Ne daj se, Ines.
Ne daj se godinama,
moja Ines, drugacijim pokretima i navikama,
jer jos ti je soba topla;
prijatan raspored i rijetki predmeti.
Imala si vise ukusa od mene.
Tvoja soba – divota – gazdarica ti je u bolnici.
Uvijek si se razlikovala
po boji papira svojih pisama, po poklonima,
pratila me slijedeceg jutra oko devet do stanice.
I rusi se zeleni autobus
tjeran jesenjim vjetrom, kao list,
niz jednu beogradsku padinu.
U vecernjem sam odijelu i
opkoljen pogledima.
Ne daj se, mladosti moja,
ne daj se, Ines.
Dugo je pripremano nase poznanstvo
i onda, slucajno, uz vrucu rakiju,
i sa svega nekoliko recenica lose prikrivena zelja.
Tvoj nacin gospodje i obrazi seljanke.
Prostakuso i plemkinjo moja!
Pa tvoje grudi, krevet,
i moja soba objesena u zraku kao naranca,
kao narancasta svjetiljka,
nad zelenom i modrom vodom Zagreba;
Proleterskih brigada 39, kod Grkovic.
Pokisla ulica od prozora dalje i sum predvecernjih
tramvaja.
Lijepi trenuci nostalgije, ljubavi i siromastva,
upotreba zajednicke kupaonice
i – molim vas ako me tko trazi…
Ne daj se, Ines – evo me,
ustajem tek da okrenem plocu.
Da li je to nepristojno u ovakvom casu,
Mozart, Requiem, Agnus Dei…?
Meni je ipak najdrazi pocetak.
Raspolazem s jos milion njeznih i bezobraznih
podataka nase mladosti,
koja nas pred vlastitim ocima vara i krade i napusta.
Ne daj se, Ines,
poderi pozivnicu, otkazi veceru,
prevari muza odlazeci da se pocesljas
u nekom boljem hotelu
Dodirni me ispod stola koljenom,
generacijo moja, ljubavnice.
Znam da ce biti jos mladosti, ali ne vise ovakve;
u prosjeku 1938a.
Ja necu imati s kim ostati mlad,
ako svi ostarite,
i ta ce mi mladost tesko pasti,
a bit ce ipak da ste vi u pravu,
jer ja sam sam na ovoj obali
koju ste napustili i predali bezvoljno,
a ponovno pocinje kisa kao sto vec kisi u listopadu
na otocima.
More od olova i nebo od borova.
Udaljeni glasovi koji se mijesaju:
glas majke, prijatelja, kceri, ljubavnice, broda, brata.
Na brzinu pokupljeno rublje pred kisu
i nestalo je svjetla s tom bjelinom.
Jos malo setnje uz more i gotovo.
Ne daj se, Ines.
**
Don't give up, Ines.
Don't give in to age,
my Ines, to different moves and habits,
Because your room is still warm;
Cozy setting and rarities.
You had better taste than me.
Your room – splendor – your landlady in the hospital.
You were always distinctive
by the colour of your letters, by the gifts,
She walked me, the next morning around nine, to the station.
And a green bus chased by autumn wind
Like a leaf, going down a Belgrade slope.
Wearing my evening suit
I am surrounded by stares.
Don't give up, my youth,
don't give up, Ines.
Our acquaintance was long due
and then, by chance, with hot schnapps
and with just a few lines, a wish badly hidden.
Your way is ladylike and your cheeks rustic.
My bumpkin and my gentlewoman!
Then your breasts, bed,
And my room hanging in the air like orange,
Like an orange lamp under the green and blue waters of Zagreb;
in Proleterskih brigada 39. beside Grkovich.
Wet street further from the window and evening trolleys
buzzing.
Beautiful moments of nostalgia, love and poverty,
Using communal bathroom
and – Please if someone asks about me…
Don't give up, Ines
Here I am getting up, only to turn the record over.
Is that rude in a moment like this,
Mozart, Requiem, Agnus Dei…?
I still prefer the beginning.
I have access to another million of hers
and naughty data from our youth
That, right there in front of our eyes, deceives us, and robs us, and leaves us.
Don't give up, Ines,
Tear up the invitation, cancel the dinner,
cheat on your husband on your way for a hairdo
in some better hotel
Touch me under the table with your knee,
My generation, lover.
I know that there will still be youths,
But not another one like this – on average 1938.
I won't have anyone to stay young
with if all of you get old,
And that youth will be difficult for me,
But in the end you must be right,
Because I am alone on this shore
that you've left and surrendered half-heartedly,
And the rain is starting again the way it rains in November
in the islands.
Lead sea and pine sky.
Distant voices in the mix:
Voice of a friend's, mother, daughter, lover, boat, brother.
Rapidly picked up clothes before the rain
And the light disappeared with the whiteness.
A bit more of walking by the sea and that's it.
Don't give up, Ines.
Arsen Dedic
(1938 – 2015)
