Poem
Anka Zagar
AN EXTRACT FROM THE NOVEL “MUD-HOUSE”
that is how, that is how one should writeso nobody loves me because of that
and then to stay on the left shore
in Budapest where there is not a single bridge
where I shall cry remembering how beautiful I was
all of me carved from your dark body proportionally
like a snow-sprinkled cube of turkish delight
like blocks of stone in stonehenge
all comes to the same visibility parameter by night
so when you make me laugh
I can spread out in stereo
and range from sin to a naked laugh
when I pick it clean of top-soil
what remains to me will be
eczema on my chin produced by the black earpiece of a telephone
because you are. a mole you are an ugly warm snout
and you’d better not look
what happened on the surface:
your scarf rolled up like a snake on a couch
(fresh little mounds in my flower-bed
had already snuffed out all conventionally beautiful plants
including myself
© Translation: 2003, Sibila Petlevski
ODLOMAK IZ ROMANA “ZEMUNICA”
ODLOMAK IZ ROMANA “ZEMUNICA”
tako tako treba pisatidame nitko zbog toga ne voli
i onda cu ostati na lijevoj obali
u budimpesti gdje nijednog mosta nema
i plakat cu sjecajuci se kako sam bila lijepa
sva skladno izrezana iz tvoga tamnog tijela
kao kocka snjeznoga rahatluka
kao kameni blokovi stonehangea
sto je nocu isti korak vidljivosti
kada me zasmijes
da se rasprostrem u stereo-glas
kao grijeh u nag smijeh
kad ga otrijebim od zemlje
ostat ce mi
na bradi lisaj od crne telefonske slusalice
jer krtica. si ruzno topla njuska
i bolje da ne pogledas
sto se ucinilo na povrsini:
tvoj sal se kao zmija sklupcao na kaucu
(u mojoj gredici svjeze hrpice
ugasile su sve normalno lijepe biljeke
medju kojima sam bila i ja
© 1987,
Poems
Poems of Anka Zagar
Close
AN EXTRACT FROM THE NOVEL “MUD-HOUSE”
that is how, that is how one should writeso nobody loves me because of that
and then to stay on the left shore
in Budapest where there is not a single bridge
where I shall cry remembering how beautiful I was
all of me carved from your dark body proportionally
like a snow-sprinkled cube of turkish delight
like blocks of stone in stonehenge
all comes to the same visibility parameter by night
so when you make me laugh
I can spread out in stereo
and range from sin to a naked laugh
when I pick it clean of top-soil
what remains to me will be
eczema on my chin produced by the black earpiece of a telephone
because you are. a mole you are an ugly warm snout
and you’d better not look
what happened on the surface:
your scarf rolled up like a snake on a couch
(fresh little mounds in my flower-bed
had already snuffed out all conventionally beautiful plants
including myself
© 2003, Sibila Petlevski
AN EXTRACT FROM THE NOVEL “MUD-HOUSE”
that is how, that is how one should writeso nobody loves me because of that
and then to stay on the left shore
in Budapest where there is not a single bridge
where I shall cry remembering how beautiful I was
all of me carved from your dark body proportionally
like a snow-sprinkled cube of turkish delight
like blocks of stone in stonehenge
all comes to the same visibility parameter by night
so when you make me laugh
I can spread out in stereo
and range from sin to a naked laugh
when I pick it clean of top-soil
what remains to me will be
eczema on my chin produced by the black earpiece of a telephone
because you are. a mole you are an ugly warm snout
and you’d better not look
what happened on the surface:
your scarf rolled up like a snake on a couch
(fresh little mounds in my flower-bed
had already snuffed out all conventionally beautiful plants
including myself
© 2003, Sibila Petlevski
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