VUK: NEIZGOVORENA RIJEČ

Sve što vidim u svijetu nije odmah i riječ. I prije nego
što je postao riječ, vuk je bio prijestupnik, derač kože. Otuda
moj nemir. Od malena su me plašili da ću sresti vuka. Danas
sam ga sreo i istom zaboravio kako se zove, kurjak. A htio
sam izgovoriti tu riječ bar u sebi. Proždre li me, da upoznam
ubojicu. Uzbuđenje raste čim mi se približi. Slogovi se prebrzo
množe, traže jedan drugom kraj, stoje na repu pa poskoče
do njuške i tad se sve zavrti u mozgu i promašuje.
Priznajem, ne mogu se odmarati u vučjem pogledu, njuška
nasuprot meni se grči, zubi sijevaju, traže u meni izlaz svoje
čežnje. Kako da pobjegnem od nesrazmjera divljine, dlaka,
igre mišića, valjda krvave, i mojih neizgovorenih riječi u
trbuhu? Tŕ trbuh je jedino što imamo zajedničko, naše unutra,
čar ispunjenja i nestanka, naša mater.
Toga časa ne mucam, u sebi govorim nešto o prirodi, a muči me
da nešto moram reći i vuku. No njegove oči već krule i
lišavaju moj govor smisla. Vučje škljocanje zuba u prazno
prekida moju rečenicu na pola, nastanjuje je nekim zijevom
između riječi, kao da bi sad sve trebalo iznova otpočeti u
nijemim otkucajima mraka.

© Dražen Katunarić
Producción de Audio: Croatian P.E.N. Centre

A WOLF: AN UNPRONOUNCED WORD

Everything I see in the world is not immediately a word. And before
it became a word, the wolf was an offender, a flayer of skin. That is
where my restlessness comes from. Ever since I was small, they have been
scaring me that I would meet a wolf. Today I met it and forgot
what its name was, the wolf. And I wanted to pronounce this word
at least to myself. In case it devours me, to get to know the killer.
The excitement grows as soon as it approaches me. Syllables multiply
too quickly, look for each other’s end, stand on its tail and then jump
over to its snout and then everything starts spinning in the brain and it
misses.
I admit I cannot rest in the wolf’s glance, the snout opposite me convulses,
teeth shine, seek in me the outcome of their longing. How to escape from
the disproportion of wildness, hairs, the game of the muscles, probably bloody, and the unspoken words in my stomach? Well, the stomach is the only thing we have in common, our inside, the charm of filling and disappearance, our mother.
At that moment I don’t stammer, I say something to myself about nature and  it bothers me that I also have to say something to the wolf. But his eyes  already rumble and deprive my speech of sense. The snapping of the wolf’s teeth on an empty mouth interrupts my sentence half way through, inhabits it with a hiatus between the words, as if everything ought to be recommenced  in the numb beat of the dark.

Translated by Miljenko Kovačićek