Dorta Jagić

odmah prvog dana treninga
pod nogama su nam zanjihao trapez za dva astronauta.
rekla sam stani. previsoko je.
pa još tri godine vikanja.
stani. čekaj. hvata me mučnina.
zapiljila se znatiželjna svjetina odozdo,
gladna nesreće, a ti si joj
svakoga jutra držao litanije o fizici i zvijezdama.
u jutra kad bi povraćao teški svadbeni veo
molio si me da ni slučajno ne pogledam dolje.
da ne padnem.
a ja, sasvim slučajno,
nikad nisam ni dizala pogled.
dovikao si im o meni kao o svojoj najsjajnijoj zvijezdi,
ali zvijezde kad se ugase
završe na podu mesarske hladnjače.
...

on the first day of our training
you swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.
I told you to stop. it was too high.
and three more years of shouting.
stop. wait. I'm getting sick.
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,
hungry for disasters, and for them you were
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.
I could fall.
and I, by pure chance,
did not look up anyway.
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.
but when extinguished
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers' cold store.
...

odakle ti samo taj kamenčić u trbuhu pomoću kojega letiš?
u taj sam te kamenčić zavoljela.
zimi i ljeti odvoziš se na posao
svojom dugom punđom na rasplitanje
a u proljeće staneš i zaljuljaš se na mjestu
gdje se stabljika kiselice slomila.
i ne činiš baš ništa;
samo sličiš ličinki riječnog zraka.
u te dane sanjam kako ti lice uvijam u svadbeni veo
i milijem ga perom koje diše ili
kako bosim nogama okrećem ručicu starinskog mlina za kavu
i ljubim te, ljubim sve dok sva ta crna zrna
ne izmeljem u mirisni prah
...

where did you get that pebble in your belly you can fly with?
for that pebble I fell in love with you.
winters and summers you are driving to work
with your long hair loose from its bun
and in the spring you'll stop and sway on the place
where the sorrel stalk was broken.
and you are doing nothing at all;
just looking like a river air larva.
in those days I dream that I'm wrapping your face with a wedding veil
and cuddling you with the breathing feather, or
with my bare feet I am turning the handle of
the old-fashioned coffee grinder
and kissing you, kissing until I've ground all those black beads
into fragrant dust
...

noć prije ispita
iz kršćanske mistike
sanjam da u crnom tijelu svetog augustina
letim svemirom i tražim zvijezde, osobito supernove.
ubrzo se s leđa sudarim s jednom velikom.
bila je to greta garbo,
koja mi treptanjem očima ispiše po ruci:
"I was always so far away from earth,
that, even if I burned out so long ago
the send off light still rains on you . . . "
i sva razdragana zbog susreta sa zemljaninom
ponudi me buteljom majčinog mlijeka,
naime laktacijom njihove mame,
velike Alfe Centauri
...

the night before the exam
on Christian mystics
I'm dreaming that in the black body of st. augustine
I'm flying through space, looking for stars, especially supernovas.
suddenly I hit a large one from behind.
it was greta garbo,
and with a blink of her eyes she writes on my hand:
"I was always so far away from earth,
that, even if I burned out so long ago
the sand of light still rains on you . . . "
and so happy that she has met someone from earth
she offers me a bottle of mothers' milk,
that is the lactation of her mom,
the big Alfa Centauri
...

kukci izvrnuti na leđa tvrde
da je u cijeloj Dalmaciji
umro samo sjetni kovač, dida Stipan.
u staroj kovačnici godinama se prepiru o tom s muhama,
dok u mirisnoj sušari
izdrobljene bračne žarulje svjedoče
da je od vjenčanja lako uzlijetao
koljenima prema stropu
ako se na nj ne bi dobro pazilo.
jednom je tako, nasreću, zapeo u granju
velikog graba povrh kuće i
od tad je sve više sličio modrom balonu
s kompliciranim mehanizmom u kovčegu pri tlu.
ipak, u jednu nepodnošljivu zoru,
baka Ana odvezala mu je užad s nogu
i žurno mu pomogla da u času smrti
lizne prašinu sa strijele prve ljubavi.
nužan obred da bi poletio u pravom smjeru:
prema zlatnim klatnima
koje je bog iznad našeg sela iskovao.
...

up-turned insects claim
that in all Dalmatia
only the melancholic blacksmith died, grandpa Stipan.
in the old smithy for years they argue about that with the flies,
while in the fragrant curing shed
the crushed matrimonial light bulbs witness
that since the wedding he casually took off
with knees towards the ceiling
if an eye was not kept on him.
once, through misfortune, he was stuck in the branches
of a big hornbeam above the house and
from that moment he looked more and more like a blue balloon
with a complicated mechanism in a suitcase near the ground.
although, in one unbearable dawn,
granny Ana untied the ropes around his legs
and quickly helped him in the moment of his death
to lick the dust from the arrow of first love.
an essential ritual so he can fly in the right direction:
towards the golden pendulums
which god has forged above our village
...

