Poetry by Manolis Aligizakis
Translated into Serbian by Jolanka Kovacs
ISBN 978-86-89719-01-7
Sziveri, Feb 2015
SVEST
Čiste, vedre oči
miran pogled
izbledele zavese krem boje
lagana ti toplina u glavi
telo ti je skoro ledeno
u vodi što tutnji
negde u podzemlju
šljunak i peščane dine
morska obala u suzama
lutalica bez šešira
i jedan dan negde daleko
smeška se iza oblaka
ništa ne traje večno
mrlje
praznina
poslednji
udah
AWARENESS
Serene eyes lacking
rapid eye movement
sun-bleached creamy curtains
light warmth in your mind
body almost frosty
in the water’s roar
somewhere in the underworld
pebbles and sand dunes
shore drenched in tears
the wayfarer with no hat
and a sun in the far distance
smiling behind clouds
nothing stays forever
stains
absence
last
breath
DVA STARCA
Sto je dugačak i uzan, zarđao
skoro se stalno klima
izbledeo stolnjak kao
da je nekada bio bačen u dubinu reke
bezbojan kao oči starice
kada posmatraju agoniju mora
kako stiže do strane zemlje
gde joj je nestao sin
a senka čokota, široka kao greh
i gruba kao misao što joj u sećanju pulsira
o ponovnom rođenju svetlosti
starac donosi dva tanjira
drhtavim rukama sipa vino u dve čaše
na tanjiriću feta sir i masline
iza osmeha spretno skriven uzdah
a jedan usamljeni cvrčak uporno
ometa monolog njihove samoće
starac najzad seda pored starice
a odozgo grožđe se smeši
kada žuljavim prstima dotiče
ženinu izboranu ruku, a sunce
negde, u visini, iznad sviju
smeje se glasno, kada joj starac kaže:
… zaboravila si da spremiš salatu
„U spomen mojih roditelja
u poslednjim godinama njihovog seoskog života”
OLD COUPLE
Long and narrow rusted table
hardly stands motionless
bleached out tablecloth as though
thrown in debts of river for a long time
cloth faded like her eyes gazing the sea’s
agony that reaches the foreign land
where her son has vanished
shade of grapevine thick like a sin
and harsh like a thought pounding
her memory that light may be reborn
and he brings two plates
trembling hands pour wine in two glasses
small plate with olives, piece of feta
and the sigh expertly camouflaged by a smile
the lone cicada that insists to disturb
monologue of their loneliness
finally he sits next to her when
above them the grapevine laughs
as his calloused fingers touch
her wrinkled hand and the sun
somewhere higher than everybody
roars with laughter when the old man says
to her…you forgot to make the salad
“In memory of my parents
in their late years of life in the village