Spherelike village

by Ana Brnardić


Spherelike village

We were spending our summer holiday in a village where sage, human fingers

And Cats’ tails were growing out of the walls.

Underneath the windows fish were lined up.

Moonlight was dripping down from them onto the heads of wanderers,

Onto the stone plaques. 

Here comes the Sun again! Poppy petals trepidate behind the hill, the sky was

Drying out turning back into a stone plague, the enigma resolved by the old.

Around noon, when heads pop up open from heat,

Sun sinks into the sea, the Sun that now can actually be looked at.

We climb the cliff.

Below are the ant-people, breadcrumb-people.

Wealthy tourists like botanic specimens, supple blades

Of Reason.

Here comes the evening again! The village gathered into a sphere.

The blades bent down, sucked into the invisible mouths of houses.

We crumble the dry crumbs of the evening uncertainty,

Because there is no Sun or Moon, every trace of life

Has been carried over to the other hemisphere.

© translated by Damir Šodan

Selo-kugla

Ljetovali smo u selu u kojem iz zidova niče kadulja,

ljudski prsti, vinova loza i mačji repovi.

Ribe su nanizane pod prozorima.

Sa njih kapa mjesečeva svjetlost na glave onih koji blude,

na kamene ploče.

Evo iznova sunca! Latice maka trepere iza brda, nebo se suši,

opet postaje kamena ploča, enigma koju rješavaju stâri.

Oko podneva, kad se od usijanja rastvore glave,

sunce pada u more, sunce u koje se sada može gledati.

Penjemo se na klisuru.

Dolje ljudi-mravci, ljudi-krušne mrvice.

Imućni turisti kao botanički izlošci, gibljive vlati

razuma.

Evo iznova večeri! Selo se skupilo u kuglu.

Trave se povile, usukale u nevidljiva usta kuća.

Drobimo suhe mrvice večernje neizvjesnosti,

jer nema ni sunca ni mjeseca, svaki trag života

prenesen je na drugu polutku

© Ana Brnardić