Američki Prijatelj

Sve nastojim zabilježiti.
Kaže: i pokrete želim zabilježiti.
I tragove. I glasove kako ne bi
izvjetrili. Onda polako otvaram
svoje bilježnice, svoje knjige polako
otvaram i ne moram se ničemu čuditi.
Otupjeli su mi osjećaji.
Kajem se i tražim sukrivca za ove
nedaće. Ove glupe natikače nabavila
sam prošle jeseni. Bilo je to već zapisano,
a gospođa koja je pogledala na sat,
zadigavši rukav ogrtača,
jednom je rekla rečenicu
«ove glupe natikače...»
zabacivši kosu s čela i pri tom mislila
s kojom je lakoćom Brenda Lee koračala
na svojim visokim potpeticama što
su pojačavale svaki mišić njezinih
listova, njezinih bedara...
I Brenda Lee, pomislio je,
podizala je visoko ruku kako bi joj
grudi u profilu dominirale kadrom.


Netko je posrnuo prelazeći cestu
i tramvaj je počeo kočiti.
Netko je, jutros, kupio novine
i s osjećajem gađenja pročitao
imena umrlih.
Bezimena lica nalaze se zaštićena
staklom tramvajskog prozora
i njihovi se pokreti doimaju nestvarnima.
Njihovi izrazi govore o upravo nedokučivom.
Nalazio je imena porazbacana,
ali sasvim proizvoljno,
na stranicama džepnog adresara.
Kada je to pokušao dovesti u red,
netko je upravo kriknuo i taj je krik
pripisao prvom imenu na koje je naišao.
Dotičnog znanca zamišljao je kao samoubojicu
koji skače s mosta.
Izbrisao sam tvoje ime iz adresara,
rekao je i na licu mu je titrao
ispitivački osmijeh.
Izbrisao sam tvoje ime,
ponovio je pred ogledalom.
Nastojim sve zabilježeno i zapamtiti,
kaže, i život mi se polako,
ali tako sistematično pretvara u literaturu.
Pogleda na ručni sat Williams
te zapiše vrijeme. Zatim se približi
klaviru, izvadi Camel cigaretu
bez filtera, upali je benzinskim
upaljačem marke Ronson iz 1934.
i hrapavim glasom izgovori
«Sviraj to iznova, Sam!»

© Zvonko Maković
Extraído de: Strah

American friend

I try to put everything down.
Also: I want to put down motions as well.
And footprints. Then I slowly open
my notebooks, and my books, I open them
slowly too, and am not surprised by anything.
My senses have become dull.
I'm regretful and seek the accessory
to these troubles. I got these stupid sandals
this past fall. That was already put down,
and a lady who looked at her watch,
lifting up her raincoat sleeve,
uttered the sentence,
"I got these stupid sandals..."
removing her hair from her forehead,
thinking also of the ease Brenda Lee
exhibited striding on her high heels
that emphasized every muscle
of her calves, her thighs...
Also, Brenda Lee, he recalled,
used to raise her arm up high to have
her breasts dominate the screen.

Someone stumbled crossing the street
and the streetcar driver slammed the brakes.
This morning someone bought newspapers
and feeling disgusted read
the names in obituaries.
The streetcar window protects
nameless faces,
their motions seem unreal.
Their expression speaks of the just unreachable.
He would find names
scattered unsystematically
in the pages of his pocket address-book.
When he tried to set them in order,
someone screamed and he attributed
that scream to the first name he came across.
He imagined the acquaintance to be someone
who committed suicide jumping off the bridge.
I erased you name,
he said, and the inquisitve smile
flickered across his face.
I erased your name,
he repeated in front of the mirror.
I try to put down and memorize everything,
he says, and my life is slowly
but systematically turning into literature.
He glances at his Williams watch
and puts down the time. He goes
to the piano, pulls out a filterless
Camel, lights it up
with a 1934 Ronson lighter,
and says hoarsely,
"Play it again, Sam."

Translated by Mario Suško