№ 16

sećam se

portobello road

gde sam te prvi put dotakao

da ti skrenem pažnju

na jednu lepu fasadu

prolaznici

beže od kiše

a prodavci voća

zatvaraju tezge

sećam se

crkvene porte

gde smo slušali

najtopliju tišinu

sećam se

gledam te dok spavaš

usana nekako napućenih

dišeš duboko

osluškujem

čaršav

preko tvojih bokova

nežno

ocrtava

interesantno

ne mogu da se setim

kakve su ti bile

obrve

sećam se

drvoreda

što seče vinograd

vetar duva uporno

polako hodamo

držiš ruku

u džepu mog kaputa

razmišljam

dok te još nisam upoznao

zvuči glupo

ali

stvarno mi je nešto nedostajalo

sećam se

tvojih pisama

blaßblauefrauenschrift

koja si ostavljala svakog jutra na jastuku

dok još spavam

sećam se

kako strpljivo čekaš

dok ja stojim

ispred tri moneove slike

potom

gledam te kako plešeš

uz muziku

sama

naše duge šetnje

po ulicama oko covent gardena

sećam se

u vozu

spavamo isprepleteni

putujemo

naša mala soba

za bogate turiste

iznad café de la paix

preskupo ali ti si tako želela

trg

puno ljudi

sećam se

jedne ploče

što svira iznova

i iznova

(tom waits, closing time, mislim)

sećam se

držim te za ruku

jer si uplašena

onda

restorančić kojem sam zaboravio ime

ali bih ga i danas

zatvorenih očiju

pronašao

ćutimo

satima

uz bocu vina

dođavola takvo ćutanje je ružno

a ovu knjigu

sam kupio one subote

čekajući da završiš kod frizera

ulice su bile vlažne

od noćne kiše

ili su to bili perači ulica

rano jutro

još uvek malo prohladno

posle smo zajedno

otišli na kafu

pa je nismo popili

jer smo malo vikali

jedno na drugo

pa nam je nakon toga

bilo neprijatno

sećam se

zalivaš cveće

pevušiš

da bi bolje raslo

crvenih obraza

posle posla

ispijaš konjak „na eks“

bunim se

hej

imaj poštovanja

to je dobro piće

sećam se

proleća u grčkoj

kad si me treznila

sirćetom i maslinovim uljem

odvratno

tako su te posavetovale

susetke

tako one muče

svoje muževe

a onda leto

izgoreli od sunca

dahćemo u sobi

s velikim vlažnim peškirom

preko nas

šapatom: slušaj

prosto zuji koliko vruće

uveče

sedimo na terasi

uz hladni chenin blanc

tad smo ga otkrili

posmatram tvoj profil

skidaš cipelu

da istreseš pesak s plaže

a tvoja noga

mala

bože kakvo je to stopalo

sećam se

svađaš se sa konobarom

jer mi je doneo pogrešno piće

ne ono koje sam naručio

vodimo ljubav

uz uključen televizor

ljubavni film

učim te svoj jezik

govoreći poeziju naglas

vidim

sediš na ivici kade

dok se brijem

utrljavaš neku kremu

na lice

podloga za šminku

tako nešto

skupljaš opalo lišće po dvorištu

samo lepe primerke

još uvek se desi da poneki list

ispadne iz knjige koju nisam davno

uzimao u ruke

sećam se

izlaziš u drugu sobu

da telefoniraš

a ja se pravim da čitam novine

berzanske izveštaje

bože mi oprosti, kako sam bio...

