Nastasimir Franovic

Eyes
Your eyes
My eyes
No sound, no motion
...

Tvoje oči
Moje oči
Bez zvuka, bez kretnje
Tišina u našim očima
...

Like a woman without children.
Solitary stands an old vine.
Ghostly like a night shadow.
Cursed like a bad crop.
...

Kao žena bez poroda
Samuje stara loza.
Sablasna poput noćne sjene.
Ukleta kao nerodna godina.
...

The night is my concubine.
A silent companion to my thoughts.
A night under the stars.
Truth in dreams.
...

Noć je moja prilježnica.
Mislima mojim tiha saputnica.
Noć pod zvijezdama.
Java u snovima.
...

Bumbar
imali smo po pet godina
nas troje prije šezdeset godina
i ko bi se sjetio toga dana
...

we were five years old
the three of us sixty years ago
so, who would remember that day
when we buried Bumblebee
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jul, podnevna žega
nedelja pred ručak
i to glupo dozivanje
ručak!
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July, midday heat
Sunday before lunch
and that stupid calling
Lunch!
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Od versi mojih ispletoh ti vijenac.
U spomen na suzu tvoju čistu k'o zdenac.
Tebi što si mi verse čitala duge
i pričala što se krije iza pjesnikove tuge.
...

I wove a wreath for you from my verses.
In memory of your tear, as clean as a well.
To you for reading me long verses
and talking about what is hidden behind the poet's sadness.
...

There is nothing left
Everything was washed away by the first autumn rain
Promises and oaths
Hopes and denials
...

In the distant sandy coves.
The sea is still hiding something for itself.
It is looking for lost pearls.
In the arms of stone wings,
...

Where is the sun setting now?
The wind that ruffles your hair, is it blowing?
Never again under the stone portal
hearts won't beat like that.
...

I'll open the window, my darlings.
I'll open the book.
Let the wind blow its pages.
Let the sun shine illuminate them.
...

In room number four.
They hid death under a white blanket.
On the first bed to the left of the door.
She was lying down and scared those who were just having dinner.
...

Like the oak with lots of knots and tight growth rings.
You can count over years and years.
Here, where the depth of roots is only counted.
A story that has been passed down over the generations.
...

I didn't see you nacked that night.
In your sighing I felt all my vigour
With your teeth when you bite your lips,
Under the moonlight ray which turned off on the window
...

At the time when I wanted to become a poet
The sun tempted me to leaf through the storm
I blossomed
And the frost scorched my every flower
...