Blaženo jutro koje padaš
u svijetlom slapu u tu sobu,
već nema rane da mi zadaš,
počivam mrtav u svom grobu.
Možda ćeš ipak da potpiriš
pepelom iskru zapretanu --
jer evo, trome grudi širiš
čeznućem suncem, jorgovanu.
Dijeliš mi neke tihe slasti
kad o tvom zaru vidim knjige
na polici -- i cijeli tmasti
vidik te sobe pune brige.
Za mene ipak nešto fali
u ovoj uzi bez raspeća,
na dragoj usni osmjeh mali,
u čaši vode kita cvijeća.
Blaženo jutro koje padaš
sa snopom svjetla u tu sobu,
već nema smrti da mi zadaš,
no vrati ljubav ovom Jobu.
Kolajna XI
Vreme, 1926.
Blessed morning
Blessed morning, you cascade
Roaring lightfalls in this room.
How can pain make me afraid,
Dead already, in my tomb?
Well, perhaps you can ignite
Buried sparks from ash and dust
Since the lilac and the light
Still swell longing in your breast.
When I lift your veil, you show
Lines of quiet, forms of grace
In shelves of books, row on row –
Then the whole room’s careworn face.
Yet, there’s something still I miss
From this crib without a cross,
A smile on darling lips, the kiss
Of flowers in a waterglass.
Blessed morning, while you dress
This room in your translucent robe,
I have no fear of death’s caress.
Only give love back to this Job.
Roaring lightfalls in this room.
How can pain make me afraid,
Dead already, in my tomb?
Well, perhaps you can ignite
Buried sparks from ash and dust
Since the lilac and the light
Still swell longing in your breast.
When I lift your veil, you show
Lines of quiet, forms of grace
In shelves of books, row on row –
Then the whole room’s careworn face.
Yet, there’s something still I miss
From this crib without a cross,
A smile on darling lips, the kiss
Of flowers in a waterglass.
Blessed morning, while you dress
This room in your translucent robe,
I have no fear of death’s caress.
Only give love back to this Job.
(Translated by Richard Burns
and Daša Marić)
0 comments:
Objavi komentar