sećam se

našeg psa

skoro štene

kojeg smo svakog jutra pronalazili na krevetu

između nas

sećam se

kad si prvi put otišla

gledao sam kroz prozor

na praznu ulicu

noć

i plakat za kaubojski film

prekoputa

radijatori u sobi hladni

bojler u kupatilu

šišti

i tvoje oči

koje sam video čim zatvorim svoje

sećam se

mirisa tvoje odeće

koju si zaboravila u ormaru

jedne velike kartonske kutije

pune fotografija

bože šta li sam uradio s njom

u kojoj su li se selidbi

izgubile

sećam se

i mirnih večeri

ti slikaš

ja pišem

ili čitam

sedeći u beržeri

sećam se

cveća koje je stizalo

svakog jutra

kasnije otužno mirisalo

po čitavom stanu

možda je trebalo da pitam

ko ga šalje

možda

noćni zvukovi

tvoje disanje

a ispod prozora

pijanci pevaju

prigušeno

sećam se

odlaziš

„negde“

a ja te požurujem

da ne zakasniš

pravim se da ne znam

onda

iz bolnice se vraćaš sama

sa plavim

tamnoplavim

kolutovima ispod očiju

trebalo je nešto reći

znam

dok me nema

spakuješ svoje kofere

torbe

nesesere

ponešto je moralo da se stavi

čak i u pletenu korpu za pijacu

sećam se

ćutiš dok te pitam

sećam se

ćutim

nakon tvog ćutanja

gledam kroz prozor

čujem kako ostavljaš svoj ključ na kuhinjskom stolu

otvaraš vrata stana

sećam se

kako te udaram u lice

ta ruka će celog života praviti isti pokret

a ti plačeš

unapred 

I remember

portobello road

where I first touched you

to draw your attention

to a beautiful façade

the passers-by

were running from the rain

the fruit-sellers

closing their stalls

I remember

the church portal

where we listened to

the warmth of silence

I remember

watching you sleep

with your lips puckered

and listening

to your deep breathing

I remember the sheet

over your hips

in a tender

outline

interesting

I can’t remember

what your eyebrows were like

I remember

the row of trees

which cut through the vineyard

the persistent wind

and the way we walked slowly

with your hand

in the pocket of my coat

Listen

this may sound corny

but before I met you

there was really something missing

I remember

your letters

blaßblaufrauenschrift

which you left on the pillow every morning

while I was still asleep

I remember

how you waited patiently

for me to finish

looking at three paintings by monet

and remember

watching you dance

to music

all alone

and our long walks

in the streets around the covent garden

I remember us

in a train

tangled together, sleeping

as we travelled

or our little room

for rich tourists

above the café de la paix

too expensive but that’s what you wanted

the square

was teeming with people

I remember

the record that played

on and on

over and over again

(tom waits, closing time, I think)

I remember

holding your hand

when you were afraid

I remember

the restaurant with the name I’ve forgotten

but which I could

still find

with my eyes closed

and our silence

stretching for hours

to a bottle of wine

hell, that was an ugly silence

and this is the book

I bought that saturday

when I waited for you to finish at the hairdresser’s

the streets were moist

with last night’s rain

or the street washers’ efforts

it was early morning

still a bit nippy

and we went

to have coffee together

but we didn’t have coffee

because we had to shout at each other a little first

so things felt awkward afterwards

I remember you

watering the flowers

singing to them quietly

so they would grow better

and how, cheeks flushed, after work,

you downed a tumbler of cognac

to which I objected

hey

have some respect

that’s good stuff

I remember

the spring in greece

when you sobered me up

with olive oil and vinegar

disgusting

you followed the advice

of the women in our neighbourhood

that’s how they tortured

their husbands

then came the summer

and the two of us, sunburnt,

lay prostrate in our room

with a big wet towel

across our backs

and we whispered: listen

the heat is so strong that it buzzes

at night

we sat on the terrace

nuzzling the cold chenin blanc

that’s when we discovered it

I look at your profile

as you take your shoe off

to shake out the beach sand

and at your foot

tiny

my god, what a foot that was

I remember

how you fought with the waiter

when he brought me the wrong drink

not the one I’d ordered

how we made love

with the TV on

a romantic movie blaring

I teach you my tongue

by rolling poetry off it

I see you

sitting on the edge of the bath

while I am shaving

you are massaging in face cream

the hydrating make-up base

whatever

I see you collecting dry leaves around the garden

only the beautiful ones;

they still fall out

from books long left unopened

I remember

when you went to another room

to make secret phone calls

I pretended to read the paper

the financial reports

god forgive me, I was so…

I remember

your dog

our puppy, rather

who came up to the bed every morning

and burrowed between us

I remember

the first time you left

I looked out of the window

into an empty street

into the night

there was a poster for a cowboy movie

across the road

the radiators were cold

the boiler in the bathroom

hissed

and

your eyes

were there as soon as I closed mine

I remember

the smell of your clothes

forgotten in the cupboard

a large cardboard box

full of photos

god, what did I do with them?

which one of my house moves

was the end of them?

I remember

quiet evenings

you painting

and me writing

or reading in the armchair

I remember

the flowers which kept arriving

each morning

suffusing the apartment

with their oppressive smell

perhaps I should have asked

who was sending them

perhaps

I remember the night sounds

your breathing

and the muffled song of the drunks

coming from below

I remember how,

when you were to go “somewhere”,

I hurried you along

so you wouldn’t be late

pretending to have no clue

and how you came back

from hospital alone

with blue

black

rings around your eyes

something needed saying

I know

as soon as I was away

you packed your suitcases

bags

toiletry bags

some of the things even spilled over

into the woven basket for the market

I remember

your silence in answer to my question

I remember

my silence in answer to your silence

I remember gazing through the window

and the sound of your key on the kitchen table

and the sound of the apartment door, opening

I remember

hitting you on the face

(all my life, my hand will follow

that trajectory)

and I remember you crying

well before impact 

(translated by Lilith Adams)