Ellen Elias-Bursać 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 3 poems translated

from: hrvaščina to: angleščina

Original

Translation

A možda su samo vidjeli Mjesec.

hrvaščina | Ivana Bodrožić

Poslije, na vijestima gledamo
zgužvane karoserije
napuknuta stakla na šofer šajbi
oblivena crvenim
kao pustinjske ruže,
dječju cipelicu na trotoaru
mobitel koji
više nikada neće zavibrirati
crne vreće
bolničare koji gledaju u tlo
polegnutu travu
ružnu utrobu haube
pokidane čađave cijevi,
onda se
nadograđuju životi na konačnost
bračni par
majka s dvoje djece
prijatelji koji su krenuli u provod
vozač kamiona
mlađi punoljetnici
glumačka zvijezda
pjevač
košarkaš
tromjesečna beba
legenda novinarstva

službeni uzrok nesreće
neprilagođenost uvjetima na cesti.

Često tako dok vozim
mračnom dionicom puta
ugledam taj pun Mjesec
tako nestvarno lijep i savršen
boje za koju ustvari ne postoji riječ
u našem jeziku
magnetično privlačan
dalek od ovog svijeta
obećavajuć,
zagledam se
čitavo tijelo mi zadrhti od straha i užitka
kad shvatim gotovo nebitnim dijelom sebe
da sam prešla punu bijelu crtu,
jedva se vratim,
nastavim disati
i pomislim

a možda su samo vidjeli Mjesec.

© Ivana Bodrožić
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2021

What a Little Moonlight Can Do.

angleščina

Later, we see the crumpled chassis
on the news
cracked windshield glass
drenched in red
like desert roses,
a child's shoe on the sidewalk
a cell phone that
will never vibrate again
black bags
orderlies staring at the ground
crushed grass
the ugly innards of the hood
smashed sooty pipes,
then
lives reaching into infinity
a couple
a mother with two kids
friends going out on the town
a truck driver
young adults
a starring actress
a crooner
a basketball player
a three-month old baby
a legend of journalism
the official cause of the accident
lack of adaptation to road conditions

Often as I drove that way
along a dark stretch of road
I catch sight of the full Moon
so starkly dazzling and perfect
with a color for which there really is no word
in our language
magnetically attracting
out of this world
promising,
I stare
my whole body shivers with fear and pleasure
when I realize with an almost negligible sliver of myself
that I've swerved across the solids white line,
I barely swerve back,
go on breathing
and think

well maybe they just saw the Moon.

Translated by Ellen Elias-Bursać

Svi sve pokušavaju urazumiti

hrvaščina | Ivana Bodrožić

Ne penji se na moj krevet
i ne otvaraj moju ladicu

Odgovori mi kad te pitam

Ne pij iz moje čaše i ne naslanjaj se na mene
smrdi ti iz usta

Onda se ne penji ni ti na moj

Meni je mama rekla da mogu, a tebi nije
ti si mali

Ne masiraj me tako, to me boli
Ne podiži tuš toliko visoko, sve je mokro
Ostavljaj auto u brzini, odmotaj volan
Pokupi mrve, doći će mravi
Izvadi iz džepova kad stavljaš u korpu
Nemoj zaspati odmah
sve ćeš upropastiti

Ne plači, nije vrijedno
Ne stavljaj previše ulja,
Skini se, samo još ovaj put
Onda mi objasni, objasni, objasni

Govorila sam ti, nije za tebe
Ne pokušavaj me nasmijati
Ne presavijaj rukav dok peglaš
Ne brini za mene, samo umri od brige
Nije dobro to tako, nego onako,
ovako i ovako

Rekao sam ti, govorila sam ti,
kažem ti,
reći ću ti kad budeš,
nikad ti više neću ponoviti

Nitko, ali nitko nikoga ne razumije.

© Ivana Bodrožić
from: In a sentimental mood
Zagreb: Sandorf, 2017
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2021

They’re all trying to talk sense into everyone

angleščina

Don't climb onto my bed
don't open my drawer

Answer me when I ask

Don't drink from my glass and don't lean on me
your breath smells nasty

So don't you climb onto mine either

Mommy told me I could, but not you
you're little

Don't rub me like that, it hurts
Don't hold the shower head up high, everything's all wet
Leave the car in gear, turn the wheel carefully
Sweep up the crumbs, ants will come
Empty the pockets when you put things in the laundry
Don't fall asleep fast
you'll ruin everything

Don't cry, not worth it
Don't overdo the oil,
Get undressed, just one more time
Then explain, explain, explain

I said, this is not for you
Don't try and make me laugh
Don't fold the sleeve when you iron
Don't worry about me, go ahead and die of worry
Not that way, this way,
like this and like this

I told you, no, I was telling you,
I'm saying,
I'll tell you when you're,
never again will I repeat

Nobody, but nobody understands anyone else.



