A Portray of the Black Poet with a Dog

by Dorta Jagić

A Portray of the Black Poet with a Dog

His face is brown, well healed scar

and his body wraps around far away cities

like a yearning ivy

blue and enchanted women wish to touch its root

with a poisonous nail,

to cut it or turn it to dust.

He runs, he doesn't sleep,

he writes about love, and rain, and revolutions

virtually fixed

like a timetable clock on the railway station

in Atlantis.


In a harbor tavern somewhere in the South of France

I noticed by chance bull's blood

dripping from his tongue on the pavement.

And I called him Hemingway,

but I could named him

The Snows of Kilimanjaro.    


His substance isn't from our time

and when he sits in a cafe in Mostar

covered with a floury waiting,

his fingers lengthen and turn into dukes' keys       

and his back grows into a field of tulips

calvados nectar

made in anarchistic monasteries

drips from his back

on beloved dog and tepid beds. 

Translated by Miloš Đuđević and Damir Šodan