Gedicht
Dorta Jagić
Flying Stones
where did you get that pebble in your belly you can fly with?for that pebble I fell in love with you.
winters and summers you are driving to work
with your long hair loose from its bun
and in the spring you’ll stop and sway on the place
where the sorrel stalk was broken.
and you are doing nothing at all;
just looking like a river air larva.
in those days I dream that I’m wrapping your face with a wedding veil
and cuddling you with the breathing feather, or
with my bare feet I am turning the handle of
the old-fashioned coffee grinder
and kissing you, kissing until I’ve ground all those black beads
into fragrant dust
© Translation: 2004, Miloš Đurđević
Kamenje za letenje
Kamenje za letenje
odakle ti samo taj kamenčić u trbuhu pomoću kojega letiš?u taj sam te kamenčić zavoljela.
zimi i ljeti odvoziš se na posao
svojom dugom punđom na rasplitanje
a u proljeće staneš i zaljuljaš se na mjestu
gdje se stabljika kiselice slomila.
i ne činiš baš ništa;
samo sličiš ličinki riječnog zraka.
u te dane sanjam kako ti lice uvijam u svadbeni veo
i milijem ga perom koje diše ili
kako bosim nogama okrećem ručicu starinskog mlina za kavu
i ljubim te, ljubim sve dok sva ta crna zrna
ne izmeljem u mirisni prah
© 2003, Dorta Jagić
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
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Kamenje za letenje
odakle ti samo taj kamenčić u trbuhu pomoću kojega letiš?u taj sam te kamenčić zavoljela.
zimi i ljeti odvoziš se na posao
svojom dugom punđom na rasplitanje
a u proljeće staneš i zaljuljaš se na mjestu
gdje se stabljika kiselice slomila.
i ne činiš baš ništa;
samo sličiš ličinki riječnog zraka.
u te dane sanjam kako ti lice uvijam u svadbeni veo
i milijem ga perom koje diše ili
kako bosim nogama okrećem ručicu starinskog mlina za kavu
i ljubim te, ljubim sve dok sva ta crna zrna
ne izmeljem u mirisni prah
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Flying Stones
where did you get that pebble in your belly you can fly with?for that pebble I fell in love with you.
winters and summers you are driving to work
with your long hair loose from its bun
and in the spring you’ll stop and sway on the place
where the sorrel stalk was broken.
and you are doing nothing at all;
just looking like a river air larva.
in those days I dream that I’m wrapping your face with a wedding veil
and cuddling you with the breathing feather, or
with my bare feet I am turning the handle of
the old-fashioned coffee grinder
and kissing you, kissing until I’ve ground all those black beads
into fragrant dust
© 2004, Miloš Đurđević
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