dreaming of three scrambled eggs

Five poems from Izet Sarajlić’s 1993 collection Sarajevska Ratna Zbirka (Sarajevo War Journal), translated by Sara Nović

 

Ratovi U Našim Životima

by Izet Sarajlić

Marko Bašić je preturio preko glave

dva balkanska i dva svjetska rata.

Ovo mu je peti.

 

Meni i mom pokoljenju—drugi.

 

A za Vladimira

s njegovih osamnaest mjeseci

u ovom trenutku mogli bi se reći

da je čak polovicu svog života

proveo u ratu.

by Izet Sarajlić

Marko Bašić is in over his head

with two Balkan and two World wars.

This is his fifth.

 

Me and my generation—the second.

 

Even for Vladimir,

at eighteen months old,

in this moment one can say

half his life

has been carried out in war.

translated from Bosnian by Sara Nović
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Uz (Ako Je Izašla) Moju Čileansku Knjigu

by Izet Sarajlić

Početkom proljeća,

kako su me,

dok je Sarajevo još preko pošte

komuniciralo sa svijetom,

obavijestili njen prevodilac pjesnik Huan Oktavio Prenz

i njen izdavač, također pjesnik, Omar Lara

u čileu je trebalo da izađe

moja knjiga na španskom jeziku.

 

Ako je izašla

sada se možda neki čileanski čitalac pita:

Šta je s njenim autorom?

 

Šta je?

 

Sjedi u podrumu,

skuplja drva,

loži na balkonu vratu,

vodi ratni dnevnik

 

i sanja o kajgani s tri jaja.

An Addition (If It's Been Released) To My Chilean Book

by Izet Sarajlić

In early spring

I was—

when Sarajevo was still communicating via mail

with the rest of the world—

informed by the translator poet Juan Octavia Prenz,

and his publisher Omar Lara, also a poet,

that the Spanish edition of my book

was going to be released in Chile.

 

If it was

some Chilean reader might now be asking:

What about the author?

 

What’s become of him?

 

He’s sitting in a cellar,

gathering wood,

setting fire to the balcony,

starting a war journal

 

and dreaming of three scrambled eggs.

translated from Bosnian by Sara Nović
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U Predvečerje

by Izet Sarajlić

Na igralištu

jedan mladić

svira na gitari

a iznad njega

prolijeće granata s Poljina.

 

Budući sarajevski Bulat Okudžava?

 

Mladiću,

samo mi ostaj živ,

a umjetnost,

koja je meni bila sve,

umjetnost je,

vjeruj mi,

sasvim nevažna!

At Dusk

by Izet Sarajlić

On the soccer pitch

a boy

strums his guitar;

overhead

a grenade flies in from Poljina.

 

Could he become Sarajevo’s own Bulat Okudžava?

 

 

Young man,

just focus on staying alive.

Art,

which for me was everything once,

art is,

trust me,

totally unimportant.

translated from Bosnian by Sara Nović
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