Fedru
Федрy
И ово још хоћу да знаш, драги мој Федре: живели смо
У временима сасвим очајним. Од трагедије
Правили смо комедију, од комедије трагедију;
А оно право: озбиљност, мера, мудра узвишеност,
Узвишена мудрост, увек нам је измицало. Били смо
Негде на ничијој земљи, ни ми сами,
Ни неко други; увек тек за корак-два удаљени
Од оног што јесмо, оног што је требало бити.
О драги мој Федре, док будеш шетао
Са врлим душама, по острву блажених,
Спомени понекад и наше име:
Нека се његов звук распростре звонким ваздухом,
Нека бар пође ка небу које никад не достиже,
Нека нам се бар у вашем разговору душе одморе.
To Phaedrus
And this, too, I want you to know, my dear Phaedrus: we lived
In times quite desperate. Out of tragedy
We made comedy, out of comedy tragedy;
And the real thing: sobriety, measure, wise sublimity,
Sublime wisdom, always evaded us. We were
Somewhere on no man’s lad, neither ourselves,
Nor someone else; always just a step or two away
From what we are, what should have been.
Oh, my dear Phaedrus, while you are walking
With virtuous souls, on the island of the blessed,
Mention our name, too, sometimes:
Let its sound spread out through the resonant air,
Let it at least try to reach the sky that it never touches,
Let our souls have rest leastways in your conversation.
(translated by Gavrilo Došen)
To Phaedrus
This, too, I want you to know, my dear Phaedrus,
We lived in hopeless times. Out of tragedy
We made comedy, out of comedy, tragedy.
But the true seriousness, measures, wise exaltation,
And exalted wisdom always eluded us. We were
On no man’s land, neither being ourselves
Nor being someone else, but always a step or two
Removed from what we are and what ought to be.
O my dear Phaedrus, while you stroll
With noble souls on the island of the blessed,
Recall at times our name too.
Let its sound resound in the resonant air.
Let it ascend toward the heaven it could never reach,
So that in your conversation, at last our souls may find peace.
(translated by Charles Simic)
To Phaedrus
And this too you should know, dear Phaedrus.
We have lived in desperate times, making
Of tragedy comedy, of comedy tragedy.
But the real thing: seriousness, measure, wise nobility,
Ennobling wisdom, always eluded us. We have been
in some uncertain land, neither ourselves,
Nor someone else; always a step or two away
From what we are, what we should be.
Oh, dear Phaedrus, when you walk
With virtuous souls upon the Island of the Blessed
Mention our names at times amongst your talk:
Let their sound spread along the vibrant air,
Upwards towards the sky they never reach,
To find at least within your speech their rest.
(Translated by Bernard Johnson)