Joseph Brodsky

Josif Brodski Posljednjih deset godina

BKG br. 5 Josif Brodski

Josif Brodski, oči žudnje


Bosnia tune

As you pour yourself a scotch,
crush a roach, or check your watch,
as your hand adjusts your tie,
people die.

In the towns with funny names,
hit by bullets, cought in flames,
by and large not knowing why,
people die.

In small places you don't know
of, yet big for having no
chance to scream or say good-bye,
people die.

People die as you elect
new apostles of neglect,
self-restraint, etc. - whereby
people die.

Too far off to practice love
for thy neighbor/brother Slav,
where your cherubds dread to fly,
people die.

While the statues disagree,
Cain's version, history
for its fuel tends to buy
those who die.

As you watch the athletes score,
check your latest statement, or
sing your child a lullaby,
people die.

Timee, whose sharp blood-thirsty quill
parts the killed from those who kill,
will pronounce the latter tribe
as your tribe.

Dok žohara gniječite, pijuckate
viski, prepone svoje češkate,
dok ruka oko mašne se trudi,
ginu ljudi.

U gradovima čudnih imena,
zgođeni metkom, i sred plamena,
ne znajuć što ih se na smrt osudi
ginu ljudi.

Sred malih mjesta, neznanih vam, ali
velikih, jer priliku nisu im dali
za krik i oproštaj sa svijetom hudim,
ginu ljudi.

Ginu dok birate sve nove i nove
brbljivce o tom što nemar se zove,
suzdržljivost, itd, s tih razloga ludih
ginu ljudi.

Nema ljubavi k odveć udaljenu
tvome susjedu/bratu Slavenu:
gdje letjet vaš se anđel ne usudi
ginu ljudi.

Međ kipovima dok spor izbija,
kainska verzija, istorija,
za svoje gorivo bi da kupi množinu
tih što ginu.

O uspjehu sportaša dok čitate,
il stigli račun, dok pjevate
svom čedu pjesmu što sam nudi,
ginu ljudi.

Pero vremena oštro, krvi žedno,
što neće da žrtva i dželat su jedno,
kazaće da zadnja ološ i alaša
vrsta je vaša.
Prijevod (Marko Vešović i Omer Hadžiselimović)

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