Translated by Ellen Elias-Bursać

O Marku mislim dok trčim.

hrvaščina | Ivana Bodrožić

Zimi mrak pada rano
pravim veliki krug oko kuće njegovih roditelja
njegov je život stao u moj.

Netko mi je poslao poruku.

Smrt kao i život uvijek
pronađe put;
tehnologija je samo jedan
od njih, kao na primjer,
sms o samoubojstvu.

Sjedim i čekam da mi dođe izgovor
za sahranu,
ali dolazi samo ono što je od njega ostalo:

imao je šest godina, nije znao reći
nesquik, njegova sestra i ja
tjerale smo ga ponavlja neku smiješnu riječ

od osmog razreda je markirao
i jako se zaljubio

duvao je kao što smo duvali i mi

jednom je prenoćio u policiji, tata ga je namjerno ostavio.

Dvije babe na groblju pričaju
o svojim bolesnim jetrama,
njegov život barem tri puta stane u njihov
one melju,
tragediju mladog života
namirisale su kao strvinari.

Njegova sestra i ja, u shoping autobusu za Graz,
ona se smije, moj mali glupi brat,
oženio se, s dvadeset dvije
cura je ostala trudna
beba se zove Pablo
previjamo se od smijeha,

te noći Pablov tata odlazi,
on ima samo četiri mjeseca
i sve što zna su glad, vlaga i suhoća
a kada je suh opet ne zna ni za što.

Nalaze ga danima kasnije
na napuštenom nogometnom igralištu.

Sliku ti daju da vidiš samo izdaleka,
ona mi o svemu priča, tako joj je lakše,
na slici se vidjelo, on je klečao.

Šuti. Tad prvi put pokriva lice rukama.

Trebao je samo ispraviti koljena.

Kad otvori dlanove kao drvene škure, preobražena
nastavlja, s tamnim svjetlom u oku;

Bog je tako htio, on zna zašto.

Bog izlazi kao duh iz procjepa nepodnošljive boli
boli koja toliko zamagli razum,
da Markov život koji stane u moj,
njegova zgrčena koljena i omču oko vrata,
učini sredstvom za svoj nejasan cilj.

Raj je možda najbolja fora,
koje se netko mogao sjetiti
kad više nije bilo načina
da se objasni besmisao.

O Marku mislim dok trčim
sve manje,
ljeto je.

© Ivana Bodrožić
from: In a sentimental mood
Zagreb: Sandorf, 2017
Audio production: Haus für Poesie, 2021

I think of Marko while I run.

angleščina

In wintertime the dark starts early
I steer clear of the house of his parents
his life tucked into mine.

Someone sent me a message.

Death like life always
finds a way;
technology is just one
of them, like, say,
a text message about suicide.

I sit and wait for an excuse to come
for a funeral,
but all that comes is what was left of him:

he was six, he couldn't pronounce
Nesquik, his sister and I
made him repeat a funny word

he skipped class in eighth grade
and fell in love head over heels
smoked weed like we all did

once spent the night at a police station, his dad left him there on purpose.

Two old ladies by the graveside chat
about ailing livers,
his life might fit at least three times into theirs
on they natter,
like vultures they've latched onto
the tragedy of a young life.

His sister and I, in a shopping bus on our way to Graz,
she giggles, my nitwit little brother,
he married, at twenty-two
his girl got pregnant
the baby's name is Pablo
we doubled over laughing.

that night Pablo's dad left,
he was only four months old
and all he knew was hunger, being wet and dry,
and when he's dry again he doesn't know a thing.

Days later they found him
on an abandoned soccer pitch.

They only let you see the picture from afar,
she tells me about everything, this way she can bear it,
on the picture you could see him kneeling.

He's quiet. Then for the first time covers his face with his hands.

All he had to do was straighten his knees.

When he opens his hands like wooden shutters, transformed
she continues, with a dark gleam in her eye:

God wanted it that way, he knows why.

God comes out like a ghost from a gap of unbearable pain
pain that so fogs the mind,
that Marko's life tucked inside mine,
his bent knees and the noose around his neck,
become a means for his unclear goal.

Paradise is maybe the coolest thing,
that someone could cook up
when there was no longer any other way
to explain absurdity.

I think about Marko while I run
less and less,
it's summer.

Translated by Ellen Elias-Bursać