Poem
Marijana Radmilović
ALL THESE YEARS
The spoon we ate witheveryday, and you stealthily
melted out the bowl.
How come it fits so well now?
There was a man here not long ago,
who cherished my sentences:
You need to stand on this spot
and try everything.
How joyfully I open the door to you.
For you, for the first time, I frame
a safe interval between health and sickness.
The spoon which was mislaid,
all the morning under treatment, everything she held in silence.
Death has a dirty, white face
and was good for us, all these years.
© Translation: 2006, Kim Burton
Sve ove godine
Sve ove godine
Žlica kojom smo jelinaše svakodnevno, a ti joj kradom
otapao dno.
Otkud sada tako pristala.
Neki je čovjek maloprije bio ovdje,
njegovao moje rečenice:
Na ovom mjestu moraš stati
i pokušati sve.
S kakvom ti radošću otvaram vrata.
Prvi put činim za tebe
sigurnu razdaljinu od zdravlja
do bolesti.
Žlica koja se bila zametnula,
liječeno jutro, sve njeno prešućeno.
Smrt ima bijelo, nečisto lice
i dobra nam je, sve ove godine.
© 2000, Marijana Radmilović
From: Bolest je sve uljepšala
Publisher: Meandar – DHK, Zagreb – Požega
From: Bolest je sve uljepšala
Publisher: Meandar – DHK, Zagreb – Požega
Poems
Poems of Marijana Radmilović
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ALL THESE YEARS
The spoon we ate witheveryday, and you stealthily
melted out the bowl.
How come it fits so well now?
There was a man here not long ago,
who cherished my sentences:
You need to stand on this spot
and try everything.
How joyfully I open the door to you.
For you, for the first time, I frame
a safe interval between health and sickness.
The spoon which was mislaid,
all the morning under treatment, everything she held in silence.
Death has a dirty, white face
and was good for us, all these years.
© 2006, Kim Burton
From: Bolest je sve uljepšala
From: Bolest je sve uljepšala
ALL THESE YEARS
The spoon we ate witheveryday, and you stealthily
melted out the bowl.
How come it fits so well now?
There was a man here not long ago,
who cherished my sentences:
You need to stand on this spot
and try everything.
How joyfully I open the door to you.
For you, for the first time, I frame
a safe interval between health and sickness.
The spoon which was mislaid,
all the morning under treatment, everything she held in silence.
Death has a dirty, white face
and was good for us, all these years.
© 2006, Kim Burton
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