Tjentište
Tjentište Ovde je istorija progovorila
na sav glas i zvezda progore čelo.
Ovde se ptice dovikivale
sa tvojim srcem, dok duvali
vetrovi nad dotrajalim predelima.
Ovde živi jeli svoje srce
da bi živeli, a mrtvi sve manje i manje bili
mrtvi. Ovde svi su podjednako
udahnuli oporu odsutnost
jednog cveta jednog mesta i vremena.
*
Recitujem vašu noć mome danu
muziku vašeg bića ko sazvežđe
oblicima udaljenim u nepoznate oblike
što slede svoje zvezde od crne vatre.
Vaš san u zemlji izmeni moje reči
blistave spolja izgubljene iznutra.
Vaš san u zemlji ispari
zvučne dubine kristala i sveta.
Predug je put od jedne
reči do druge, za vašu pesmu bez reči.
*
Samo on u gori iza groba labud
u smrti se svojoj usamio.
Kosti mu se u zlato pretvorile.
Iščilele mu oči ko miris na vetru.
Izraste u senu, a nije to iz sebe hteo.
Zadesila ga zvezda koja još nije znala
da mu izgovori ime u najdubljoj jami.
Ali nije zakopao svoje zlato;
ostavio je svoju krv da svetli
zaspao između očiju i sunca.
*
Ubijenom glavom pred praznim prostorima
pevaju. I gluhe siđoše u dan
gore. Ko je dozivao njihovo
jedino lice iz zemlje i kamena,
taj zna šta je bol. Taj je video
kako na drugoj obali, umesto šume,
raste jeka, buja odsutnost,
polje senku peva lomljive ptice
u pustinji što prazni sunce i šini
da je svet najsličniji zaboravu.
*
Ostaše u planinama
gde traje sneg i Misao.
Tamo se cvet razlikuje
od svojih boja.Tamo pogled
sam sebe gleda. O,
pomešano vreme u brdima
sa lanjskim snegovima!
Mnogi ostaše
na vrhovima usamljenim;
neki rekoše: "Mrtvi su".
*
Želeo bih da sve što napišem
prepišem sa kapaka vaših očiju
sklopljenih: Revoluciju u kojoj
prošlost ispašta svoje lažne časove
i jedna bolest dovršava Istoriju,
pre nego se u zemlji pretvori u laž
sve osim vaših kostura,
nad kojim traje svađa vidika i gladi
uoči noći sa zvezdanim mozgom
koji zameni reči oblikom.
*
Ptice nad ništavilom i sunce umesto vida -
to je njihova zaostavština. Reči
odbijaju da se vrate. Pozajmljujem
njihobu misao i zvezdu iznad groba
mojoj noći zaljubljenoj u njihovu smrt,
u njihove mramorne beonjače, u njihov grob
koji prezire grobare i odbija
da se preseli iz sveta u zagrobnost,
gde se grbava praznina prepire
sa njihovim kostima bez imena.
*
Pred vašom krvi u koju padaju zvezde
čista, bez ljubavi, ljubav, sunce bez sunca,
kao ispod trepavica vatra bez plamena,
umesto izgubljene reči koja ima pravo
na sve zvezde u biću što prazninu bude.
Ja sam krilata ruža potpisana ispod zore,
kaže Ptica: uspavaj ga
u predelu koji se penje.
Na vrh brda ispeo se slepac i zaplakao:
ako me ne vide kako da ih nađem.
*
O kišo duga i neprestana
poslednjeg dana u godini! Sedim
u svojoj glavi, i pišem. Dok nebo
uvežbava pljusak, i mislim:
moje oko i slika koju gledam
još uvek nisu ono što vidim.
Vazduh poprskan krvlju. Samo ono
što damo zaista smo imali.Mrtvi su dosegli sebe, dok mi trajemo
u jednom detalju čiji smisao još nije poznat.
