Ostrva
Ostrva Došlo je opet vreme da listam njegovu knjigu:
Već nagle kiše spiraju moja zimska osećanja
Kao pesak koji su vetrovi naneli na krovove,
A kada hodamo travom, nogavice nam otežaju od vode.
Da li je to neka stara groznica koju je februar
Zaboravio u mojim kostima? Ili lepet jedara
Iz nekog davnog sna? Hajdemo. Kaplje sa lišća,
I ljubavnici se smeju u napuštenim venjacima.
Koraci prolaze. More udara u bregove.
U gluvo doba, more se traži sa kamenom,
Mudrije posle kiše. Talasi nailaze
Na obalu. Žene se prevrću u posteljama.
Vetar sa ostrva. Kiša pada na pučini.
Mrak je. U luci, užad se taru o palube.
Posećuju li te ostrva još uvek u tvojim snovima?
Prozor je otvoren, i leto ulazi u sobu
Kroz tanku zavesu uspomena, uspomena.
[Iz knjige Sabrane pesme, Matica srpska, Beograd, 1996.]
Islands
Again the season comes for me to turn the pages of his book:
And sudden rains sweep away my feelings of winter
Like sand that wind has carried to the rooftops,
And walking through grass, trousers weighed down by water.
Can this be some old fever by February
Forgotten in my bones? Or flapping sails
Out of some long-gone dream. Come. Drops from the leaves
And lovers laughter in abandoned bowers.
Footsteps pass. The sea breaks against cliffs.
In the small hours and wiser after rain
Sea searches for stone. Waves roll up
Onto the seashore. Women turn in bed.
The wind is off the islands. Rain falls out at sea.
Darkness. In the harbour hawsers chafe the deck.
Do these islands still haunt you in your dreams?
The window is open, summer comes into the room
Traversing the flimsy curtain of memories, memories.
(Translated by Bernard Johnson)
Islands
The time has come again for me to flick through his book:
Already the sudden rains wash away my winter moods
Like the sand that the winds have swept onto the rooftops,
And when we walk on the grass, the breaks of our trousers are sodden.
Is that some old fever that February has
forgotten in my bones? Or the fluttering of sails
From some distant dream? Come. It's dripping from the leaves,
And lovers are laughing among the abandoned bowers.
Steps are passing. The sea beats against the hillocks.
In the dead of the night, the sea is sought with a stone,
Wiser after the rain. Waves run up
Against the shore. Women toss in their beds.
Wind from the island. It's raining on the high seas.
It is dark. In the harbour, ropes rub against the decks.
Do the islands still visit you in your dreams?
The window is open, and summer enters the room
Through the thin curtain of memories, a memory.
(Translated by Pavle Ninković)