Vesna Marić

Translated by Vesna Marić

1. Aubergine / Patlidžan

   

   

   ENGHRV

   You know, this is where I’m from now

   mother told me while watching the half of the garden

   that was full of the aubergines she’d grown

   with too much care, like children, on a small plot of land

   she’d bought with hard-earned money

   dug up laboriously left-to-right, upwards

   as if knitting a vest

    

   The other half still has soil that needs digging

   and it seems that with each wielding of the spade

   she increases the distance between the village of her childhood

   and this yard in which we stand

   as if each step forward is a new void

   but that, also, each new void is a reason to move on

   In each hole she plants a memory

   of long buried faces

    

   Over there no longer exists

   Although you’d only gone to visit maybe twice in your life

   and I have already been here a year longer

   than I had spent in -

   and she pauses before saying

   that I was born in the times of ethnic cleansing

   but that there had been nothing clean

    

   in the hospital where I first appeared

   • miraculously alive -

   while the splayed flesh of my mother was surrounded by dying

   soldiers and civilians

    

   • her flesh - and that I was born in a bed

   in which no woman should ever give birth

   and no child ever meet the world

   that such hospitalisation cannot be called a service

   but a crime against humanity

    

   She lightly raised her elbow

   to wipe the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand

   and to stop digging

    

   We got into the car in silence

   After several hours we saw the border police

    

   She still doesn’t like them

    

   Just like the last time I saw her

   granny wears a worn-out gray dress

   and a wide smile

    

   She stands at the gate, squinting

    

   She’s made potato pie for us

    

   Although she has remembered nothing for years now

   granny can still perfectly recall my mother’s face

    

   You haven’t changed at all, daughter

   She says, and reaching out her hand

   strokes my cheek

   Translated by Vesna Marić

   Znaš, sad sam odavde

   rekla mi je majka gledajući u polovicu vrta

   ispunjenu patlidžanima koje je uzgojila

   pretjerano brižno, kao djecu, na malom kvadratu zemlje

   koju je kupila teško zarađenim novcem

   teškim radom preorala lijevo-desno, prema gore

   kao pletenje veste

    

   Na drugoj polovici još ima zemlje za kopanje

   i čini se da svakim zamahom motike

   povećava udaljenost između sela u kojem je odrasla

   i ovog dvorišta u kojem stojimo

   kao da je svaki korak naprijed nova praznina

   ali i svaka nova praznina razlog da se krene dalje

   U svaku od rupa sadi sjećanje

   na davno zakopana lica

    

   Tamo više ne postoji 

   Ionako si otišla možda dvaput u životu

   a ja sam ovdje već godinu dana duže

   nego što sam bila u –

   i onda zastane prije nego što kaže

   da sam rođena za vrijeme etničkog čišćenja

   ali da nije bilo ničega čistog

    

   u bolnici u kojoj sam se prvi put pojavila

   – začudo živa –

   dok su oko prostrtog mesa moje majke umirali

   vojnici i civili

    

   – njezinog mesa – i da sam rođena u krevetu

   u kakvom nijedna žena ne bi trebala rađati

   i nijedno dijete prvi put ugledati svijet

   da se takva hospitalizacija ne može zvati uslugom

   nego zločinom protiv čovječnosti

    

   Lagano je podigla lakat

   da nadlanicom obriše znoj sa čela

   i prestane kopati

    

   U tišini smo ušle u auto

   Nakon nekoliko sati vidjele graničnu policiju

    

   I dalje ih ne voli

    

   Kao i prošli put kad sam je vidjela

   baka ima iznošenu sivu haljinu

   i širok osmijeh

    

   Stoji na kapiji, škilji

    

   Napravila nam je krompirušu

    

   Iako se već godinama gotovo ničeg ne sjeća

   baka i dalje savršeno pamti lice moje majke

    

   Nisi se nimalo promijenila, kćeri

   Kaže, ispruži ruku

   i podraga mi obraz

2. On the way to the shop / Na putu do trgovine

   

   

