Predrag Lucić

Ako ne dočekam Petrovdan
A ti
Ti udaj se ponovo
I svadba nek bude galička
Pa da te čujem ljepoto
Na groblju kad krene teškoto

Site momčinja pokojni
Ja možda mrtav možda pjan
Ležim tu pod lažnim imenom
Atanas Parahodotov

I dok mrtve svatove dozivaš
Ja ustat ću iz groba tuđega
Ako mi kažeš znaš ti već šta
Ako kažeš mi ko Nina Spirova
Ako kažeš mi
Çok seni severam
...

If I don't live to see St Peter's Day
You
Go and marry again
And may the wedding be galičko
So I can hear you, ljepoto,
At the graveyard when they launch into teškoto.

All those dead lads
And me, possibly dead, possibly drunk
Lying there under the false name of
Atanas Parahodotov

And as you gather the dead wedding guests
I shall rise from somebody else's grave
If you tell me, you know what
If you tell me, like Nina Spirova
If you tell me
Çok seni severam.
...

Vrtim priču o Siljanu Rodi
Koji je i tu i tamo
Dok gazim ka rtu u Konjskom
Da uslikam trofejnu fotku
Jedinih europskih pelikana

Oni naravno ne čekaju
Da priđem blizu
I "Ptičica!" kažem
Iz daljine mi krilima mašu
Puno pozdrava s Prespanskog jezera

A ja ni Siljan ni Roda
Nit sam tu nit sam tamo
Baš nigdje

Ni da poletim ni da zaplivam
Ništa
Ni nesit ni pelikan

Pa takav nigdjevan mislim
Šta rade Frans Lanting
Tim Laman
Quinton i Nigge
I sva ta škvadra
Što snima ptice u letu
Za National Geographic

Koliko soli sa sobom nose
Da je pticama stave na rep
...

I spin this story in my head about Siljan the Stork
Who is both here and there
As I walk towards the cape of Konjsko
Hoping for a trophy shot
Of the only European pelican

Naturally they don't let me come too close
Chirping "Birdy!"
They wave to me from the distance instead:
Regards from the Lake of Prespa

But I am neither Siljan nor a stork
I am neither here nor there
I am nowhere to be precise

I can neither swim nor fly
Neither of the two
As I'm neither a rosy pelican nor an ordinary one

As un-nestled as I am
I'm trying to figure out what Frans Lanting
Tim Laman
Quinton and Nigge
And all those folks
Who take pictures of birds in flight
For National Geographic
Might do in a moment like this.

And how much salt they carry with them
To sprinkle on the birds' tails
...

U Gevgeliji postoji čovjek
Koji je bio i ostao samo čovjek
Čak i onda kada se moralo biti
Srb il Hrv
Mak ili Alb

Pa šta onda
Reći će netko

Ništa lakše
Dodat će drugi

I u tom žamoru
Ja opet neću čuti
Je li to pokušao
I netko od njih
...

In Gevgelia there is a man
Who once was and still is just a man
Even back then when one ought to have been
Either a Cro or a Srb
A Mac or an Alb

So what?
Someone will say.

Big deal!
Others will add.

And in the ensuing
Murmur of dissonant voices
I will yet again fail to hear
Whether any of them really tried?
...

U makedonskom Globusu
Što zove se Fokus
Čitam intervju s košarkašem
Koji kaže
U Makedoniji sam izrod
A u Partizanu sam zvezda

Eh da Sinan je Gudžević ovdje
On bi mu epigramski reko
U Partizanu da još može bit zvezda
Ali u Zvezdi ne može partizan

A i u Partizanu
Majstorče
Eto
Da su došla takva neka vremena
Čak i zvezda da može se biti
Ali nikako
Nikako partizan
...

