Hana Samaržija
inglés
Luksuz: zašto smo voljeli plakati i koliko nam je sve to značilo
Dok je bijela bila redukcija i sjeverni pol,
ljubičasta je bila boja našeg obilja.
Od rođenja, jeli smo grožđe,
nosili ljubičaste toge
i na sajmovima plastike marili samo za glatke,
sintetičke stvari.
Išli smo u restorane u Rimu
i tražili da nam u plastičnim posudama
daju ljubičastu kremu
koju smo onda nosili van
i mazali po plahtama hotelskih soba.
Ni sobe ni kremu na kraju ne bismo platili.
Na vlastitu razmaženost brzo smo se navikli,
sitne krađe i zlostavljanja
ubrzo su nas prestale žalostiti
onako kako se to događalo u početku.
U Rimu smo saznali: jedini pravi luksuz
rijetka je tkanina
i nabavlja se od prekomorskih izvora
gdje ga melankolične tkalje izvlače
iz suznih kanala koala, činčila
i pandinih mladunaca.
Bili smo ipak previše lijeni
da se upustimo u trgovačke pothvate
i rekli smo: ako želimo doista propasti,
moramo sami uzgojiti bol.
Počeli smo se truditi još kao tinejdžeri.
Stiskali smo očne kapke
i zamišljali kako je svijet grozan i surov
te da je svaki od nas sam i nezaštićen
držeći se pritom za ruke. Pokušali smo se ponekad
i ugristi za usnicu.
Mislili smo pritom na aubade.
Ne bi li nam ispalo malo ljubičaste krvi
kojom ćemo kuglicu vate obojiti
u melankolično, jesensko vino
zarili smo tanke nokte
svaki u svoju veliku ciklu
i plakali, okrenuti jedno drugom leđima,
koliko smo već toga dana mogli.
Luxury: why we loved crying and what it all meant to us
While white were reduction and the North pole,
purple was the colour of our wealth.
Since birth, we've been eating grapes,
wearing purple robes,
and, at plastic fairs, only caring for smooth,
synthetic things.
We went to restaurants in Rome
and asked them to, in plastic dishes,
serve us purple cream
that we would then carry out
and spread on the walls of hotel rooms.
We never paid for the rooms, nor for the cream.
We quickly got used to our excesses,
our small thefts and abuses
soon stopped worrying us
the way they did at the beginning.
In Rome we learned: the only real luxury
is a rare fabric
to be acquired from abroad,
where melancholic seamstresses
weave it from the tear ducts of koalas,
and young pandas.
We were still too lazy
for business endeavours
and said: if we really want to fall apart,
we'll have to breed our own suffering.
We started trying in our teenage years.
Pressing our eyelids,
we imagined the world as awful and cruel
and ourselves as alone and unprotected,
and held hands. We would sometimes try
to bite our lips.
Doing it, we would think of aubade.
Hoping to let some purple blood
that would stain a cotton bud
in melancholic, autumn wine
we each dug our thin nails
in our own large beet
and wept, facing each other's back,
as much as we could.