Marko Pogačar Poems

Kako se malim kandžama popeti gore u maslinu,
ostati crna gušterica i preživjeti propast sunca?
svaka je maslina ugasla zvijezda,
a male kandže su sve što imamo.

i to je tajna gravitacije, nestanak svjetlosti koja se njiše
zgusnuta u našim metalnim tijelima.
naše su kandže naša taština, otac ih jednim potezom strese
s čipkaste balkonske zavjese.

svijet je ogromna pedikerka Milena, ona ih sigurnom rukom tamani,
ona pjeva o sole mio, naše kandže su prezrela, gola ljepota
ljubav je naš dug prema mrtvima.
...

How to climb the olive tree with those little claws,
stay a black lizard and survive the sun's collapse?
every olive is an extinguished star,
and little claws are all we have.

and that's the secret of gravity, the disappearance of light that swings
condensed in our metal bodies.
our claws are our vanity, the father shakes them off
the laced balcony curtain in one move.

the world is the giant pedicurist Milena, she eradicates them with a safe hand,
she sings o sole mio, our claws are an over-ripe, naked beauty
love is our debt to the dead.
...

Razmišljao sam o tome kako ćemo preživjeti noć.
vožnja je bila glatka i anestezija je
polako djelovala.
bio je četvrtak,
nekako sam se
osjećao kao Andrija. artiljerijski anđeo
je obećavao samoću.
nikad se nisam osjećao gore. debla su promicala
i mislio sam da ih više nikada neću vidjeti.
kondukter je ušao dok smo još bili u zemlji.
tražio sam restoran ali ga nije bilo.
skuhao sam čaj na kamperskom kuhalu
i podbočio se rebrima. vani je titrao listopad.
jednom sam u vlaku zaspao
i probudio se u Vinkovcima.
jesen je bila na pomolu. hotelske sale i
saksofonska sola do ponoći, a onda
telefoni koji polako izumiru. poslije tišina.
šine koje razmiču prostor i postaju
pasivni princip povratka.
razmišljao sam o tome kako su krave napuhane.
kako po definiciji
ne podnosim završetke.
...

I wondered how we were going to survive the night.
the ride was smooth and the anaesthetic
slowly took effect.
it was a Thursday,
somehow I felt
like Andrew. the angel of artillery
promised solitude.
never have I felt worse. trees swept by
and I thought I'd never see them again.
the conductor came in while we were still on the ground.
I looked for a restaurant, but there was none.
I made tea on the camping stove
and propped myself on my ribs. outside October quivered.
once I fell asleep on the train
and woke up in Vinkovci.
autumn was looming. hotel lobbies
and saxophone solos until midnight, and then
telephones that are slowly becoming extinct. after that silence.
the rails that set space apart and become
the passive principle of return.
I thought about bloated cows.
since by definition
I can't stand closure.
...

Netko priprema gradele.
zrak posut pečenim lovorom
uvlači se u jedra. nitko ne namjerava
ploviti. u krevetima od padobranske svile
meso čeka da netko palucne jezikom. bit će da je
onaj tko priprema gradele
Toni. na palubi bujaju puževi. tuga ne može podnijeti
kućice koje se lome. zato kuhamo samo golaće.
eventualno zagrebemo
površinu noktima i onda do dugo u noć
vadimo iverje. tvrđava boli je konj.
čistilište čežnje je u čegrtušama
i baš me briga za
maniere. život je san.
ping-pong je umjetnost. ako baš
hoćete.
...

Someone's grilling fish.
the air sprinkled with roasted bay leaves is
sneaking into sails. no one has any intention of
sailing. in beds of parachute silk
the flesh waits for someone to flick his tongue. the one
grilling the fish must be
Toni. the deck is bursting with snails. sadness cannot stand
the shells breaking. so we cook only slugs.
sometimes we scratch
the surface with our fingernails and then until late in the night
we pick out splinters. the fortress of pain is a horse.
the purgatory of yearning is in rattlesnakes
and I don't give a damn about
maniere. life is a dream.
ping-pong is art. if you really
want it.
...

Izleti u nepoznato su uvijek ono
što nas može učiniti sretnim.
Pritom je potrebno sreću promatrati
kao fazu, a nepoznato kao prvo što
oko sebe primijetiš.

Primijetiti stvar kao nepoznatu
jer ono što je čini
istovremeno dalekom i bliskom.

Obale s kojih se otiskuješ su
sasvim individualna stvar.
Ishodište po prirodi ostaje nezaštićeno.
Sve što smo bili pretvara se u naftu.
Otkopčaj košulju i
pogledaj preko ograde, meduze su
preuzele pučinu.

Nepoznata stvar zahtijeva da je zagrliš
kao želju za padanjem
i pomoć kad ti je potrebna.
Tvoj izlet mora postati
Kolumbova osveta,
ekspedicija koja će te uspostaviti kao
umirovljenog oficira ili
kameleona između ljubavi i šutnje.
...

A trip into the unknown is always something
that can make us happy.
Therefore it's important to see happiness
as a phase, and the unknown as the first thing
you see around.

See something as the unknown
because what makes it
distant makes it close at the same time.

The shores from which you set sail are
a completely individual matter.
The point of departure stays unprotected by nature.
Everything we were turns into oil.
Unbutton your shirt and
take a look over the fence, jellyfish are taking
over the sea.

The unknown demands that you embrace it
as the desire to fall
or help when you need it
Your trip must become
Columbus' revenge,
an expedition that will institute you as
a retired officer or a
chameleon between love and silence.
...

Med se topi u čaju, potpuno, za razliku od mene u tebi
i tebe u ozbiljnoj glazbi,

predugi telefonski pozivi, nikada mjesta kada trebaš
slobodan stol, uvijek pokvareni liftovi,

stepenice razmotane u beskonačnost, kao razgovor o politici,
i baš kada netko primijeti da se totalitarizam i demokracija

razlikuju samo u brojevnom sustavu
nestane slike i sve nanovo počinje: glasovi cure iz zidova,

potpuno bestjelesni, večer se spušta na dlanove, kao rudar
u jamu, ipak, cipele ostavljene

pred vratima dokazuju da postoje živi, ali što znači živjeti,
dok zima dolazi kotrljajući se kao hladni dah iz mog grla,

i svija gnijezdo u tamnom alfabetu; svi ti užurbani nepoznati
ljudi s poznatim imenom, popodne prelomljeno na dvoje, kao Koreja,

čaj u kojem je med već do kraja otopljen, nerazdvojivo,
i ta viskozna otopina je ljubav; kako stići do tebe; kako te dohvatiti?
...

Honey is melting in tea, completely, unlike me in you
and you in classical music,

never-ending phone calls, no room when you need
a clear table, elevators that are always broken

stairs unfolding into eternity, like talking about politics,
just as someone notices that totalitarianism and democracy

differ only in the system of numbers
the picture disappears and everything starts all over again: voices seep from walls,

completely bodiless, evening descends on palms, like a miner
into a hole, still, the shoes left

at the doorstep prove that the living exist, but what does it mean to live,
as winter comes rolling like cold breath from my throat,

and builds its nest in the dark alphabet; all those hurried unknown
people with known names, afternoons split in two, like Korea,

the tea in which honey had already melted, inseparable,
and this viscous solution is love; how to get to you; how to reach you?
...