Marija Dejanović

хорватский

Hana Samaržija

английский

Pravilne linije

Žuta tromost dolaska
plodova drveća, jabuka, krušaka
izniknula je iz kamena ukopanog kao peta,
isplivala iz vode.

Svo je voće žuto
i pojavljuje se samo u naznakama,
debljina podneva prilazi nam kao pitomi vlak,
redovito, s blagim odstupanjima
i upozorava nas da moramo biti oprezni,
blago nasmiješeni,
čiste površine i metalnog, zagrijanog srca,
spremni da motikom zatučemo bjelouške
i u pretrazi prevrnemo svaki kamen.

Ona ima vatrostalne ruke,
skriva ih u pećnici kao zmija noge,
isteže vrat, tjeme i bradu slijedeći pravilnu liniju,
prati na nebu male ožiljke
ispuštene iz stražnjice aviona.

Ne može se na mene opeći,
ne može mi saznati ime.
Zjenice su nam fiksirane, uokvirene trepavicama
koje kalibriraju kao pupoljci,
pupoljci svibanjski,
pogledom ispraćaju noge i glave.

Tako sam sretna što te imam,
ukrala si dio auta samo da ga ne može nitko voziti
i sad autostopiraš, misleći
što li mi je sve to trebalo.

Travnati ti jezik skriva laži,
slatke, ljetne preinake kako bi me više voljela.

Kad u ustima topiš moje ime
zaklela bih se da je to neko drugo ime.
Kad mi ustima ljubiš obraz,
zaklela bih se
da to nije moj obraz.

© Marija Dejanović

Tracing Straight Lines

Yellow inertia of arrival
of fruits, apples, pears,
sprouted from a stone that was dug in like a heel,
swam out of water.

All fruit is yellow
and appears only in hints,
thickness of noon approaches us like a tame train,
regularly, with delicate deviations,
and warns us to be careful,
with mild smiles,
clean surfaces, and heated steel hearts,
ready to smother snakes with shovels,
and to seek them under every stone.

She has fireproof hands, and
hides them in the oven like a snake hides its legs,
stretches her neck, scalp and chin tracing straight lines,
and searches the sky for scars
coming out the backs of planes.

She can't burn herself on me,
she can't learn my name.
Our irises are fixed within eyelashes
that calibrate like flower buds,
buds of May,
escorting heads and tails.

I'm so happy to have you,
you stole a part of the car so nobody could drive it,
and now you are hitchhiking, wondering
whether it was worth it.

Your grassy tongue hides lies,
sweet, summery slights that enable you to love me.

When you melt my name in your mouth,
I’d swear it's not my name.
When your mouth kisses my cheek,
I’d swear it's not my cheek.

Translated by: Hana Samaržija