Gepubliceerd op: vrijdag 9 augustus 2013

Vertaallab 49 Zdravko Kecman – GRAD & ČITAV DAN

GRAD

xxxxxxxSinu Žarku

I
Dali ste zapazili:
U gradu nema više pasa lutalica
U gradu nema ni mačaka na krovovima da se umivaju šapama pred jugovinu
U gradu nema ni ptica ne čuje se ni jedan cvrkut
U gradu ne opada više lišće niti šumori niti treperi
U gradu nema više samostalnih umjetnika grafita
U gradskom pozorištu ponavljaju gradiva
U gradu se gradonačelnik rastaje sa snovima o gradu
U gradu generalni sekretar jedine akademije ima judinu nogu
U gradu se akademici klikeraju
U gradu su se posakrivale muze poezije
U gradu se ne čuje niti vidi lutanje noćnih lutalica
U gradu je utihnuo svaki šapat

Grad je potonuo
U njemu se  samo šetaju crni frakovi

 

II

ČITAV DAN

xxxxxxxSinu Danijelu

Čitav dan smo se gurali oko šaha
Čitav dan smo plivali u vodi
Čitav smo se dan kartali u praznoj kafani
Čitav smo dan posmatrali neku ženu kako hoda po luku mosta
Čitav smo dan ležali na mokrom pijesku čekajući suton da kornjače krenu u šumu
Čitav je dan neka žena tražila izgubljenog psa bez imena
Čitav smo dan proveli na ležaljkama u šumi između drveća
Čitav dan su nas budili krikovi štićenika dječijeg doma
Čitav dan smo gluvarili u sobama žena koje nismo poznavali
Čitav smo dan proveli na groblju čisteći spomenike poznanika i najbližih
Čitav smo dan proveli na pranju pasa prljave dlake
Mi derišta koje na utakmicama progoni policija
Koje na ulicama legtimišu žene policajci
Koje odvlače žene blijede puti gladnih pogleda
Čitav nas dan šopaju u glavu međusobnim prepirkama
Čitav nas dan i sve dane i dane vježbaju da glasamo
Čitav nas dan pitaju pitaju pitaju
Čitav nam dan i dane dane govore da radimo neke stvari
Čitav dan psujemo i psujemo i psujemo
Čitav dan čitav dan čitav dan
Čitav život čitav žuivot čitav život
Budale koje su bubale u glavu da je rat za njihovo dobro

 

____

Zdravko Kecman en zijn vertaler Bosnisch-Litouws Laima Masyte, 2 juni 2013, Vilnius, Litouwen

Zdravko Kecman (*1948, Usorac, Sanski Most) is een Bosnische dichter en schrijver. Hij volgde de middelbare school in Sarajevo, studeerde Servische taal- en letterkunde & literatuur in Ljubljana en deed ook een opleiding tot bibliothecaris aldaar. Zijn belangerijkste publicaties zijn de dichtbundels Portret vode (1980), Ludilo pauka (1988), Odjek grafita (1995), Kuća svijet završava (1997), Način čitanja (2004), Kućne stvari (2011), alsmede de romans Rukopisna ostavština Tereze Žagar Komcove (1984), Mrtva voda (1989),  Sahrana na Vardi (1997), Scabiosa trenta (2003), Kovčezi, nož i vjenčanica (2010 en 2013). Publiceerde ook twee boeken met korte verhalen: Ključevi (1998) en Natalna karta (2004). Zijn werk werd onder meer vertaald naar het Pools, Russisch, Slovaaks, Deens, Duits, Litouws en Bulgaars. Hij is redacteur bij de Vereniging voor Servische Schrijvers, alsmede bij het literaire tijdschrift ‘Književnik’. Daarnaast is hij vertaler Sloveens-Bosnisch/Servisch. Hij was redacteur van diverse bloemlezingen binnen de genres poëzie, proza en literaire kritiek. Hij woont en werkt in Banja Luka, Bosnië.

About the Author

- Rozalie Hirs is redacteur van de LL-serie (Lage Landen-serie) en Vertaallab op Ooteoote. Daarnaast is zij dichter van boeken en digitale media. Zie ook www.rozaliehirs.nl.

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  1. Rozalie Hirs zegt:

    Juist binnengekomen Engelse vertaling door Zoran Jungic, Vancouver, Canada:

    I

    THE CITY

    To My Son Žarko

    Have you noticed:
    In the city stray dogs don’t exist any more
    In the city cats on roofs don’t wash before the south wind
    In the city birds don’t exist not one song is heard
    In the city leaves don’t fall anymore nor rustle nor tremble
    In the city independent graffiti artists don’t exist anymore
    In the city theater they are repeating the same old stuff
    In the city the mayor is saying farewell to his dreams
    In the city the secretary general of an academy uses a Judas kiss
    In the city the academics are playing marbles
    In the city the poetic muses play hide and seek
    In the city the wanderers wander silently and invisibly
    In the city every whisper has died down

    The city has sunk
    Only black tailcoats are going for a walk

    II

    THE WHOLE DAY

    To My Son Daniel

    The whole day we pushed and pulled each other over chess
    The whole we swam in the water
    The whole day we played cards in an empty café
    The whole day we watched a woman walk over the bridge curve
    The whole day we lay in wet sand awaiting dusk before the turtles went into the forest
    The whole day a woman searched for a lost dog with no name
    The whole day we spent in easy chairs in the forest among trees
    The whole day the inmates of the youth hostel kept us awake
    The whole day we wasted time inside the rooms of women we didn’t know
    The whole day we spent in the cemetery cleaning gravestones of friends and relatives
    The whole day we spent washing dogs with dirty hair
    We the badly behaved children chased by the police at football tournaments
    We who are asked for ID by the policewomen
    We who are pulled away by pale women with hungry stares
    The whole day they feed us with their constant arguing
    The whole day and day after day they make us practice voting
    The whole day they keep asking us asking asking asking
    The whole day and day after day they are telling us to do certain chores
    The whole day we swear and swear and swear

    The whole day the whole day the whole day
    The whole life the whole life the whole life
    The fools who were banging into their heads that the war was for our own good