Five poems from Izet Sarajlić’s 1993 collection Sarajevska Ratna Zbirka (Sarajevo War Journal), translated by Sara Nović
Ratovi U Našim Životima
by Izet SarajlićMarko 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.
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 NovićUz (Ako Je Izašla) Moju Čileansku Knjigu
by Izet SarajlićPočetkom 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 SarajlićIn 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 NovićU Predvečerje
by Izet SarajlićNa 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 SarajlićOn 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