Anna Terék

What seed of hell
is this black earth?
I searched for you, called out to you,
I crawled into your palm, Lord.
You closed it.
And I crack,
like a trapped spine.

Your absence settles into me,
one by one, the bones snap in my shoulders.
Something has broken in here,
I didn’t find the way,
and the blood pours
from my mouth.

Густа ми магла паднала море,
     густа ми магла паднала.
     На тој ми рамно Косово море,
     на тој ми рамно Косово!

I stand without you in the desert, Lord.
The villages are burning in the valley,
but you aren’t anywhere.
Heads and legs are smoldering,
and in the smoke, I search
for only you,
but see nothing,
my eyes wet,
my chest wet,
every tear
slipping off me.

 Ништа се живо не види море,
     ништа се живо не види.
     До једно дрво високо море,
     до једно дрво високо.

I set fire to every village,
but you still won’t show yourself.
I draw red lines
dragging cooling bodies,

but you still won’t move.
I stand on dry rock,
and see nothing.
I lie among white trees,
try to shed away
my skin,
so I will be raw flesh
before you, and the sun.

I don’t know which road
I took this far from home,
and where I should go
tomorrow.

Под њег’ ми седив терзије море,    
     под њег’ ми седив терзије.
     Oни ми шијев јелече море,
     они ми шијев јелече.

I whispered your name,
you soaked me with blood.

Slowly,
you sewed into my shirt
all the names of the people
whose necks I stood on.
I lie among white trees,
the spring pulls away my skin.
I am raw flesh before you, Lord,
could you cover me
with your great hands?

Колко су дзвезде на небо море,
     колко су дзвезде на небо.
     Толко су шарке на њега море,
     толко су шарке на њега.

Something has broken in here,
I didn’t find the way,
it crumbles under me.

 

 

Translation: Kristen Herbert

I’m wondering how far one’s desires
can be from another’s.
Aren’t you interested, mister?
You just laugh, oblivious
to the distance to Magadan.

What if we had gone
anyway?
I would be watching the ice,
you’d be watching the endlessness,
this is how we would be mirrored
in that flat-frozen
Siberia.
Isn’t it how we exist?
I’m stock-still
and you seem to be infinite.

We would step on the ice
of Lake Baikal
so that we could listen
how it cracks.

We could’ve lived
a much happier life,
no matter how short.
It’s the most
hideous thing,
isn’t it?
You can’t tear or flake
yourself off,
you’ll still be attached
to this rotting world.

You’d be holding my hand,
I would kiss your mouth.
We could’ve coped
quite happily
without the world
around.

It was a short while, I spent it
on running away from you,
waiting, looking back:
would you catch up?

Your long legs
are difficult to overcome.
So is, mister, to look into
your light eyes.
While you walk down the street,
you draw the shadows
behind you.
All of them.

See, eventually
I took to you.
I was fighting but to no avail.
True, you’ve seen war, much of it,
you are aware
how many moves
a capitulation must consist of.

One can be extremely smart,
a sharp word shot towards a good cause
always hulls.

And you fired upon me, mister.
A whole volley,
a cheerfully singing fire-squad
was hidden in your chest.
Now I’m wearing lacy holes.

Here we are,
on the shore of Lake Baikal,
on the way to Magadan.
You’re watching me, inviting me
to join you,
and I don’t dare step on the ice.
It’s almost whistling
while cracking under you.

The pain you have to carry
can earn you your real weight.

Everything could be crashed
if we both stepped
on the crackling ice of Lake Baikal
hand in hand.

For months, you didn’t give me time,
and now, with a smile, you ask me
to step on the ice, you’re waiting for me.
Well, waiting, not for an eternity,
but I should step, you don’t mind how slow.

I could’ve told you
how I fancied you:
I liked your blond beard, the way
you went grey, how lean you were.
And how odd, a light, thin
body can leave such deep traces.
Drops of rain add up
in your footprints.
See, there’s mud and puddles
here, in my chest.
They say, a path is trodden in us
by many people.

I know it’s a long way to Magadan.
I’m breathless already

Every dawn tries to break
my neck,
every night casts me off
and I keep skipping to avoid
the leaks of sharded time:
life is thin, even if we dance, mister,
finally every foot steps into ice-cold water,
and finds the way home.

I’m obstinate, watching you,
your face, your never-ending
laughter.
Hey, what’s the use of the heart
torn out of me?
What can you do with it at home?
Shred it with sharp knives?
Cut lacy holes in it
and put it in the window?
Or would it be lost
in the clutter of your searched-through flat
in-between scattered sheets of paper?

How beautiful. Right.
You know it’s fine like this.
At least an undetected piece of me
stays there
and accompanies you
wherever you go.

 

Translation: Agnes Marton