Razgovor sa Majkom Božijom

The Conversation with The God’s Mother

I

I met my deceased mother yesterday

On the God’s way, I stopped her for a moment,

She is just like she was, wrinkled, and always in a hurry.

There in front of the angels were some our saints as well.

This woman never sat down to rest a bit,

I told her with what kind of people I sit today,

And she retorted, I knew.

You ‘ll all go up there.

II

She is not there this morning,

But I talk with her even when she is not there.

I expected her to say to me,

Feed the Muses, meaning the goat,

And go play with the children.

It is yours to invent Serbia,

There is no one else to do it.

And I am going to plant the Bonjince plums,

In autumn the poets toiling abroad ‘ll come,

They are people

Who know how to eat the smoked meat.

To drink brandy,

And make children.

Who know that there is no life without women and brandy.

And in the spring begin both love and war.

III

I was just about to go,

And she appeared again.

Carrying two pails of water on a shoulder pole,

She’s bent almost in half under the pole,

To water the plum above the Mija’s head.

He was a man as well.

He liked the plum brandy,

And to climb

The fruitful tree.

IV

I mentioned the Patriarch has birthday today,

At that moment, midst on a holiday, something cracked,

Our talk got interrupted

Because of interference and noise in the connection.

Tomorrow I read in Internet,

American towers and our cities got demolished.

Neither of the both

Due to our guilt.

Since the beginning of time,

The guilt is always on someone else.

V

She still hasn’t found the kid,

The wag is somewhere on the coast of Timok,

Replacing the nightingales, singing their refrains to the girls.

She is piecing together another Miodrag from the thoughts

And on the threshold, on her right hand,

Gently as a pussycat, she spins his golden hair.

Now and then she lifts her gaze to the fire,

Not to let the stew boil over from the head,

Winding the black thoughts up

Around destiny.

VI

I am trying to thread the thought quietly,

But she won’t let me.

She says sternly,

Do not beat the children.

I asked contritely, and you,

Why did you beat us and pull our ears?

She locked the story scornfully,

You were not good

Like today’s children.

And it is not good when a complete peace takes over.

VII

Everything is shining, glistening,

I knew at once it was Her.

The hands black as soot,

Shining like the new shoes.

You can mirror yourself on them.

This is a wonder.

I am not silly, I see.

VIII

She begins each story in the morn

And finishes it before dawn.

She says,

Go learn mathematics, poetry and music now,

Football is nonsense,

That is not for the Serbian peasants,

This is played by the poor, who have no money for a violin.

The arithmetic is cheapest.

Begin with the multiplication table.

Remember how the Father commanded,

Go multiply yourselves.

IX

Women do not like drunk husbands,

Because of too many things done to them then,

That only appear to them that way.

So, try to stay sober sometimes.

Be wary,

There are all kinds of women.

Avoid men who boast a lot

And give wrong advice,

Persuading you to work only,

And that nothing gets born.

X

She told me everything He said,

We always feared God the Father

And there have always been reasons for that.

He didn’t come, except on holidays

And when the children had to be made.

The rest of time He spent with the Apostles.

They made bricks,

And they have begun to make the tiles as well.

We are going to move to the new house in autumn.

The Germans burned down the old one,

And the Americans the oldest one.

XI

Go to bed now,

Visit the vineyard tomorrow,

Milk the goat,

Take care she doesn’t burn out

(I cannot stand up now,

The thigh is pestering me),

Learn the arithmetic,

The violin, you can listen to it, as well.

And without the account, there is no love either,

Clear accounts, long love.

XII

The conversation has no end.

I tell her not to worry about accounts.

The times changed,

But in an old times manner,

I went to obey.

And I am going to pay the bills the next month,

Or when the God the Father comes from work abroad.

XIII

I am still not sitting at my computer, even,

And she begins the story.

She is telling me what and how to do

With brothers and relatives.

Let Matija tell you,

He wrote about it long time ago

And is still being read.

And if you are shy to ask Matija,

(It’s no shame not to know,

It’s a shame not to ask.)

The best, you ask him.

He is consorting with the Father,

These two are always in collusion.

And if you still won’t,

Ask Neša Senta from Čukurovac,

Let him play it for you to the ear.

He knows how.

He knows other dealings as well,

But that is not for this occasion.

And now I must go help the Father,

With these children he is making from the mud and ribs.

In the past he made gold from mud.

And now, well, the spring came.

It is not good when the green ones rule the Empire,

Still unripe for army and marriage.

Translated by Slobodan Cekić
  za Meju ♥