Amfora

Posuti se pepelom,
kakva radosna misao nakon stoljeća sna
u amfori,
pod teretom teškog radovanja.
Teškog, jer čekanje,
prsnuti kao kesten u peći i ležati razrovanog trbuha,
tek tada početi sanjati.

Sanjati o početku masline,
modrici na bedru neba koju je vrana
kljunom izvukla iz vlastita gnijezda,
nit po nit,
dok nije ostalo ničega
osim sna o mršavosti i miru, redukciji,
leđima-keramici,
vratima.

Pojaviti se u sunčevoj pregači.
Kao lebdjeti u obrasloj kočiji,
izdići se u stup koji zrači iz otvora zdjele.

Obična drvena posuda –
– tvrda je koštica našeg pozdrava,
a mlohav je njezin gard.

Otvoriti oči,
pozvati vojsku da okupira grad
i smjestiti čelo u udolinu,
naličje zgloba.

© Marija Dejanović

The Amphora

To bury yourself in ashes:
a blissful thought, after a century asleep
in an amphora,
burdened by heavy delights.
Heavy, because on hold,
to burst like a chestnut with its stomach split open,
and to begin dreaming.

Dreaming about the birth of an olive,
the bruised thighs of skies that crows
pluck from their nests with beaks,
string by string,
until there is nothing left
but dreams of skinniness and silence,
ceramic backs
and doors.

To appear in the sun's apron.
To float in a mossy carriage, to
stretch into a column emanating from the bowl.

An ordinary wooden bowl is
the hard core of our greeting,
and slack is its gait.

To open your eyes,
invite the army to invade the city
and lay your forehead in a valley,
the flipside of an elbow.

Translated by: Hana Samaržija