Tomislav Kuzmanović
inglés
Platno
Praviš se da znaš da je jedan
najveći i najusamljeniji broj
i uvijek zaustiš: “Ti si jedan od…”,
a ja te prekinem jednim
prstom na usnama.
Pravim se da znam da se “Magnolija”
zauvijek vrti u jednom nevidljivom kinu
i da je naša spremnost za ludilo,
zbog pritiska u sunčanom spletu,
nervoze u malim prstima na rukama,
onim nepotrebnim, mojim i tvojim,
veća od odrezanih jezika ljubavnika
na zamrljanom platnu privida
čije krajeve vuku Bog i vrag.
Pravimo se da znamo što je život.
Ako ga dotaknemo, može biti
zastor, zid, nadgrobna ploča.
Kad ga samo promatramo,
onda je ljudsko lice, koža,
krvava i pokvarljiva.
Kad nam dosadi, jedno drugom
odgrizemo prste i igramo se sjena.
Pravimo se da znamo što je platno.
Pravimo se da je jedno,
pravimo se da smo jedno.
De: Nepravilnosti
V.B.Z. Zagreb, 2007
Canvas
You pretend that you know that one is
the biggest and the loneliest number
and every time you say: “You are one of…”
and I stop you with one
finger on the lips.
I pretend that I know that Magnolia
always plays in one invisible theatre
and that our readiness for madness,
because of the pressure in the sun’s assembly,
nervousness in small fingers of our hands,
those unneeded, mine and yours,
is greater than cut out tongues of lovers
on the smudged canvas of illusion
whose ends God and the devil pull.
We pretend that we know what life is.
If we touch it, it can be
a curtain, a wall, a tombstone.
When we only watch it,
then it’s a human face, skin,
bloody and perishable.
When we get tired of it, we bite each
other’s fingers off and play shadows.
We pretend that we know what the canvas is.
We pretend that it is one,
we pretend that we are one.