Gedicht
Andriana Škunca
How Quickly She Forgets It All
As it passes her unheard, mother spins time onto a stick, tents it as she walks. She calls from here and there, tests, questions. And as she walks her stick’s a feeler, with which she probes and peers.How quickly she forgets it all, always repeating and repeating: how, when, where? The present flows through her like absence. All she recalls harks back to childhood and on to the parts to come. She speaks of it to us, the same anew.
When she climbs the stairs, behind her time spins an invisible carpet. At every step she asks: “You down there? Are you down there?”
No one. Nothing.
© Translation: 2006, Kim Burton
Kako sve brzo zaboravlja
Kako sve brzo zaboravlja
Kako joj nečujno prolazi, majka namata vrijeme na štap, razvlači ga u hodu. Doziva iz raznih udaljenosti, provjerava, pita. I dok šeta, štap je ticalo kojim ispituje – gleda.Kako sve brzo zaboravlja, neprestano ponavlja isto: kako, kada, zašto? Sadašnjost protječe kroz nju kao nešto neprisutno. Sve čega se sjeća dolazi iz djetinjstva i nekih budućih predjela. O tome nam priča svagda isto.
Kad se uspinje stubištem, vrijeme za njom zamata nevidljivi sag. Sa svake stube pita: – Jesi doli? – Jesi dolika?
Nikoga. Ništa.
© 2002, Andriana Škunca
From: Predivo sve užih dana
Publisher: Društvo hrvatskih književnika, Zagreb
From: Predivo sve užih dana
Publisher: Društvo hrvatskih književnika, Zagreb
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Gedichten van Andriana Škunca
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Kako sve brzo zaboravlja
Kako joj nečujno prolazi, majka namata vrijeme na štap, razvlači ga u hodu. Doziva iz raznih udaljenosti, provjerava, pita. I dok šeta, štap je ticalo kojim ispituje – gleda.Kako sve brzo zaboravlja, neprestano ponavlja isto: kako, kada, zašto? Sadašnjost protječe kroz nju kao nešto neprisutno. Sve čega se sjeća dolazi iz djetinjstva i nekih budućih predjela. O tome nam priča svagda isto.
Kad se uspinje stubištem, vrijeme za njom zamata nevidljivi sag. Sa svake stube pita: – Jesi doli? – Jesi dolika?
Nikoga. Ništa.
From: Predivo sve užih dana
How Quickly She Forgets It All
As it passes her unheard, mother spins time onto a stick, tents it as she walks. She calls from here and there, tests, questions. And as she walks her stick’s a feeler, with which she probes and peers.How quickly she forgets it all, always repeating and repeating: how, when, where? The present flows through her like absence. All she recalls harks back to childhood and on to the parts to come. She speaks of it to us, the same anew.
When she climbs the stairs, behind her time spins an invisible carpet. At every step she asks: “You down there? Are you down there?”
No one. Nothing.
© 2006, Kim Burton
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