Poem
Marko Pogačar
Your Condensed Sun
How to climb the olive tree with those little claws,
stay a black lizard and survive the sun’s collapse?
every olive is an extinguished star,
and little claws are all we have.
and that’s the secret of gravity, the disappearance of light that swings
condensed in our metal bodies.
our claws are our vanity, the father shakes them off
the laced balcony curtain in one move.
the world is the giant pedicurist Milena, she eradicates them with a safe hand,
she sings o sole mio, our claws are an over-ripe, naked beauty
love is our debt to the dead.
© Translation: 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
Tvoje zgusnuto sunce
Tvoje zgusnuto sunce
Kako se malim kandžama popeti gore u maslinu,
ostati crna gušterica i preživjeti propast sunca?
svaka je maslina ugasla zvijezda,
a male kandže su sve što imamo.
i to je tajna gravitacije, nestanak svjetlosti koja se njiše
zgusnuta u našim metalnim tijelima.
naše su kandže naša taština, otac ih jednim potezom strese
s čipkaste balkonske zavjese.
svijet je ogromna pedikerka Milena, ona ih sigurnom rukom tamani,
ona pjeva o sole mio, naše kandže su prezrela, gola ljepota
ljubav je naš dug prema mrtvima.
© 2007, Marko Pogačar
From: Poslanice običnim ljudima
Publisher: Algoritam, Zagreb
From: Poslanice običnim ljudima
Publisher: Algoritam, Zagreb
Poems
Poems of Marko Pogačar
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Your Condensed Sun
How to climb the olive tree with those little claws,
stay a black lizard and survive the sun’s collapse?
every olive is an extinguished star,
and little claws are all we have.
and that’s the secret of gravity, the disappearance of light that swings
condensed in our metal bodies.
our claws are our vanity, the father shakes them off
the laced balcony curtain in one move.
the world is the giant pedicurist Milena, she eradicates them with a safe hand,
she sings o sole mio, our claws are an over-ripe, naked beauty
love is our debt to the dead.
© 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
From: Poslanice običnim ljudima
From: Poslanice običnim ljudima
Your Condensed Sun
How to climb the olive tree with those little claws,
stay a black lizard and survive the sun’s collapse?
every olive is an extinguished star,
and little claws are all we have.
and that’s the secret of gravity, the disappearance of light that swings
condensed in our metal bodies.
our claws are our vanity, the father shakes them off
the laced balcony curtain in one move.
the world is the giant pedicurist Milena, she eradicates them with a safe hand,
she sings o sole mio, our claws are an over-ripe, naked beauty
love is our debt to the dead.
© 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
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