Gedicht
Anka Zagar
FROM THE INNER SIDE OF THE LIPS
oil. die and. Letpeace flow to your lips
may I
no longer be on them
or I will, from that amorphous soil,
with every breath of my dying
flesh, grow white
into you, be extinguished
until this white paper
is bedewed with words, until I come here
with the tip of the kiss
whipped, let peace grow
thorns on your lip, die and, flow, peace
let the door made of soil slam shut,
oil, may you die and, be so that I can be
where there is, first pierced, then sewed up
by your lips endlessly, peace
the white flesh of my voice, you sleep,
do not pull to pieces the darkness on my lips
© Translation: 2003, Sibila Petlevski
S UNUTRASNJE STRANE USANA
S UNUTRASNJE STRANE USANA
ulje, umri i. potecimir tvojim usnama
da me na njima
nikad vise ne bude
ili cu iz zemlje te amorfne
svakim novim dahom, od smrtne
ploti dahom zabijeljeti se
u tebe, se gasiti
sve dok se ovaj bijeli papir
ne orosi rijecima, ne budem ti tu
te vrskom bica me poljubac
osinuo, u usnu ti se mir
otrnjen, umri i, poteci, mir
neka zalupnu vrata ova zemljava
ulje, umri i, budi da jesam
gdje probodeno pa zasiveno
beskrajno tvojim usnama. mir
bijelo meso glasa, mi spavaj
mrak na usnama, ga ne raskalaj
© 1987,
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S UNUTRASNJE STRANE USANA
ulje, umri i. potecimir tvojim usnama
da me na njima
nikad vise ne bude
ili cu iz zemlje te amorfne
svakim novim dahom, od smrtne
ploti dahom zabijeljeti se
u tebe, se gasiti
sve dok se ovaj bijeli papir
ne orosi rijecima, ne budem ti tu
te vrskom bica me poljubac
osinuo, u usnu ti se mir
otrnjen, umri i, poteci, mir
neka zalupnu vrata ova zemljava
ulje, umri i, budi da jesam
gdje probodeno pa zasiveno
beskrajno tvojim usnama. mir
bijelo meso glasa, mi spavaj
mrak na usnama, ga ne raskalaj
FROM THE INNER SIDE OF THE LIPS
oil. die and. Letpeace flow to your lips
may I
no longer be on them
or I will, from that amorphous soil,
with every breath of my dying
flesh, grow white
into you, be extinguished
until this white paper
is bedewed with words, until I come here
with the tip of the kiss
whipped, let peace grow
thorns on your lip, die and, flow, peace
let the door made of soil slam shut,
oil, may you die and, be so that I can be
where there is, first pierced, then sewed up
by your lips endlessly, peace
the white flesh of my voice, you sleep,
do not pull to pieces the darkness on my lips
© 2003, Sibila Petlevski
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