Marija Dejanović

хорватский

Hana Samaržija

английский

Fotografija patke

Fotografirala sam patku
koja stoji na drvenom trupcu
da ti pokažem patku i trupac
ili da kažem: bila je patka.
Ostatak dana nanosim šminku na lice
pa gledam u sebe iz daljine dok se ne prepoznam
i onda si mahnem,
kažem si dobar dan.
Kad se dovršim, kažem: ovo su usta

ili, ovakva usta:
i uronim usne u sjemenke velikog nara
i izreknem Nar,
bio je nar,

ovakav nar:
i onda ga progutam.

Pojavljujem se samo za sebe
i te izvedbe prate pljuskovi
skakavaca i zrikavaca
s niskog neba krošanja.
Oni su zapravo isto stvorenje,

samo što je jedan davno izgubio plač
kad ga je zakopao u grudi zemlje
da ga sačuva
i onda zaboravio.

Zeleno na očima, crveno na ustima,
drugi je zadržao u sebi svoj plač
i nabavio reket za badminton,
reket nalik na onaj kojim smo
u djetinjstvu udarali hruštove koji lete
i neki su ih, kad ih sruše na pod,
još polovili rubom,
kriveći tako obruče reketa
i trgajući njegove žice,
ali nikako ne ja.

Patka je jutros jela nar.
Ili, patka je jučer snijela taj nar.
Bila je crvena,
crvenog kljuna i crvenog repa,
bila je zelena,
kao skakavac, zrikavac,
crvena i zelena kao meso koje sjedi na travi.

Dan je standardan
kao rane na koljenima,
laktovima,
listovima i bedrima djevojčica
koje igraju nogomet
na minskom polju
u travi višoj od njihovog struka.

© Marija Dejanović

The Photograph of a Duck

I photographed a duck
that stood on a wooden trunk
to show you the duck and the trunk
or to say: there was a duck.
I spend the rest of the day applying make-up
and then watching myself,
observing myself from the distance, until I
recognize myself, and wave hello.
When I am done, I say: this is a mouth

or, this kind of mouth:
and I immerse my lips into a large pomegranate
and say Pomegranate,
there was a pomegranate,

this kind of pomegrate
and then swallow it whole.

I only appear for myself
and these acts entail storms
from a low sky of treetops,
locusts and crickets.
They are actually the same creature,

only one had long lost its cry
when it buried it in the earth
to shelter it
and then forgot it.

Green on the eyes, red on the lips,
the other held on to its cry
and got a badminton racket,
a racket like the one which we,
as children, used to strike flying beetles
and some used to, after knocking them down,
halve them with the racket’s edges,
crooking its rims
and ripping its net,

but not me.

This morning, the duck ate pomegranate.
Or, it had yesterday hatched that pomegranate.
It was red,
with a red beak and a red tail,
it was as green,
as a locust, a cricket,
as red and as green as meat sitting on grass.

The day is as standard
as the wounds on the knees,
elbows,
calves and thighs of the girls,
playing football,
on a mine field,
in grass rising above their waist.

Translated by: Hana Samaržija