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)