but in the morning they soberly sweep their naked rooms

Two poems by Olja Savičević Ivančević translated by Andrea Jurjević 

olja       andrea

Šegrt

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

toliko 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 Ivančević

so 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 Jurjević
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Humbert

by Olja Savičević Ivančević

Prošlo 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 Ivančević

More 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
more>>

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