Milutin Bojić(1892 - 1917)

Plava grobnica

Stojte, galije carske! Sputajte krme
moćne!
Gazite tihim hodom!
Opelo gordo držim u doba jeze
noćne
Nad ovom svetom vodom.

Tu na dnu, gde školjke san umoran
hvata
I na mrtve alge tresetnica pada,
Leži groblje hrabrih, leži brat do
brata,
Prometeji nade, apostoli jada.

Zar ne osećate kako more mili,
Da ne ruši večni pokoj palih četa?
Iz dubokog jaza mirni dremež čili,
A umornim letom zrak meseca šeta.

To je hram tajanstva i grobnica tužna
Za ogromnog mrca, k'o naš um beskrajna.
Tiha kao ponoć vrh ostrvlja južna,
Mračna kao savest, hladna i očajna.

Zar ne osećate iz modrih dubina
Da pobožnost raste vrh voda prosuta
I vazduhom igra čudna pitomina?
To velika duša pokojnika luta

Stojte, galije carske! Na grobu braće
moje
Zavite crnim trube.
Stražari u svečanom opelo nek otpoje
Tu, gde se vali ljube!
Jer proći će mnoga stoleća, k'o pena
Što prolazi morem i umre bez znaka,
I doći će nova i velika smena,
Da dom sjaja stvara na gomili raka.

Ali ovo groblje, gde je pogrebena
ogromna i strašna tajna epopeje,
Kolevka će biti bajke za vremena,
Gde će duh da traži svoje korifeje.
Sahranjeni tu su nekadašnji venci
I prolazna radost celog jednog roda,
Zato grob taj leži u talasa senci
Izmeđ nedra zemlje i nebesnog svoda.

Stojte, galije carske! Buktinje nek
utrnu,
Veslanje umre hujno,
A kad opelo svršim, klizite u noć
crnu
pobožno i nečujno.

Jer hoću da vlada beskrajna tišina
I da mrtvi čuju huk borbene lave,
Kako vrućim ključem krv penuša njina
U deci što klikću pod okriljem slave.

Jer, tamo daleko, poprište se zari
Ovom istom krvlju što ovde počiva:
Ovde iznad oca pokoj gospodari,
Tamo iznad sina povesnica biva.

Zato hoću mira, da opelo služim
bez reči, bez suza i uzdaha mekih,
Da miris tamjana i dah praha združim
Uz tutnjavu muklu doboša dalekih.

Stojte, galije carske! U ime svesne
pošte
Klizite tihim hodom.
Opelo držim, kakvo ne vide nebo jošte
Nad ovom svetom vodom!

Blessed morning

Blessed morning, you cascade
Roaring lightfalls in this room.
How can pain make me afraid,
Dead already, in my tomb?

Well, perhaps you can ignite
Buried sparks from ash and dust
Since the lilac and the light
Still swell longing in your breast.

When I lift your veil, you show
Lines of quiet, forms of grace
In shelves of books, row on row –
Then the whole room’s careworn face.

Yet, there’s something still I miss
From this crib without a cross,
A smile on darling lips, the kiss
Of flowers in a waterglass.

Blessed morning, while you dress
This room in your translucent robe,
I have no fear of death’s caress.
Only give love back to this Job.

Translated by Richard Burns and Daša Marić

Daily Lament

How hard it is not to be strong,
How hard it is to be alone,
And to be old, yet to be young!

And to be weak, and powerless,
Alone, with no one anywhere,
Dissatisfied, and desperate.

And trudge bleak highways endlessly,
And to be trampled in the mud,
With no star shining in the sky.

Without your star of destiny
To play its twinklings on your crib
With rainbows and false prophecies.

– Oh God, oh God, remember all
The glittering fair promises
With which you have afflicted me.

Oh God, oh God, remember all
The great loves, the great victories,
The wreaths of laurel and the gifts.

And know you have a son who walks
The weary valleys of the world
Among sharp thorns, and rocks and stones,

Through unkindness and unconcern,
With his feet bloodied under him,
And with his heart an open wound.

His bones are full of weariness,
His soul is ill at ease and sad,
And he's neglected and alone,

And sisterless, and brotherless,
and fatherless, and motherless,
With no one dear, and no close friend,

And he has no-one anywhere
Except thorn twigs to pierce his heart
And fire blazing from his palms.

Lonely and utterly alone
Under the hemmed in vault of blue,
On dark horizons of high seas.

Whom can he tell his troubles to
When no-one’s there to hear hues call,
not even brother wanderers.

Oh God, you sear your burning word
Too hugely through this narrow throat
And throttle it inside my cry.

And utterance is a burning stake,
Though I must yell it out, I must,
Or, like a kindled log, burn out.

Just let me be a bonfire on
A hill, just one breath in the fire,
If not a scream hurled from the roofs.

Oh God, let it be over with,
This miserable wandering
Under a vault as deaf as stone.

Because I crave a powerful word,
Because I crave an answering voice,
Someone to love, or holy death.

For bitter is the wormwood wreath
And deadly dark the poison cup,
So burn me, blazing summer noon.

For I am sick of being weak,
And sick of being all alone
(seeing I could be hale and strong)

And seeing that I could be loved),
But I am sick, sickest of all
To be so old, yet still be young!

Translated by Richard Burns and Daša Marić

Tonight, my forehead gleams
And sweat drips in each eye;
My thoughts blaze through dreams,
Tonight, of beauty I shall die.

The soul´s core is pure passion, deep
In the pit of night, a blazing cone.
Hush, weep in silence. Let us weep
And let us die. We´ll die alone.

Uspavajte se gde ste zatečeni
Po svetu dobri, gorki, zaneseni,
Vi ruke po travi, vi usta u seni,
Vi zakrvavljeni i vi zaljubljeni,

Zarastite u plav san kameni
Vi živi, vi sutra ubijeni,
Vi crne vode u beličastoj peni
I mostovi nad prazno izvijeni,

Zaustavi se biljko i ne veni:
Uspavajte se, ko kamen, nevini,
Uspavajte se tužni, umoreni.

Poslednja ptico: mom liku se okreni
Izgovori tiho ovo ime
I onda se u vazduhu skameni.