IN A TWILIGHT SUBURB Croatia
IN A TWILIGHT SUBURB
I was listening to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
While the faces of those present
Were swallowed by tobacco smoke
They would show me the door,
Toss me into the street,
From the mountain into a cave,
Promise warm lodging, pleasures,
Insult me, steal my breath away.
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
While the faces of those present
Were swallowed by tobacco smoke
They would show me the door,
Toss me into the street,
From the mountain into a cave,
Promise warm lodging, pleasures,
Insult me, steal my breath away.
How do you get out of your neighbour’s cupboard?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
I was listening, I say, to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Years later, the tramp’s words
And the policeman’s words, love scenes
And scenes of violence settled
In the rose of the evening
Which feeds me,
Which I cannot escape.
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Years later, the tramp’s words
And the policeman’s words, love scenes
And scenes of violence settled
In the rose of the evening
Which feeds me,
Which I cannot escape.
How do you get out of your neighbour’s cupboard?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
Who lost their innocence after a pasty?
How do you earn one hundred thousand nothings?
Where is Božo?
A life for the General!?
Well, I have only one story now
Which has overtaken me entirely.
No longer can I pluck the petals, forget the face of the man
Giving a speech outside the inn windows.
Each night the rose repeats to me:
This world is a spider’s web
Into which you weave yourself
As soon as you stop fearing the spider.
Although it existed before you,
You think you were the one that began to weave it.
Which has overtaken me entirely.
No longer can I pluck the petals, forget the face of the man
Giving a speech outside the inn windows.
Each night the rose repeats to me:
This world is a spider’s web
Into which you weave yourself
As soon as you stop fearing the spider.
Although it existed before you,
You think you were the one that began to weave it.
Yes. I listened long to fierce sad stories
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Now they are my horizon and my border.
And native land, which I bear with me
Into the heart of the city like an identity card.
If anyone there asks me who I am
I shall tell him without hesitation
In a twilight suburb, stories
Drowned in tics and alcohol.
Now they are my horizon and my border.
And native land, which I bear with me
Into the heart of the city like an identity card.
If anyone there asks me who I am
I shall tell him without hesitation
How to get out of your neighbour’s cupboard
Who lost their innocence after a pasty
How to earn one hundred thousand nothings
Where Božo is . . .
Who lost their innocence after a pasty
How to earn one hundred thousand nothings
Where Božo is . . .
© 2006, Krešimir Bagic
© Translation: 2007, Kim Burton
© Translation: 2007, Kim Burton
Poem of the Week:
http://international.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=9707
http://international.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=9707