Na crvenoj kutiji Filter Jugoslavije
Tutunskog kombinata Prilep
Istim slovima novo ime piše
Umjesto Jugoslavije
Oriental

Kako sad da objasniš braći
Koja oštre glogove kolce
I od Potkorena do Gevgelije
Zabadaju ih u mrtvo joj tlo

Da više ne možeš doći pred trafiku
Pitati Jugoslaviju i šibice
Da više nigdje
Ali baš nigdje
Ne pali taj prastari štos

Pa da se ostave pepela njenog
Jer Jugoslavija više
Ne može otići nigdje
Ne može nikamo
Ne može nikud
Ne može čak ni u dim
...

On the red box of Filter Jugoslavija
Produced by the Prilep Tobacco Factory
The new letters of Oriental
Shine where Yugoslavia
Once used to be

And how can you now explain to brothers
Who hone hawthorn stakes
Driving them into her dead soil
All the way from Potkoren to Gevgelia

That you can no longer approach a kiosk
And ask for Yugoslavia and matches
And that nowhere
I mean nowhere
Can you crack
That ancient joke

So may they leave her ashes alone
Because Yugoslavia
Can no longer go
Anywhere
Can go nowhere
Not even up in smoke
...

Ovog su ljeta bogato rodili Hamleti
Po svim tim zemljama našim
Koje nit jesu
Nit nisu
Bitisat će se
Na sve strane
Ili se bitisat neće

Gdje god da mišolovku staviš
Na osmanski dvor
Il u titovalište
Tom nit bivanju
Nit nebivanju našem
Nikako da se učini kraj

Jer
Fortinbras tu ne zalazi nikad
Tek poneki trgovac paprom i octom
Fišeklijama i strahom u prahu
Ili tvorničar boca za kišu svrati
Fabrikant šišinja-kišinja

Nikakav Fortinbras nikad
Tek tu i tamo forenzičar
...

This summer Hamlets are ripe and many
All across our states
Which both
Do and do not exist
As their to-bes
And not-to-bes
Resound all over the place

But wherever you place the mousetrap
Either into the Ottoman court
Or into his summer Brozidence
This state of us being
Between being and not being
Can never be brought to an end

Because
Fortinbras never sets foot in here
Only a merchant once in a while selling pepper
Vinegar, bandoliers and powdered fear
Or a rain-catching bottle's manufacturer
The maker of šišinje-kišinje

But Fortinbras never
Perhaps a forensic expert here and there
...

Kao mornar u Periklu dođoh
Pred Svetu Sofiju
U predvečerje svega
Osamdeset šeste
Prateći Gowera
Što iz groba je ustao tad

Preživjeli smo Antiohije užas
Pregrmjeli oluju na moru
A onda
Usred viteškog turnira
U Pentapolisu
Na kralja Simonida dvoru
Zaustavilo se sve
U trenutku
I predstava
I turnir
I Shakespeare
I svijet

Simonid
Kralj Pentapolisa
Miloš Tripković
Odličan glumac
Najednom se rastao s likom
Izgubio i radnju i tekst

Uzalud šaptačica Beba
Uzalud dvorjani i vitezovi
Uzalud Taida lijepa
Kralja Simonida kći

Kralj stao
Pa stoji
I šuti
I ja evo
Devetnaest godina poslije
Pred crkvom Svete Sofije tražim
Ne znam što tražim
Pa napokon shvatim
Da tražim isti taj muk

I razmišljam kako bi bilo
Da kralja Simonida nismo
Pošto-poto vraćali
U radnju
U predstavu
U tekst

Da smo ga pustili da šuti
I devetnaest godina
Ako treba
Pred Svetom Sofijom
Da sve stoji
I predstava
I glumci
I publika
I sve

Simonid
Kralj Pentapolisa
Miloš Tripković
Živ bio bi glumac
Ni Shakespeare
Ni Sveta Sofija ne bi
Dopustili
Da umre ko pas
...

