Poetry International Poetry International
Gedicht

Miroslav Mićanović

BONES

Summer starts
when deaf-mute Đurica
comes into the garden.
 
He speaks with his fingers:
a star, a somersault,
a handstand, salute
the sun.
 
Every morning he opens
a schoolbook of summer. Mute body
of text.
 
Joy was granted
on the threshold.
 
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
 
Emptiness fills up
pages between the lines.
Letters are signs for dead and
abandoned places.
 
If you ask mother:
is deaf-mute Đurica still alive?
she will answer black soil
cover his bones now.
 
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
 
Louder than words.
 
Then summer.
Then death.

KOSTI

KOSTI

Kada u vrt dođe
gluhonijemi Đurica,
započinje ljeto.
 
Govori prstima:
zvijezda, salto, stoj na
rukama, pozdrav
suncu.

Svako jutro otvori 
čitanku ljeta. Nijemo tijelo
teksta.
 
Radost je bila sigurna 
na pragu kuće.
 
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
 
Stranice između redaka
sada puni praznina.
Slova su znaci mrtvih i
napuštenih mjesta.
 
Majka na pitanje:
je li živ gluhonijemi Đurica?
kaže da njegove kosti 
pokriva crna zemlja.
 
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
 
Glasnije od riječi.
 
Od ljeta.
Od smrti.
Miroslav Mićanović

Miroslav Mićanović

(Kroatië, 1960)

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KOSTI

Kada u vrt dođe
gluhonijemi Đurica,
započinje ljeto.
 
Govori prstima:
zvijezda, salto, stoj na
rukama, pozdrav
suncu.

Svako jutro otvori 
čitanku ljeta. Nijemo tijelo
teksta.
 
Radost je bila sigurna 
na pragu kuće.
 
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
 
Stranice između redaka
sada puni praznina.
Slova su znaci mrtvih i
napuštenih mjesta.
 
Majka na pitanje:
je li živ gluhonijemi Đurica?
kaže da njegove kosti 
pokriva crna zemlja.
 
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
 
Glasnije od riječi.
 
Od ljeta.
Od smrti.

BONES

Summer starts
when deaf-mute Đurica
comes into the garden.
 
He speaks with his fingers:
a star, a somersault,
a handstand, salute
the sun.
 
Every morning he opens
a schoolbook of summer. Mute body
of text.
 
Joy was granted
on the threshold.
 
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
 
Emptiness fills up
pages between the lines.
Letters are signs for dead and
abandoned places.
 
If you ask mother:
is deaf-mute Đurica still alive?
she will answer black soil
cover his bones now.
 
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
 
Louder than words.
 
Then summer.
Then death.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère