaka,
barem dva-tri marša
više nego tužaljki.

Orkestar od čelika sa sumnjivom slasti
izvodi svaki pasaž marziale. Polako
se okrećem na jug:
nad vrhovima granja munje ranog ljeta.

Kasnije, pred ponoć, po rubu kontinenta
sedam gluhih lijevaka od vatre. Iznad
rosne trave, spori mjehuri
rasvjetnih raketa. Zatim dugi snopovi
noćnih projektila, kao štektanje
ruleta.

Između brojeva, crvenih, crnih,
najmanje je ono zeleno ništa
na koje u ovom krugu
ne igra nitko.

© Goran Čolakhodžić
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

From a balcony in the forest

english

In Versailles the shiny metal

of contemporary Europe

clangs and sings to honour peace:

shrunken to a shadow, the Great War

evokes spring, poppies, mass.

 

Under the chestnuts, in a dullness slightly

dispelled by the sheer fact of France, suddenly we realize

how many heroes there are on the programme,

at least two or three marches more

than the elegies.

 

An orchestra of steel that with dubious gusto

plays every passage marziale. Slowly,

we turn south: above the treetops the heat-

lightning of summer.

 

Later, at midnight, round the edge of the continent,

seven silent funnels of fire. Above

the dewy grass slowly rise the bubbles

of anti-aircraft flares. Then the long jets

of nightly projectiles, like the clicking

of a roulette.

 

Of all the numbers, red and black,

the least is that green nothing

that in this round

no one has bet on.

Translation: Goran Čolakhodžić

Sve polako

croatian | Goran Čolakhodžić

U svibnju smokva cvate u granama,
ispod kore. Prvi od nizova zelenih pupaka
dolazi, dakle, na red.
Mogu se brojati
godine unaprijed, sve dolje do korijena.
Smokvino drvo je prepuno budućih rujnova
kao kundak stare puške metaka: teška zrna
izlijeću i praskaju tamna, zabijajući pticama
perje i cvrkut i sreću u prsa.
U još neprobušenim trbusima,
svaka smokva nosi kukca po izboru.
U jednoj je zapretan pauk,
u drugoj je mala i prugasta osa koja se godinu-dvije
još neće probuditi; ponegdje grupica mrava
nalik na sjemenke maka. U slatkom snu
mrmljaju, meškolje se i rastu.
Sve se to lagano podiže gore,
k suncu i sjeni neumitnih jeseni.

© Goran Čolakhodžić
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

Everything in time

english

In May the fig tree blooms inside its branches,

under the bark. The first row of green belly-buttons

comes, therefore, up front.

You can count

the years in advance, all the way down to the roots.

The fig’s wood is full of future Septembers

like the butt of an old gun: heavy bullets

fly out and darkly burst, driving feathers, chirping, and mirth

back into the chests of birds.

In its still unpunctured belly

each fig carries a bug of its choice.

In one of them a spider is hidden,

in another a tiny, stripy wasp that will not wake up

for a year or two more; in some there are groups of ants

much like poppy seeds. In their sweet sleep

they mutter, shift and grow.

All of this slowly rises up

to meet the sun and the shade of imminent autumns.

Translation: Goran Čolakhodžić

*** [Imam nešto neriješeno s gradom]

croatian | Goran Čolakhodžić

Imam nešto neriješeno s gradom,
odnosno, mislim da danju nismo u stanju
reći si sve. Nadoknadim, hoću
ili neću, noću, kad mi se primaknu živice
i brda se počnu kotrljati pod nogama.
Bude tu podosta prilaza ulica volti arkada
bude i podosta bronce, zelene od vlažnog mraka
u rijetko košenim parkovima.
Stalno me šalje od pročelja do pročelja
nezgodno vezanim linijama tramvaja
i često sasvim neznanim jezicima
ispisuje nazive zgrada i trgova.
Valja me po pločnicima, dobacuje haustorima,
krijući ipak unutarnja dvorišta –
dokaz da on može sanjati lucidno, ako već ja
bauljam kud moram kroz hodnike i pothodnike.
I onda me ujutro tjera u smijeh
i u podsmijeh, jer znam da se hvalisavo množi
u meni cijele noći, zamazuje mi oči, trubi propagandu,
trudeći se napraviti većim crnjim dubljim
graditi se beskonačan, uzalud u privid.

