Hana Samaržija

angleščina

Island

1.
Otići ću živjeti na Island
kao jato ptica, dva snopa žita
koja hodaju po suncu
do nesvjestice, kože
mekim uzdama upregnute
u vrtoglavicu.

Kažem: pouzdano je.
ne znači: sigurnost,

znači:
tijelo mi je svezano
i plutam kao ameba,
slobodna
kao pojas za spašavanje
bez čovjeka
koji se utapa.

Taj je prazan centar
Island:
moja potreba
da budem topla
bačena u vodu

moja želja
da te vidim
raznesena bombom
iz mog trbuha

moje ruke
drže dalekozor
i gledaju me s obale
u eksploziji
koja me zove

da zaboravim svoje ime.

2.
Island.
Nakana da se postane hladna.
Da imam samo sterilne misli
i izgovaram samo jednostavne rečenice,
da se nasučem na kamen mokre soli
i jedem nezačinjenu zobenu kašu,

nosim debele vunene čarape,
odreknem se blizine ljudi
i jednom mjesečno posjećujem
bijele lisice.

Voljela bih vječnu zimu,
da je dvorište moje sobe
njezino carstvo
i da legnem na njene jastuke,

da mi priča kako je u mladosti
sjedala na prsa mladića
i s njima ostajala
dok im ne ponestane
zraka u plućima.

3.
Šaljem ti pismo s Islanda:
ovdje je sve bijelo,
kao na snimci oblaka
kroz prozor aviona
kad sam ti dolazila.

Tijekom dana, nebo se činilo
kao da je Sjeverni pol.
Zemlja se nije vidjela.
Po noći, tlo prizemljenja
izgledalo je kao zvjezdana mreža.

Prešućujem smeđe detalje.
Lažem da je padao snijeg.
Pismo na kraju ne pošaljem,
ne počnem mrziti svijet,
zavučem se gola u krevet
i ne plačem.

4.
Tvoja je jezgra malena,
rumeno mekano glatko
tkivo pod hrpom noževa.

Jednoga bijelog jutra,

izvući ću jednog po jednog
kao klinove šatora
i zabosti ih u čela ljudi
koji su te razotkrili.

© Marija Dejanović

Iceland

1.
I will move to Iceland
like a flock of birds,
like two bales of wheat,
treading under the sun
to exhaustion, their skin
yoked to vertigo
with soft ribbons.

I say: it's reliable.
this doesn't mean: safety,

this does mean:
my body is bound
and I am floating
like an amoeba
as free as
a life belt
without a
drowning man
to rescue.

This empty core
is Iceland:
my need
to be warm
and thrown into water.

my desire
to see you
blown up by a bomb
from my stomach

my hands
hold binoculars
watching me from the shore
in an explosion
inviting me
to forget my name.

2.
Iceland.
The desire to become cold.
To only have sterile thoughts
and mouth simple sentences,
to mount a rock of wet salt
and eat plain oatmeal,

to wear thick woolen socks,
to forsake human touch,
and, once a month, to visit,
white foxes.

I would like an eternal Winter,
I would like my room's yard
to become its empire.
I would sprawl on her cushions,

and have her tell me that, in her youth, she
would sit on the chest of young men
and stay with them
until they ran
out of breath.

3.
I am sending you a letter from Iceland:
here everything is white,
like the clouds I captured
from the airplane window
when I came to see you.

During the day, the sky seems
like the North pole.
You cannot see the ground.
During the night, the soil
looks like a web of stars.

I omit the brown details.
I lie it snows.
In the end, I don't send the letter,
I don't begin hating the world,
I don't curl into bed naked,
and I don't cry.

4.
Your core is tiny,
flushed, soft, smooth tissue,
beneath a pile of knives.

On a white morning,

I will draw them one by one,
like nails from a tent,
and stab them in the foreheads
of those who exposed you.

Translated by: Hana Samaržija