Kim Burton
Translator
on Lyrikline: 2 poems translated
from: croata to: inglés
Original
Translation
U polutami predgrađa
croata | Krešimir Bagić
Slušao sam u polutami predgrađa
priče tužne i žestoke,
natopljene grčevitim gestama i alkoholom.
Dok bi duhanski dim
proždirao lica prisutnih,
one bi me bacale s tržnice na ulicu,
s planine u pećinu,
obećavale topli ležaj i užitak,
vrijeđale, oduzimale dah.
Kako izaći iz susjedova ormara?
Tko je izgubio nevinost poslije bureka?
Kako zaraditi sto tisuća nečega?
Gdje je Božo?
Život za generala!?
Slušao sam, kažem, u polutami predgrađa
priče tužne i žestoke,
natopljene grčevitim gestama i alkoholom.
Nakon godina, riječi klošara
i riječi policajca, ljubavni prizori
i prizori nasilja nastanili su se
u večernjoj ruži
koja me hrani,
kojoj ne mogu pobjeći.
Kako izaći iz susjedova ormara?
Tko je izgubio nevinost poslije bureka?
Kako zaraditi sto tisuća nečega?
Gdje je Božo?
Život za generala!?
Zapravo, sada posjedujem samo jednu priču
koja me potpuno obuzela.
Ne mogu više otkinuti laticu, zaboraviti lice čovjeka
koji drži govore pred izlozima gostionica.
Svake noći ruža mi ponavlja:
Ovaj svijet je paukova mreža
u koju se zapleteš
čim se prestaneš plašiti pauka.
Iako postoji prije tebe,
uvjeren si da je upravo ti počinješ plesti.
Da. U polutami predgrađa
dugo sam slušao priče tužne i žestoke,
natopljene alkoholom i grčevitim gestama.
Sada su one moj vidik i moja granica.
I zavičaj koji, kao osobnu kartu,
nosim u središte grada.
Ako me tamo netko upita tko sam,
bez oklijevanja ću mu ispičati
kako izaći iz susjedova ormara
tko je izgubio nevinost poslije bureka
kako zaraditi sto tisuća nečega
gdje je Božo...
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011
In a Twilight Suburb
inglés
I was listening to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
While the faces of those present
Were swallowed by tobacco smoke
They would show me the door,
Toss me into the street,
From the mountain into a cave,
Promise warm lodging, pleasures,
Insult me, steal my breath away.
How do you get out of your neighbour’s cupboard?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
I was listening, I say, to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Years later, the tramp’s words
And the policeman’s words, love scenes
And scenes of violence settled
In the rose of the evening
Which feeds me,
Which I cannot escape.
How do you get out of your neighbour’s cupboard?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
Well, I have only one story now
Which has overtaken me entirely.
No longer can I pluck the petals, forget the face of the man
Giving a speech outside the inn windows.
Each night the rose repeats to me:
This world is a spider’s web
Into which you weave yourself
As soon as you stop fearing the spider.
Although it existed before you,
You think you were the one that began to weave it.
Yes. I listened long to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Now they are my horizon and my border.
And native land, which I bear with me
Into the heart of the city like an identity card.
If anyone there asks me who I am
I shall tell him without hesitation
How to get out of your neighbour’s cupboard
Who lost their innocence after a pasty
How to earn one hundred thousand nothings
Where Božo is . . .
Gaston D.
croata | Krešimir Bagić
Un Marseillais, monsieur Brun,
s'il voit un chapeau melon sur le trottoir,
il ne peut se retenir, il shoute.
Marcel PAGNOL
Od Toulousea do Aix-en-Provincea
nema veće legende od Gastona D.
Ta brkata dobričina s istočnog sjedenja,
krezubi pjetlić koji vonja na 'Gitanes'
(kako bi rekla njegova Mary-Laurence),
četrdeset godina oštri zube za OM.
1958. Gaston D. je prvi put došao na Vélodrome
i vidio oproštajni 169. gol Gunnara Anderssona.
"Ovo je mjesto na kojemu ću odsad rasti",
pomislio je Gaston pa poviknuo: "Allez OM!"
1971. Gaston D. je probudio čitavu tribinu:
"Gospodo, zovite policiju!
Magnusson nabacuje loptu prema Skoblaru!"
Trenutak poslije učinio je nagli trzaj glavom
i stadion je eksplodirao.
1991. Gaston D. je, uz balote i pastis,
kreirao jednu od provansalskih poslovica:
"Chris Waddle je živi dokaz da se nogomet
rodio u Engleskoj a razvio u Marseilleu."
1998. Gaston D. se pažljivo pogledao u zrcalo,
zadovoljno si namignuo, uzeo papirić i zapisao:
Barthez
Desailly Boli Blanc Mozer
Cezar Deschamps
Waddle
Skoblar JPP Bokšić
Od Toulousea do Aix-en-Provincea
nema veće legende od Gastona D.
Ta brkata dobričina s istočnog sjedenja,
krezubi pjetlić koji vonja na 'Gitanes'
(kako bi rekla njegova Mary-Laurence),
četrdeset godina oštri zube za OM.
Ljudi se oko njega tiskaju kao oko proroka.
Priča se da su ga za savjet tražili Hidalgo,
Beckenbauer i Courbis. I da je svima uzvratio:
"Moje riječi vrijede samo na tribinama.
Vratite se na travnjak i pokušajte ih odande čuti."
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011
Gaston D.
inglés
s'il voit un chapeau melon sur le trottoir,
il ne peut pas se retenir, il shoote.
Marcel Pagnol
You’ll not find anyone, between Toulouse and Aix,
who’s more of a legend than Gaston D.
A nice guy with a ’tache from the east-side seats,
a gap-tooth bantam reeking of Gitanes
(like his Mary-Laurence would say)
revving up for OM forty years.
In 1958 his first time at the Vélodrome,
Gastom D. and saw Gunnar Andersson's farewell goal, number 169.
“Here I am and here I’ll stay,”
Gaston thought, and yelled “Allez OM!”
In 1971 Gaston D. woke up the whole stand:
“Somebody call the police!
Magnusson’s thrown the ball to Skoblar!”
Next thing, a quick jerk of the head
and the crowd went wild.
1991. Over a pastis and a game of boules
Gaston D. came up with a Provencal proverb.
“Chris Waddle is the living proof that football
was born in England but grew up in Marseille.”
1998. Gaston D. scrutinised the mirror,
smirked, picked up a scrap of paper and wrote:
Barthez
Desailly Boli Blanc Mozer
Cezar Deschamps
Waddle
Skoblar JPP Bokšić
You’ll not find anyone, between Toulouse and Aix,
who’s more of a legend than Gaston D.
A nice guy with a ’tache from the seats on the east,
a gaptooth bantam reeking of Gitanes
(like his Mary-Laurence would say)
revving up for OM forty years.
People crowd about him as though he were a prophet.
They say Hidalgo, Beckenbauer and Courbis
asked his advice. And he told them all:
“What I say only counts in the stands.
Get back on the pitch and try to hear from there.”