© Goran Čolakhodžić
from: Na kraju taj vrt
Zagreb: Jesenski i Turk, 2015
Audio production: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

[I have an unsolved issue with the city]

english

I have an unsolved issue with the city,

that is, I think that during the day we’re unable

to tell each other everything. I make up for it, willy

or nilly, at night, when the hedges draw closer

and the hills start rolling beneath my feet.

There’s usually a lot of drives streets vaults arcades

also a lot of bronze, made green by the wet darkness

in the rarely mown parks.

It keeps sending me on errands from façade to façade

by inconveniently connected tram lines

and often it spells out the names of buildings and squares

in completely arcane languages.

It rolls me down sidewalks, chucks me over to entrances,

hiding, nonetheless, its inner courtyards –

the proof that it can dream lucidly, if I

clamber where I have to through passages and underpasses.

And then in the morning it makes me laugh

and deride, because I know that it multiplies braggingly

in me all night, pulling wool over my eyes, blaring propaganda,

trying to appear larger blacker deeper

to build itself endlessly, illusively, in vain.

Translated by Goran Čolakhodžić

Ugasiti hrast

croatian | Marija Dejanović

Nismo‌ ‌takve‌ ‌da‌ ‌propustimo‌ ‌
spomenuti‌ ‌uzore:‌ ‌djevojčica‌ ‌baca‌ ‌
sve‌ ‌osim‌ ‌pepela‌ ‌u‌ ‌šahtu.‌ ‌Ne‌ ‌znamo‌ ‌ ‌
što‌ ‌ćemo‌ ‌s‌ ‌tim‌ ‌

roletama‌ ‌od‌ ‌lisičjeg‌ ‌bijega‌ ‌
napetim‌ ‌između‌ ‌dva‌ ‌stakla.‌ ‌
Propustit‌ ‌ćemo‌ ‌sunce‌ ‌ili‌ ‌nećemo?‌ ‌
Počne‌ ‌li‌ ‌kiša,‌ ‌

propustit‌ ‌ćemo‌ ‌odlazak‌ ‌na‌ ‌pogreb‌ ‌
kao‌ ‌što‌ ‌su‌ ‌onog‌ ‌dana‌ ‌propustili‌ ‌ ‌
ugasiti‌ ‌stari‌ ‌hrast‌ ‌
jer‌ ‌se‌ ‌priroda‌ ‌može‌ ‌sama‌ ‌brinuti‌ ‌o‌ ‌sebi.‌ ‌
Postavit‌ ‌ću‌ ‌previše‌ ‌pitanja.‌ ‌

Nemoj‌ ‌mi‌ ‌čestitati‌ ‌rođendan,‌ ‌
ni‌ ‌tebi‌ ‌tvoja‌ ‌majka‌ ‌nije‌ ‌brojala‌ ‌zube‌ ‌
pa‌ ‌si‌ ‌ispala‌ ‌sasvim‌ ‌u‌ ‌redu,‌ ‌nisi‌ ‌li,‌ ‌

nije‌ ‌li‌ ‌ispalo‌ ‌sasvim‌ ‌u‌ ‌redu‌ ‌ ‌
brojati‌ ‌zrna‌ ‌graha‌ ‌ ‌
umjesto‌ ‌uzastopnih‌ ‌odlazaka‌ ‌sunca?‌ ‌

© Marija Dejanović
from: Etika kruha i konja
Zagreb: SKUD IGK, 2018

Să stingi stejarul

romanian

Nu suntem dintre cei care ar uita
să-şi menţioneze modelele: fetiţa aruncă
totul în canal, mai puţin cenuşa. Nu ştim
ce să facem

cu rulourile din fuga vulpilor
întinse între două geamuri.
Lăsăm soarele să intre sau nu?
Dacă începe ploaia,

vom uita de plecarea la înmormântare
aşa cum în acea zi au uitat
să stingă bătrânul stejar
pentru că natura poate să-şi poarte singură de grijă.
Voi pune prea multe întrebări.

Să nu-mi serbezi ziua de naştere,
nici ţie nu ţi-a numărat maică-ta dinţii
şi eşti totuşi în regulă, nu-i aşa,

nu-i aşa că a ieşit destul de bine
număratul boabelor de fasole
în locul repetatelor apusuri de soare?

Traducere: Goran Čolakhodžić