Poem
Zvonko Maković
Margaret & Paolo
now all those things you did not dareto speak up about have tripped you up
and said: stutter, and you then took
hold of a lock of greasy hair and crushed
it between the forefinger and the thumb. Oh, those little,
cute little miracle-making words. you have
awaken his guilty conscience and you have given him
complexes. and henry kissinger
grinned with no cause with some blond starlet,
because with your free hand you could
crumple up the newspaper casually
and let it fly over the table. porto? yes, one
small glass in a little bar in urbino with tables
covered in formica colored blue and
red. porto in glasses with thick rims
then again being nagged by the crashing bore
of dejected words that you were not aware of
until that day when you came to your senses
and tossed a cigarette butt down under the neighboring table
uttering quite simply: margaret
hornbey and paolo forelli used to be
my neighbors. they stayed in the room next
door and they could hear what i
said in my sleep. yes, you call for margaret and
paolo, they will testify. with your hand you
grabbed the newspaper, henry, your nostrils
like tubes from which espresso coffee trickles down
© Translation: 1999, Sibila Petlevski
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 1999
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 1999
margaret & paolo
margaret & paolo
sve one stvai koje se nisi usudioizgovoriti glasno sada su te sapele
i rekle: promucaj. a ti si tada do
hvatio pramicak zamašcene kose i gnjecio
ga izmedu kažiprsta i palca. o, te male
slatke, male rijeci-cudotvorke. vi ste
upladile njegovu savjest i vi ste ga
ucinile kompleksašem. a henry kissinger
uzalud se smješkao s nekom plavokosom
starletom, jer slobodnom rukom mogao
si bez ikakve obveze zgužvati novine
i baciti ih sa stola. porto? da, jedna
cašica u malom lokalu u urbinu sa stolo
vima prevucenim ultrapasom modre i
crvene boje. porto u cašicama debelih rubova
zatim te opet gnjecila ta napast, te
snuždene rijeci kojih nisi bio svjestan sve
do onog dana kada si se trgnuo
bacivši opušak do ispod susjednog stola
izgovarajuc sasvim jednostavno: margaret
hornbey i paolo forelli bili su
moji susjedi. odsjeli su u sobi pokaraj
moje i mogli su cuti ono što sam
u snu govorio. da, pozovite margaret i
paola, oni ce posvjedociti. rukom si
zahvatio novine, henry, tvoje su nozdrve
kao cijevi iz kojih tece espresso kava
© 1999, Zvonka Makovic
From: Komete, komete . . .
From: Komete, komete . . .
Poems
Poems of Zvonko Maković
Close
Margaret & Paolo
now all those things you did not dareto speak up about have tripped you up
and said: stutter, and you then took
hold of a lock of greasy hair and crushed
it between the forefinger and the thumb. Oh, those little,
cute little miracle-making words. you have
awaken his guilty conscience and you have given him
complexes. and henry kissinger
grinned with no cause with some blond starlet,
because with your free hand you could
crumple up the newspaper casually
and let it fly over the table. porto? yes, one
small glass in a little bar in urbino with tables
covered in formica colored blue and
red. porto in glasses with thick rims
then again being nagged by the crashing bore
of dejected words that you were not aware of
until that day when you came to your senses
and tossed a cigarette butt down under the neighboring table
uttering quite simply: margaret
hornbey and paolo forelli used to be
my neighbors. they stayed in the room next
door and they could hear what i
said in my sleep. yes, you call for margaret and
paolo, they will testify. with your hand you
grabbed the newspaper, henry, your nostrils
like tubes from which espresso coffee trickles down
© 1999, Sibila Petlevski
From: Komete, komete . . .
Publisher: 1999, First published on PIW,
From: Komete, komete . . .
Publisher: 1999, First published on PIW,
Margaret & Paolo
now all those things you did not dareto speak up about have tripped you up
and said: stutter, and you then took
hold of a lock of greasy hair and crushed
it between the forefinger and the thumb. Oh, those little,
cute little miracle-making words. you have
awaken his guilty conscience and you have given him
complexes. and henry kissinger
grinned with no cause with some blond starlet,
because with your free hand you could
crumple up the newspaper casually
and let it fly over the table. porto? yes, one
small glass in a little bar in urbino with tables
covered in formica colored blue and
red. porto in glasses with thick rims
then again being nagged by the crashing bore
of dejected words that you were not aware of
until that day when you came to your senses
and tossed a cigarette butt down under the neighboring table
uttering quite simply: margaret
hornbey and paolo forelli used to be
my neighbors. they stayed in the room next
door and they could hear what i
said in my sleep. yes, you call for margaret and
paolo, they will testify. with your hand you
grabbed the newspaper, henry, your nostrils
like tubes from which espresso coffee trickles down
© 1999, Sibila Petlevski
Publisher: 1999, First published on PIW,
Publisher: 1999, First published on PIW,
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