Two poems by Olja Savičević Ivančević translated by Andrea Jurjević
Šegrt
by Olja Savičević Ivančevićtoliko svile se odmotava
pod mojom kožom neprekidno
da su me staratelji morali skloniti
u hram
među krčmarsko svećenstvo
tu ćeš, rekli su, mala
učiti pisati nogom po vjetru
i vjetrom po gradskim morima
izučit ćeš vještinu
bacanja letećih olovčica
(da zatvorenih očiju razvežeš pupak
i rasiječeš bradavicu)
vidjela sam kako pjevaju i ljube ludi učitelji
kako preskaču lipu i vodotoranj
ponekad pripiti trče uz zidove kuća
ali ujutro trijezno pometu svoje gole sobe
nježno obuku svoje gole žene i mladiće
povežu ono što je ostalo od kose
u perčin rečenica
i lebde iznad svetih tastatura
prvu sam lekciju svladala iz domaćinstva
složila sam svu silu u bale
kao u malom dućanu metraže
trebalo mi je trideset godina
još toliko će mi trebati
da razvrstam dugmad riječi
i sve te aplikacije
bojim se, u međuvremenu,
ostarit će učitelji, popušit će svoje lule vjere
a s njima i hrabrost i mudrost
brine me što će se dogoditi s njihovim kostima po čitankama
tu nitko živ više neće moći
sastaviti pjesnika
An Apprentice
by Olja Savičević Ivančevićso much silk unrolls
continually under my skin
that the guardians had to move me
to the temple
among the clergy of the tavern
they said, here, little one,
you’ll learn how to write by throwing a leg over the wind
and with the wind over the city seas
you’ll learn the trade
of flinging flying pencils
(so with eyes closed you unknot the navel
and cut the nipple)
I saw how crazy teachers sing and kiss
how they jump over the linden and the water tower
sometimes tipsy they run along the walls of houses
but in the morning they soberly sweep their naked rooms
gently dress their naked women and young men
and bind what’s left of their hair
into bundled sentences
hover over holy keyboards
I first mastered homemaking
I folded all the silk into bales
like in a little fabric shop
it took me thirty years
and I’ll need that many more
to sort the word buttons
and all of their use
meanwhile, I’m afraid,
the teachers will get old, finish smoking their pipes of hope
and with them both courage and wisdom
I worry about what will happen to their bones in the books
not a living soul will be able
to assemble a poet
translated from Croatian by Andrea JurjevićHumbert
by Olja Savičević IvančevićProšlo je i više vremena od onog koje je trebalo
Da može sjesti do tebe i potapšati ti glavu
S obje ruke sretna, kao bongo. Moj oče, stari ljubavniče.
Počinje period u kojem se u mislima spušta u luku
Uz bedem, ali zavoj je oštar, trga se koža sa lijeve plećke i puca karoserija
Ti svakih nekoliko ljeta tražiš ime za svoj brod
Nazoveš je i pitaš za mišljenje, govorite o roditeljima i djeci, o brakovima
Koji su uglavnom sretni i zdravlju, poslovima
Kaže ti: bio si u pravu, zaboravila sam te kao i svoje grudi prije četrnaeste
Na tebe pomisli kad vidi konduktera: bijele hlače, nikad suviše čiste
I češće se vezano uz tebe sjeti tvog malog psa koji je po dugom hodniku
Kuće kotrljao kosti. I vodoskoka.
Ali otkad se dogodila nesreća iz njenih su snova kao miševi pobjegli svi—osim tebe.
I eto te gdje se pokrećeš po čudnom nalogu, njenom
Pušiš i povlačiš klompe na krivim dlakavim nogama
A ona ide pored tebe u košuljici bez rukava
Prekratkoj da joj se ne bi vidjela stražnjica pička bedra
Uzalud je navlači i ti iako ravnodušan uviđaš njen problem
To su samo njeni snovi, ali i na javi bi joj rekao:
Ne brini, normalno hodaj, pa ja idem ispred tebe,
Uostalom, moja stara kćeri, moja mlada ljubavnice,
Sami smo na cesti, uostalom.
Humbert
by Olja Savičević IvančevićMore time passed than was necessary
For her to sit beside you and happily with both hands
tap your head like a bongo. My father, old lover.
That time starts when she imagines going down to the harbor
By the rampart, but the turn is sharp, the skin from her left shoulder tears and the chassis breaks
Every few summers you seek names for your boat
You call and ask her opinion, talk about parents and kids, about marriages
That are mostly happy and about health, work
She says: you were right, I forgot you like I forgot my fourteen-year-old breasts
She thinks of you when she sees a bus conductor: white pants, never too clean
And more often she remembers your little dog that rolled bones down the long hallway
Of the house. And the waterfalls.
But since the accident everyone ran out of her dreams like mice—except you.
And look, you now march under a strange order, hers
You smoke and drag clogs on crooked hairy legs
And she walks beside you in a sleeveless shirt
Too short to cover her ass snatch thighs
Hopelessly she pulls it down, and you, even though indifferent, see her problem
These are just her dreams, but even in reality you’d say to her:
Don’t worry, walk naturally, I’m next to you,
After all, my old daughter, my young lover,
We’re alone on the road, after all.
translated from Croatian by Andrea Jurjević