Pesma Beogradu
Pesma Beogradu
Beograde grade Ilira i Kelta,
balkanski i slavenski grade mili,
širokogrudi građanine sveta,
živi i svakoj se odupiri sili.
Ti si naš Mesep i naš Singidunum,
naš Ptuj i Prespa, Trogir, i
drevni Ras;
slobodari sveta u te se kunu-
Korejac daleki, sused Arbanas.
Otvorio si svakom širom vrata,
a srca ost'o još nesagledana,
pradavna bravo sa sedam pečata
u senci kula, lipa i platana.
Dočekaj starost reka i planeta,
planine, njive, stepe i savane,
širokogrudi građanine sveta,
pesniče borbe, grade partizane,
Ti gnezdo julskih i martovskih buna,
ognjište puno varnica i rana,
ćud imaš ognjenog boga Peruna
a srce kao u Strahinjića-Bana.
Brzometka si večno ti zapeta,
i mač povazdan budan i oprezan,
što planu čim ko, ma na kraju sveta,
nasrne narod kom na čast i dan,
Beograde lepi, brdoviti,lisni
Beograde prisni i nedokučivi,
i kad ljudi na Mars stignu,živi
stražari, čikaj, pod zvezdama kisni.
Dočekaj starost reka i planeta,
planine, njive, stepe i savane,
širokogrudi građanine sveta,
pesniče borbe, grade partizane.
1969
Poem to Beograd
Beograd, municipality of Illyrians and Celts,
Balkan’s and Slavic metropolis, dear and close
you, generous citizen of the world
live long and all violence oppose.
You are our Messep, our Singidunum,
our Ptuj and Prespa, Trogir and ancient Ras;
the world’s freedom-lovers swear by your name
faraway Korean as the Albanian neighbor, all the same.
You readily open your wide gates
while your heart stays still concealed,
you, ancient padlock with seven seals
in the shade of towers, poplars and linden trees.
Live long to the age of rivers and planets,
mountain, field, savannah and grassland,
living citizen of the earth, overflowing with elan,
poet of freedom, our city—partisan.
You are the nest of July and March upheavals,
a hearth filled with sparks and injury marks,
your temper like in the fiery god Perun
and heart like in Strahinich Ban.
Permanently cocked, a rapid rifle
a sword forever awake and alert
igniting instantly when no matter where
someone’s freedom and honor is hurt.
Beautiful White City, hilly and lushly green
Beograd so close yet unforeseen
and when the live men arrive to Mars
be their guard, showered by stars.
Live long the age of rivers and planets
mountain, field, savannah and grassland,
generous resident of the globe,
poet of freedom filled with élan, our city—partisan.
1969
(Translated by Dr. Mirjana N. Radovanov-Mataric, Copyright ©)