Gedicht
Dorta Jagić
Vertigo
on the first day of our trainingyou swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.
I told you to stop. it was too high.
and three more years of shouting.
stop. wait. I’m getting sick.
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,
hungry for disasters, and for them you were
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.
I could fall.
and I, by pure chance,
did not look up anyway.
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.
but when extinguished
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers’ cold store.
© Translation: 2004, Miloš Đurđević
Vertigo
Vertigo
odmah prvog dana treningapod nogama su nam zanjihao trapez za dva astronauta.
rekla sam stani. previsoko je.
pa još tri godine vikanja.
stani. čekaj. hvata me mučnina.
zapiljila se znatiželjna svjetina odozdo,
gladna nesreće, a ti si joj
svakoga jutra držao litanije o fizici i zvijezdama.
u jutra kad bi povraćao teški svadbeni veo
molio si me da ni slučajno ne pogledam dolje.
da ne padnem.
a ja, sasvim slučajno,
nikad nisam ni dizala pogled.
dovikao si im o meni kao o svojoj najsjajnijoj zvijezdi,
ali zvijezde kad se ugase
završe na podu mesarske hladnjače.
© 2003, Dorta Jagić
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
Gedichten
Gedichten van Dorta Jagić
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Vertigo
odmah prvog dana treningapod nogama su nam zanjihao trapez za dva astronauta.
rekla sam stani. previsoko je.
pa još tri godine vikanja.
stani. čekaj. hvata me mučnina.
zapiljila se znatiželjna svjetina odozdo,
gladna nesreće, a ti si joj
svakoga jutra držao litanije o fizici i zvijezdama.
u jutra kad bi povraćao teški svadbeni veo
molio si me da ni slučajno ne pogledam dolje.
da ne padnem.
a ja, sasvim slučajno,
nikad nisam ni dizala pogled.
dovikao si im o meni kao o svojoj najsjajnijoj zvijezdi,
ali zvijezde kad se ugase
završe na podu mesarske hladnjače.
From: Đavo i usidjelica
Vertigo
on the first day of our trainingyou swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.
I told you to stop. it was too high.
and three more years of shouting.
stop. wait. I’m getting sick.
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,
hungry for disasters, and for them you were
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.
I could fall.
and I, by pure chance,
did not look up anyway.
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.
but when extinguished
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers’ cold store.
© 2004, Miloš Đurđević
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