blue vitriol

by Evelina Rudan


blue vitriol

traces of blue vitriol on the wall

trying to convince me this is where the wine-growers live

that this is the authentic grape-growing land

and those fans of cornelian cherries have no business here

but I am stubborn and insist on explaining

those cornelian cherries are fascinating in their own way

to start with, they change from the green and light red colour to a dark one

resembling blood among the still green leaves

then they have the shape of a shrunk spaceship

not to mention the fact they could be worn as earrings,

indulged, in the form of cornel juice and jam

enjoyed as a landscape

painted by a great Flemish painter who, once upon a time, visited Italy

or by any other great painter -

shouldn’t that be enough for a doubt

or faith even,

but no -

wine-growers wouldn’t have anybody praising cornelian cherries

their colour, juice, shape or landscape painting

for wine-growers they know all about wine being food

and a song, about wine being served

by a young woman from the Cetin or Andalusian region

or by some other young woman treading out grapes

dark red juice dying her calves and knees

for genuine wine is intensively dark

dark as the Moon eaten by vampires

in this land with traces of blue vitriol on the wall

© translated by Hana Dada Banak

modra galica

tračak modre galice na zidu

uvjerava me da ovdje žive vinogradari

da je to prava vinogradarska zemlja

i da ljubitelji drenjina nemaju tu što tražiti,

ali ja sam uporna i htjela bih objasniti

da i drenjine imaju svoje čari:

ona promjena od zelene, svjetlocrvene do tamne

poput krvi među još zelenim lišćem

pa oblik umanjenog svemirskog broda

pa upotrebna vrijednost naušnice npr.

k tome sok, marmelada ili pejzaž

na slici flamanskog majstora koji je posjetio Italiju

ili bilo kojeg drugog majstora,

zar to nije dovoljno barem za sumnju

ako ne za vjeru,

ali ne,

vinogradarima nitko neće hvaliti drenjine

ni boju im, ni sok, ni oblik, ni sliku,

vinogradari znaju sve o vinu koje je hrana

o vinu koje je pjesma, o vinu koje se toči

još od mlade cetinjanke ili andalužanke

ili neke druge mlade koja tiješti grožđe nogama

i pritom joj tamni sok boji listove i koljena

jer pravo je vino samo crno

crno poput mjeseca koje su pojeli vukodlaci

u toj zemlji s tračkom modre galice na zidu

© Evelina Rudan