*
Muzika istekla iz naših zahvalnih prstiju
kao krv neka zaustavi vetrove i ptice
i neka bude kraj i početak
sveta koji će imati njihovo ime i naše ruke
ovde gde je istorija progovorila na sav glas
ovde gde ostaviše svoju krv da svetli
ovde gde od njihove smrti živi samo zemlja voda i vazduh
ovde gde dozivamo njihovo lice iz kamena
ovde gde recitujemo njihovu noć mome danu
ovde gde sa njihovog čela prepisujem svoju pesmu.
Case Black*
This is where history spoke
out loud and star burned through the forehead.
This is where birds and your heart
yelled back and forth at each other, and the winds
blew over worn out landscapes.
This is where living ate their heart
to survive, and dead were less and less
dead. This is where everyone has equally
inhaled bitter cruelty
of one flower, one place and time.
*
I recite your night to my day
music of your being as a constellation
to the distant shapes into unknown shapes
that follow their stars of black fire.
In the ground your dream changed my words
shiny outside, lost on the inside.
In the ground your dream evaporates
sounding depths of crystal and the world.
Too long is the path from one
to another word, for Your song without any words.
*
Only he in the forest behind the grave, swan
has isolated himself in his death.
His bones have turned into gold.
His eyes are gone as scent in the wind.
He grew into shadow, but didn't want that from self.
The star that yet
couldn't pronounce his name in the deepest pit
happened.
But he didn't bury his gold;
he left his blood to glow
fell asleep between eyes and the Sun.
*
Dead heads before the empty landscape
are singing. Even deaf forests of the hill have
descended into day. He who called for their
only face from the ground, from the stone,
knows what the pain is. That's who sees
that on the other shore instead of the forest
noise grows, absence blooms
field sings shadow fragile birds
in the desert that empties Sun and makes
world similar to the oblivion.
*
They stayed in the mountains
where snow and Thought last.
There, flower is different
from its colours. There, view looks at itself. Oh,
time in the hills is mixed
with the last year's snow!
Many stayed at the lonely peaks:
some said "They're dead".
*
I wish that everything that I write
I re-write from the eyelids of your eyes
closed: Revolution in which
past suffers for it's lying hours
and one disease finishes History,
before all in the ground turns into lie
all except your skeletons,
for which the battle between the opinion and the hunger lasts
In the night with the starry brain
that changes words into shape.
*
Birds over nothingness and Sun with no sight -
It is their legacy. Words are
refusing to come back. I borrow
their thought and star above the grave
to my night enamored with their death,
with their marble scleras, into their grave
which despises gravediggers and refuses
to move from the world into afterlife,
where hunchbacked emptiness argues
with their nameless bones.
*
Before your blood in which stars fall
clean, loveless love, Sunless Sun,
as a fire with no flame under eyelashes,
instead of the lost word which has the rights
to all the stars in a being that wakes emptiness.
I am winged rose signed under the dawn,
says the Bird: put him to sleep
into landscape that ascends.
A blind man climbed the hill and wept:
how can I find them if they can't see me.
*
Ye rain long and endless
on the last day of the year! I sit
in my head, and write. While sky
is rehersing rainstorm, I'm thinking:
my eye and the picture that I look at
still aren't what I see.
Air splashed in blood. Only what we gave
we truly had.
Dead have reached themselves, while we last
in one detail whose meaning is unknown.
*
Music that had dripped out of our grateful fingers
as blood, may it stop winds and the birds
and may it be the beginning and the end
of the world which would have their name and our hands
here where history spoke out loud
here where they left their blood to glow
here where earth and water and air live off of their death
here where we call for their face from the stone
here where we recite their night to my day
here where from their forehead I transcribe my poem.
(translated by Aleksandra Milanović)
Note: Tjentiste is a small place in Bosnia and Herzegovina, located in the valley of Sutjeska river, where famous Battle of Sutjeska occurred.
* Battle of Sutjeska is also known as Case Black (German: Fall Schwarz).
Zelengora mountain, which is mentioned in Branko's poem "Requiem" is visible from here.
In the vicinity of Tjentište there is memorial complex "Valley of heroes" where in 1971. the crypt of fallen soldiers of the Fifth Enemy Offensive and the imposing monument (by Miodrag Zivkovic) was built. The memorial museum lists the names of more than 7,000 soldiers killed in the battle on Sutjeska.