(nađena stranica iz nepostojećeg dnevnika)
ona tišina.
svi su susjedi otišli na tečaj gogolja.
( i t.k. i m.ž. i r.k.)
da laju samo ribe.
baš i nemam zrcalo, pa da pažljivo pogledam
kako plastično raspelo iza končane zavjese zijeva
(čudo vječno nepokretnog, raspetog lika)
i već pada večer. podvodačica boja.
a noću, vani grad svašta bunca na nekom
sretnom jeziku.
ja ga ni riječ ne razumijem.
u sobi je tiho:
i moj se gušter zavuko pod pokvareni tranzistor.
tvrdi: to je sve za danas.
žarulja me gola čeka da prsnem nad krevetom
i iscijedim joj kap crnog tuša
na bjeloočnicu.
pa da bude zbilja tiho.
i nemam druge želje.
...

među zagrepčanima ima mnoštvo svjedoka
da su umirovljena mora
baš kao i umirovljeni ljudi.
em se osuše i smanje, em nađu najbolji položaj
za pomaganje bujanju života - blizu ljudi.
nitko ne zna tko je ta nevidljiva mora
ulio u naše spavaće sobe dupkom.
(dno tog mora je pod sobe
a strop površina.)
zbog rapidnog smanjenja, gustoće su meda
pa spavačeve uši više ne buši
pucketanje zastarjelih paketića očiju duhova.
ni roditelji više ne strahuju da će ih čuti djeca.
više se ni vrijedne slike ne ugibaju
pod farovima automobila;
to su sad samo tragačka svjetla loše postavljena.
ipak, najveći je blagoslov spavačima
što mogu na wc bosi
preko užarenog taloga pregorenih žarulja.
jedina je nevolja da se more ima li netko nesanicu
toliko ohladi da se ostali moraju prikopčati
na aparate za oživljavanje.
sve spavače nasmrt zavoli već sredinom drugog tjedna
pa se postavlja pitanje a što kad obitelj odseli?
ništa strašno. to ga ne zbunjuje.
kao i sav namještaj, smjesti se bilo gdje
u kamionu za selidbe,
samo što dalje od akvarija
jer teško podnosi svu tu vodurinu i ribe.
...

amongst the people from Zagreb are numerous witnesses
claiming that retired seas
were just like retired people.
they dry up and shrink, and then find the best position
to help the swelling of life - near people.
nobody knows who filled up our bedrooms
with those invisible seas.
(the bottom of that sea is the floor
and the ceiling is the surface.)
because of their rapid shrinking, they are as thick as honey
so the ears of sleepers are no longer drilled
with the crackling of old-fashioned parcels containing ghosts' eyes.
nor do parents fear that children will hear them.
even the expensive pictures twist no more
under car headlights;
now they are just inadequately positioned searchlights.
but the greatest blessing to sleepers was that
they could go barefoot to the toilet
across the scorching dregs of burnt light bubbles.
the only trouble is when somebody suffers from insomnia
the sea gets so cold that all the rest have to plug into
the life machines.
as early as the middle of the next week it falls in love with all sleepers
and the question arises how will it be when the family moves on?
nothing bad. that could not confuse it.
just like all furniture, it places itself anywhere
in the removal truck,
just to be as far as possible from the aquarium
because it can't bear all that water and the fish.
...

navaljivala si da nam se sve desi ovog ljeta.
da se preobratimo i molimo bojama.
ali, meni ljeto nije sakralno.
istina, pod mojim pršljenovima legu se
slikari prozeliti cijele godine,
ali tek pred proljetnu oluju grupiraju se i izlaze.
molila sam te: zaledi sva čula do idućeg proljeća!
u cik ekvinocija iz naših će nosnica brinuti krv saveza
i postat ćemo vlasnice betlehemskih tavana
s ergelom žudomodrih krilatih kobila.
nisi izdržala. na ljetni solsticij znatiželjno si zavirila
u nered sive sumnje u mojim riječima.
razočarana,
posljednje što si vidjela prije odlaska
bilo je kako pijani hodočasnik baca zapaljenu šibicu na slamu
i kako ja s pregačom, metlom i crnim usnama
raščišćavam to betlehemsko zgarište.
...

you relentlessly wanted everything to happen this summer.
we should convert and pray to the colors.
but, for me summer is not sacral.
it's true that all year long proselyte painters
are hatching beneath my vertebrae
but they waited for the spring storm to gather and emerge.
I begged you: freeze all your senses until the next spring!
at the dawn of the equinox the blood of allegiance will gush from our nostrils
and we will become the owners of Bethlehem's attics
with the stable of yellow-blue winged mares.
you couldn't wait. at the summer solstice you curiously glanced
into the rowdy grey suspicion of my words.
disappointed,
before leaving the last thing you saw
was a drunken pilgrim throwing a match onto the hay
and me with an apron, broom and blackened lips
clearing up those scorched Bethlehem ruins.
...

za v.b.
sve one potrebne riječi koje si nismo rekle
fosiliziraju se negdje duboko,
u najstarijim ljudskim čeljustima.
baš kao i bajke koje sanjaju i prešućuju činovnici.
uvijek je dobro znati da nisu posve izgubljene.
pod našim strogim, uvučenim obrazima
dvije srednjoškolke na saonicama
godinama se ljube kraj smrzlog ribnjaka.
u slavu njihove naivne gladi, stidljivi dječaci perzijske ruže
kuhaju u razgaženim klizaljkama.
one se silovito ljube, njihove usne neumorno
pocikuju u mraku
kao u toplom božjem nebu ogoljene ptice.
pod našim nepomičnim obrazima one se ljube.
ljube od kad smo se prvi put srele,
u inat našoj šutnji.
i nikada neće stati, iako je već počela utakmica
s odnošenjem tvojih žutih i njegovih roza kovčega
u poljsku,
u daljinu
...

for v. b.
all those necessary words we didn't tell each other
turning into fossils somewhere deep,
in the oldest human jaws.
just like the dreamt and unspoken fairy tales of the clerks.
it is always good to know they were not completely lost.
under our severe, pulled-back cheeks
two high school girls on sleds
have been kissing each other for years near the frozen pond.
in the glory of their naïve hunger, shy boys were cooking
Persian roses in the worn-out skates.
they are kissing each other violently, their lips restlessly
squealing in the darkness
like naked birds in the warm godly sky.
under our still cheeks they are kissing.
kissing from the moment we met,
in spite of our silence.
and they will never stop, though the match started
with the removal of your yellow and his pink suitcases
to Poland
far away
...