   ENGHRV

   In a country where few speak your language

   everyone speaks louder than you

   everyone is more visible, more protected

   hidden by numerousness

   on the way to the tea shop you feel much too noticeable

   The movements of your knees reflect your lack of friends

    

   Your gait is stiff, too strict

   and although everyone is extremely kind

   they don’t dig into your flesh out of the goodness of their hearts

   they talk amongst themselves not to bother you

   they say good day and goodbye

    

   Still, you feel like a pair of metal compasses

   whose sharp shiny needle point stabs the concrete

   metre after metre

   As you walk from the flat to the shop, from the shop to the flat

   you leave behind a vanishing circle of your presence, a language

   of mutual incomprehension;

    

   when you’re buying tea from the friendly shopkeeper

   it is you, rather than the dried leaves, that is on display

    

   Returning from the shop you begin to resemble them

   Aimless, you are an eye that envelops

   and does not reveal

    

   Out of love for yourself you don’t question how you feel

   just like out of your love for animals

   you eat herbs planted by another’s children

   who will never be able to afford the food they grow

   you buy cashew nuts in a plastic bag

   whose production melts women’s identity off their fingertips

    

   But those are some other women, somewhere far away

   women whose sisters live in towns that topple onto their heads

   legal slave women

    

   You have chosen your own hard times

   Bought your good times with them

    

   The streets are full of small shops

   Each shop has many woven baskets

   each woven basket holds a small personal defeat

   You walk blonde, blue-eyed

   because your skin is sun tanned

   it is lovely to see you in every street

    

   If they speak to you in that language

   you shrug under your hat

    

   They could say that they love you or curse you

   and you wouldn’t know the difference

    

   this ignorance is your small personal victory   

   Translated by Vesna Marić

   U zemlji u kojoj malo tko govori tvojim jezikom

   svi govore glasnije od tebe

   svi su vidljiviji, zaštićeniji

   skriveni brojnošću

   na putu do trgovine čaja osjećaš se pretjerano uočljivom

   Pokreti tvojih koljena odražavaju tvoj nedostatak prijatelja

    

   Hodaš ukočeno, pretjerano strogo

   i iako su svi iznimno ljubazni
   zbog dobrote srca ne zadiru ti u meso

   pričaju među sobom da ti ne smetaju

   svode se na dobar dan i doviđenja

    

   Svejedno, osjećaš se kao metalni šestar

   oštra igla čiji se sjajni vrh zabada u beton

   metar po metar

   Dok hodaš od stana do trgovine, trgovine do stana

   za tobom ostaje izbrisiva kružnica tvog prisustva, jezika

   međusobnog nerazumijevanja;

    

   kad od dobrohotnog trgovca kupuješ čaj

   ti si, a ne suho lišće, izložena iza stakla

    

   Na povratku iz trgovine postaješ im sličnija

   Bez cilja pred sobom, oko si koje obuhvaća

   i ne izriče

    

   Iz ljubavi prema sebi ne pitaš se kako si

   kao što iz ljubavi prema životinjama

   jedeš biljke koje su posadila nečija djeca

   koja nikad neće moći priuštiti hranu koju sade

   kupuješ u plastičnoj vrećici indijske oraščiće

   čija proizvodnja topi ženama s prstiju identitet

    

   Ali to su neke druge žene, negdje daleko

   žene čijim se sestrama ruše gradovi na glave

   legalne robinje

    

   Ti si svoje teške dane sama odabrala

   Kupila si njima svoje sretne dane

    

   Ulice su pune malih trgovina 

   U svakoj je trgovini puno pletenih košara

   u svakoj je pletenoj košari mali osobni poraz

   Hodaš plave kose, plavih očiju

   zbog kože preplanule od sunca

   lijepo te je vidjeti na svakoj ulici

    

   Kažu li ti nešto na tom jeziku

   sliježeš ramenima ispod šešira

    

   Mogli su ti reći da te vole ili ti opsovati mater

   a ti ne bi znala koje je

    

   to je neznanje tvoja mala osobna pobjeda