SVEST (Serbian)

 

 

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

Advertisements