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.