As one of the sailors in Pericles
I stood in front of St Sophia
In the year of 1986
On the eve of it all
Following Gower
Who had risen from the grave

We survived the horrors of Antioch
Came out of the tempest alive
Only to hear how then
Amidst the knights' tournament
In Pentapolis
At the court of the King Simonides
Everything for a moment
Came to a halt
The play
The tournament
Shakespeare
And the whole world

Simonides
King of Pentapolis
Miloš Tripković
Brilliant actor
Abruptly parted with his character
Forgotting the story along with his lines

And the prompter Beba
The knights and the lords
The beautiful Thaisa, the daughter of Simonides
All motioned to him in vain

But the oblivious king
Just stood there
Silent
And here I am
Nineteen years later
In front of the Church of St Sophia searching for
I don't know what I am searching for
Only to finally realise that I am looking for
That very same silent pause

Thinking
What would have happened
Had we not tried to bring Simonides the King
At all costs
Back into the plot
Into the play
Into the text

If we had only let him stand there silent
Even for nineteen years
If needs be
There in front of St Sophia
So everything could remain in peace
The play
The actors
The audience
And all the rest

Simonides
The King of Pentapolis
Miloš Tripković the actor
Would still have been alive
And even Shakespeare
And St Sophia
Would not have let him
Die like a dog
...

Milton Manaki
U unakrsnoj vatri
Brončanih partizana
I vitezova Jedija

Traje rat zvijezda petokraka
I Lucasovih zvjezdanih ratnika
Osveta Sitha
Ili
Osveta Tita
Pa tko se osveti

Kad je najnapetije
U kadar ulazi
Nekakav štajaznam
Ni partizan ni vitez
Nekakav primjerak vrste
Poprilično dežmekast

Tu je slovenski konzulat
Viče
Nije dopušteno snimanje objekta

Spuštam aparat i pitam
Je li Manaki
Jesi li čuo budalu

Manaki ne trza
Šuti
I hvata svoju sliku
Jer možda zna

Možda zna
Da taj dan će doći
Kad će mu otpravnik poslova neki
Konfekcijskim kazati glasom
Kameru svoju da skloni
I iz sigurnosnih razloga
Odmah da se makne
Manaki

Sve je spremno za posljednju sliku
Budala tek što ne uleti u kadar
A ja sve nešto se bojim
Da i Sudnji dan bit će takav

Da doći će nekakav tamo
Niži pristav iz ureda Svetoga Petra
I narediti da svi se raziđu u miru
Jer nitko nije prijavio nikakav skup
Ni u Kedronskoj dolini
Ni iznad nje
Ni na Maslinskoj gori
Ni pred Vratima milosnim

I anđeli da lijepo se mole
Da sklone tu razapetu žicu
Jer dođe li im komunalni redar
Vidjet će i svoga Boga
I Sudnji će vidjet mu dan
...

Milton Manaki
Is caught in a cross-fire:
Bronze partisans
Fight knights of the Jedi

The war is raging
The Red Star versus
Lucas' Star Warriors
The revenge of the Sith
Or
The revenge of Tito
Whichever prevails!

And in the heat
Of the battle
A somebody-nobody
Neither a partisan nor a knight
A specimen of a sort
And a flabby one indeed
Enters the frame shouting:

This is the Slovenian consulate.
Photographing the premises
Is not allowed!

I lower my camera.
Hey, Manaki, do you hear this idiot?
I say.

But Manaki hardly flinches
And silently takes his shot.
Maybe he knows

Maybe he knows
That the day shall come
When some chargé d'affaires
Will order him in a flat voice
To put away his camera
For security reasons
And to step away immediately
Manaki

It's all ready for the final shot
The idiot is about to step into the frame
And I somehow fear that even Judgment Day
May feel very much like this

Some junior clerk from Saint Peter's Office
Will turn up and order everyone to part in peace
Since no gathering has been announced
Not even in the Kedron Valley
Or on the Mount of Olives
Or at the Golden Gate

And may angels pray as they should
That the wire be removed
Because if the municipal serviceman turns up
Then God help them
For Doomsday will be nigh
...