Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Dorta Jagić

Vertigo

on the first day of our training
you swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.  
I told you to stop. it was too high.  
and three more years of shouting.  
stop. wait. I’m getting sick.  
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,  
hungry for disasters, and for them you were  
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.  
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.  
I could fall.  
and I, by pure chance,  
did not look up anyway.  
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.  
but when extinguished  
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers’ cold store.

Vertigo

Vertigo

odmah prvog dana treninga
pod nogama su nam zanjihao trapez za dva astronauta.
rekla sam stani. previsoko je.
pa još tri godine vikanja.
stani. čekaj. hvata me mučnina.
zapiljila se znatiželjna svjetina odozdo,
gladna nesreće, a ti si joj
svakoga jutra držao litanije o fizici i zvijezdama.
u jutra kad bi povraćao teški svadbeni veo
molio si me da ni slučajno ne pogledam dolje.
da ne padnem.
a ja, sasvim slučajno,
nikad nisam ni dizala pogled.
dovikao si im o meni kao o svojoj najsjajnijoj zvijezdi,
ali zvijezde kad se ugase
završe na podu mesarske hladnjače.
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Vertigo

on the first day of our training
you swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.  
I told you to stop. it was too high.  
and three more years of shouting.  
stop. wait. I’m getting sick.  
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,  
hungry for disasters, and for them you were  
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.  
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.  
I could fall.  
and I, by pure chance,  
did not look up anyway.  
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.  
but when extinguished  
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers’ cold store.

Vertigo

on the first day of our training
you swung the trapeze for two astronauts under our feet.  
I told you to stop. it was too high.  
and three more years of shouting.  
stop. wait. I’m getting sick.  
underneath the inquisitive crowd was staring,  
hungry for disasters, and for them you were  
delivering litanies about physics and stars every morning.  
in the mornings when you vomited the heavy wedding veil
you begged me not to look down ever.  
I could fall.  
and I, by pure chance,  
did not look up anyway.  
you shouted to them that I was your brightest star.  
but when extinguished  
the stars end up on the floor of a butchers’ cold store.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère