Njegoš u Veneciji

Његош у Венецији

Насмешио се последњи пут.

У прозору се сјаше као запети лук,

као Месец у води, млад и жут,

Риалто.

Мирисаше болан своје беле руже

и гледаше како галебови круже,

тужни и бели, ко мисли на Ловћен,

и смрт.

Док ноћ пљушташе, читаше Омира,

црн и тежак, ко Ахилов,

што само крај мора нађе мира,

гроб.

Богови, на плећима са облацима тамним,

болови и мора са валима помамним,

пређоше по његовом белом лицу без трага.

Али, кад читаше о Бризеји, што се буди,

и отвара очи, пуне таме, у зори,

бол неизмеран паде му на груди.

Јер свему на свету беше утехе.

Свим мислима, за све јунаке, и грехе.

Али држећи му главу рукама обема,

сузно, умирући, помисли, болно,

да за очи невесте утехе нема.

Тада заплака у води звоно

Светог Марка.

Njegoš in Venice

He smiled for the last time. 

In the window shined

like a tense bow

like a moon in the water, young and yellow,

Rialto.

He smelled, painful, his white roses,

watched seagulls that circled

sad and white

as thoughts on Lovćen

and death.

While the night poured

he reads Homer

black and heavy

as Achilles’

which just by the sea finds a peace,

A tomb.

Gods, on the shoulders, with dark clouds,

The pain and the sea with wobbly waves

passed by his bleak face with no trace.

But when he read about Briseis

who wakes up,

and opens the eyes full of darkness in dawn,

immeasurable pain

fell on his chest.

Because

for all in the world there was consolation,

for all thoughts, heroes, sins,

but holding his head with both hands,

tearful,

dying,

he thinks,

painfully,

that for the eyes of the bride

there is no comfort.

Then wept in the water

the bell

of St. Mark.

1920 Written by Miloš Crnjanski 

Translated by Gordana Janjušević Leković (2018)