trag / a trace / la huella

u srbiji, gde vreme stoji, ali nas izjeda neminovno,
u duhu ratnika koji se bori za još jedan lep dan,
pišem po pesmu za svako jutro u kome sam se probudio siguran da nisam samo sena i pepeo,
misleći, bar u tom kratkom trenu zanosa, da moj strah, patos, ali i nada
mogu nadživeti vreme koje kuca iz mraka sobe.
in serbia, where time is arrested, but destroys us inevitably,
like a warrior fighting for another nice day,
i write a poem for every morning that wakes me assured that i'm not only of shade and ashes,
thinking, at least for a short moment, that my fear, suffering and hope
can outlast time ticking from the dark of the room.
en Serbia, donde el tiempo no pasa, pero nos devora inevitablemente
en el espirifu de un soldado que lucha por un dia mas
escribo un poema para cada manana en la que me despierto convecido que soy algo mas de la sombra y ceniza,
pensando por lo menos en aquel instante de entusiasmo, que mi miedo, sufrimiento, pero mi esperanza tambien,
pueden sobrevivir el tiempo que esta tocando desde la oscuridad del cuarto.

Коментари

  1. sancho panza5. 3. 2008. 12:46

    I went to woods (or I stayed here) because (or even if) I wanted to live deliberately.. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life.. And not, when I come to die, discover that I had not lived.
    p.s. Slobodan prevod remek dela sa srpskog :o) Salim se, samo me neverovatno potsetilo i jednako odusevilo..

    ОдговориИзбриши
  2. Mare5. 3. 2008. 13:33

    Henry David Thoreau also wrote: “What's the use of a fine house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?”

    ОдговориИзбриши
  3. sancho panza6. 3. 2008. 14:52

    Oh Captain, my Captain!
    (in this case I prefer uncle Withman)
    You already have a fine house, and even if tolerable planet doesn`t exist, "the powerful play continues and you may contribute a verse.."
    Yours are beautiful enough to leave an eternal trace in that play..

    ОдговориИзбриши
  4. Unknown6. 3. 2008. 20:14

    Ej,mladji bato, pa nemoj da mi uzimas lebac! Salim se :)Nego nisam znala da imas toliko smisla i za prevod.Samo par sitnica da se popravi...Zadovoljna sam,zadovoljna...

    ОдговориИзбриши

Постави коментар

Популарни постови са овог блога

bezimena / unknown

zarobiću tvoj osmeh, ( ti ga shvataš olako, a mene bi mogao spasti, ) uhvatiću te za ruke, odvesti daleko, i kao metalni novčić vrteću te međ' prstima dok ne posiviš... I'll catch your smile ( you wear it like something common, for me it could mean everything, ) I will take your hands, and lead you far away, like a coin, I'll roll you within fingers, till you lose your color...
Прикажи све

pesnik / a poet / el poeta

Bio je krvav, ali nije plakao. Samo je mahao krhkim nožicama želevši da poleti. Mali, bespomoćni čovek u rukama belog doktora. Raširio mu je noge, kao što radi piletu, nedeljom na ručku, i doneo presudu: - Vaše dete je pesnik. - O ne! - Rekao je otac. He was bloody, but didn't weep,  Waving his feet like he wants to fly, Small, helpless man in doctor's hands. The white man spread his little legs, as he would to a chicken, and pasted the verdict: - Your child is a poet. - Oh, no - Father said. Estaba sangriento, pero no lloraba. Solo hacia senas con sus piernitas fragiles deseando volar. Ese hombre tan pequeno y desamparado en los manos del doctor. El desjunto sus piernas como a un pollo, y dijo su sentencia: - Su nino es un poeta. - Ay no! - Dijo el papa.
Прикажи све