Poem
Marija Kneževic
THE GLIDER
As if they’re moving in deep secrecy,Like smugglers sure that no one sees them,
Clouds are quickly sailing through the night sky.
They trust in the wind’s strong drive, in clearings,
City lights, the people sleeping,
But their whiteness gives them away.
Like white paper, clouds are fields of dreams,
A childhood not a phase but a condition.
So would this one who races through the darkness
Of the substrate just at dawn, naïve, convinced
That he’s invisible, it could have been you,
A glider in your youth, always a flyer,
I think to myself a bit, I smile—here, at last
You’ve gained the ease of reading updrafts.
You also loved all that’s terrestrial
In the sense of riverbanks and seashores,
The severe and lovely majesty of mountains,
You loved cities and long drives over the plain,
Friends for whom you would have reached into fire
If you knew they were friends, often recklessly, not at all
Given to disappointment longer than the flight
Of a bird or ball someone has passed.
You loved, for you knew how to love.
When the hand of one child
Found a lasting refuge in your hand,
You declared a paradise on earth.
Always without a plan, left to intuition,
You rightly chose innocence
From among offers that looked more profitable.
You didn’t see the wounds that the jaws
Of the underground had written on you. You sent them,
Unwittingly, by the surest path into non-being.
You slipped past maws accustomed for centuries
That no one would question their sovereign might.
For you had eyes full of curiosity:
That hunger would fill several earthly lives.
There was no time for ruminating
On the power of ignoring, on power at all.
Time was flying,
You loved that flight as well
For you knew how to love.
So touching when you wondered at yourself,
A boy in an old man’s body, when just
As unsated by life, of course without a plan,
You heard the words come out of you:
“I’ve gotten tired, my dear.”
© Translation: 2020, Sibelan Forrester
JEDRILIČAR
JEDRILIČAR
Kao da to čine u dubokoj tajnosti,Poput švercera uvereni da ih niko ne vidi,
Oblaci prilično brzo plove noćnim nebom.
Uzdaju se u jak pogon vetra, u pustoline,
Gradska svetla, u spavače,
Ali odaje ih belina.
Kao beli papir, oblaci su polja mašte,
Detinjstvo koje nije period, već stanje.
Te bi tako ovaj jedan što juri po tami
Podloge pred zoru, naivan, ubeđen
Da je nevidljiv, mogao biti ti,
Jedriličar u mladosti, letač zauvek,
Pomišljam, smešim se – eto si se napokon
Domogao lakoće čitanja vazdušnih struja.
Voleo si ti i sve zemno
U smislu rečnih i morskih obala,
Surove i veličanstvene lepote gorja,
Voleo si gradove i duge vožnje ravnicom,
Prijatelje za koje bi ruku u vatru stavio
Da su ti prijatelji, često olako, nimalo
Sklon razočaranju dužem od preleta
Ptice ili lopte u dodavanju.
Voleo si jer si umeo da voliš.
A kada je ruka jednog deteta
Našla trajno utočište u tvojoj ruci,
Proglasio si raj na zemlji.
Nikada sa planom, prepušten intuiciji,
Ispravno si odabrao nevinost
Među naizgled unosnijim ponudama.
Nisi video rane koje su po tebi ispisivale
Čeljusti podzemlja. Najsigurnijim putem
Slao si ih, nenamerno, u nepostojanje.
Zbunio si ralje vekovima navikle da niko
Ne dovodi u pitanje njihovu suverenu moć.
Jer ti si imao oči pune radoznalosti,
Ta glad bi ispunila više zemnih života.
Nije bilo vremena za razmišljanje
O moći ignorisanja, o moći uopšte.
Vreme je letelo,
Voleo si i taj let
Jer si umeo da voliš.
Tako dirljiv kada si se čudio sebi,
Dečaku u telu starca, kada si jednako
Nezasit života, naravno bez plana,
Čuo da iz tebe izlaze reči:
,,Umorio sam se, sine.’’
© 2020, Marija Knežević
Poems
Poems of Marija Kneževic
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THE GLIDER
As if they’re moving in deep secrecy,Like smugglers sure that no one sees them,
Clouds are quickly sailing through the night sky.
They trust in the wind’s strong drive, in clearings,
City lights, the people sleeping,
But their whiteness gives them away.
Like white paper, clouds are fields of dreams,
A childhood not a phase but a condition.
So would this one who races through the darkness
Of the substrate just at dawn, naïve, convinced
That he’s invisible, it could have been you,
A glider in your youth, always a flyer,
I think to myself a bit, I smile—here, at last
You’ve gained the ease of reading updrafts.
You also loved all that’s terrestrial
In the sense of riverbanks and seashores,
The severe and lovely majesty of mountains,
You loved cities and long drives over the plain,
Friends for whom you would have reached into fire
If you knew they were friends, often recklessly, not at all
Given to disappointment longer than the flight
Of a bird or ball someone has passed.
You loved, for you knew how to love.
When the hand of one child
Found a lasting refuge in your hand,
You declared a paradise on earth.
Always without a plan, left to intuition,
You rightly chose innocence
From among offers that looked more profitable.
You didn’t see the wounds that the jaws
Of the underground had written on you. You sent them,
Unwittingly, by the surest path into non-being.
You slipped past maws accustomed for centuries
That no one would question their sovereign might.
For you had eyes full of curiosity:
That hunger would fill several earthly lives.
There was no time for ruminating
On the power of ignoring, on power at all.
Time was flying,
You loved that flight as well
For you knew how to love.
So touching when you wondered at yourself,
A boy in an old man’s body, when just
As unsated by life, of course without a plan,
You heard the words come out of you:
“I’ve gotten tired, my dear.”
© 2020, Sibelan Forrester
THE GLIDER
As if they’re moving in deep secrecy,Like smugglers sure that no one sees them,
Clouds are quickly sailing through the night sky.
They trust in the wind’s strong drive, in clearings,
City lights, the people sleeping,
But their whiteness gives them away.
Like white paper, clouds are fields of dreams,
A childhood not a phase but a condition.
So would this one who races through the darkness
Of the substrate just at dawn, naïve, convinced
That he’s invisible, it could have been you,
A glider in your youth, always a flyer,
I think to myself a bit, I smile—here, at last
You’ve gained the ease of reading updrafts.
You also loved all that’s terrestrial
In the sense of riverbanks and seashores,
The severe and lovely majesty of mountains,
You loved cities and long drives over the plain,
Friends for whom you would have reached into fire
If you knew they were friends, often recklessly, not at all
Given to disappointment longer than the flight
Of a bird or ball someone has passed.
You loved, for you knew how to love.
When the hand of one child
Found a lasting refuge in your hand,
You declared a paradise on earth.
Always without a plan, left to intuition,
You rightly chose innocence
From among offers that looked more profitable.
You didn’t see the wounds that the jaws
Of the underground had written on you. You sent them,
Unwittingly, by the surest path into non-being.
You slipped past maws accustomed for centuries
That no one would question their sovereign might.
For you had eyes full of curiosity:
That hunger would fill several earthly lives.
There was no time for ruminating
On the power of ignoring, on power at all.
Time was flying,
You loved that flight as well
For you knew how to love.
So touching when you wondered at yourself,
A boy in an old man’s body, when just
As unsated by life, of course without a plan,
You heard the words come out of you:
“I’ve gotten tired, my dear.”
© 2020, Sibelan Forrester
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