Ivan Rastegorac

IVAN RASTEGORAC (Priština, Srbija, 1940 – Beograd, Srbija, 2010)

poezija / poetry:

Pesme (Edicija Vidici, Beograd, 1965)

Drvo koje teče (Dom omladine Beograda, 1971)

Uveličavajuće staklo (Prosveta, Beograd, 1979)

Svetlosni oklop (Katedra grafike Fakulteta likovnih umetnosti, Beograd, 1982)

Licem prema istoku (koautor) (Književna omladina Timočke Krajine, Bor, 1989)

Ludo govedo (Zajednica književnika Pančeva, 1993)

Azbučna molitva (BIGZ, Beograd, 1995)

Nedelo (IRO Rad, Beograd, 2000)           

Glava (izbor pesama i prozaida) (Društvo Istočnik, Beograd, 2009)

ostale knjige / other books:

Univerzalni Breht (monografija, koautor) (Edicija Teatar poezije, Beograd, 1973)

Poezija i scena (zbornik teorijskih radova) (Edicija Teatar poezije, Beograd, 1974)

Čulo filma (tekstovi o filmskoj umetnosti, izbor Ranka Munitića) (Niški kulturni centar, Niš, 2010)                                                   

preveo / translated by: Novica Petrović

GLAVA

 Pogledajte je,

 sada je tako mirna, tako okrugla

 tako fino zuji pri svom okretanju, tako

 protivna svakom nagonu.

 Celokupnim svojim ustrojstvom,

    svojim okularima, svrsishodno

    raspoređenim slojevima kao i

    ušnim školjkama, ona radi na

    usavršavanju i emancipaciji

    svog dejstva.

 Nikakvih produciranja!

 To je glava oslobođena ili,

                                                ako hoćete,

  lišena srca i  udova,

  lišena mišića (što će reći

  nekih ustaljenih postupaka)

  a zatim nečeg što vas se ne tiče

                                                - ljubavnog ludila!

  Da, ona je na neki način izolovana;

                                             reklo bi se:

  to je velika usijana kugla.

  Ali tu je još uvek njena prošlost:

     bezbroj prizora, batrganja, sle-

     pila, strahova, besnila, mnoštvo

     poznanstava, blaženstava, tupljenja,

     gneva, religija, nešto knjiga,

     otprilike isto toliko filmova

                                                    i svega ostalog

 što čini da je to jedna glava

 krcata istinama, a pogotovu lažima.

 Ovo je njena velika šansa

  u uslovima telesnog odsustva;

  šta mislite, malo fantazije,

     malo onog dragocenog taloga

     isceđenog iz ništavila, po potrebi

     nadmoćnost držanja, javne ucene, malo

     pritiska iznutra, malo

     nadmoći prema svemu

i eto stanja trijumfa.                                 

HEAD

 Look at it,

 now it is so quiet, so round,

 so finely does it whir while turning, so

 contrary to any instincts.

 Through its entire structure,

    its eyepieces, the purposefully

    arranged layers and

    earlobes, it strives for

    the improvement and emancipation

    of its activity.

 No flaunting!

 That is a head freed from or,

                                      if you want,

  deprived of heart and limbs,

  deprived of muscles (that is to say,

  of some routine procedures)

  and also of something that does not concern you

                                                – of love madness!

  Yes, it is isolated in a way;

                                             one would say:

  it is a great flaming ball.

  But there is still its past:

     countless scenes, struggles, blind-

     nesses, fears, rabies, a multitude of

     acquaintances, blissfulness, twaddle,

     anger, religions, some books,

     approximately as many films

                                                  and everything else

 that makes it a head brimming over

 with truths, especially lies.

 This is its big chance

  in corporeal absence;

  what do you think, a bit of fantasy,

     a little of those precious dregs

     squeezed out of nothingness, if need be,

     superior posture, public blackmail, a bit of

     pressure from the inside, a bit of

     superiority over everything,

and there’s a state of triumph.                                  

TRČAĆU DOVEK

Trčaću,

trčaću dovek.

Trčaću

neprestano izbacujući iz sebe

čudesne oblike krikova.

Trčaću

ponad reči,

preko kilometarskih rečenica

suv i krt,

velik i jak,

lak i mek.

U počasnom krugu

nailaziću na svoje ostatke

na atletskoj stazi.

Najzad, leći ću  u krevet

na kome spavaju oči.

Spavaću.

Trčaću, trčaću.

Trajaću dovek.

I’LL RUN AS LONG AS I LIVE

I’ll run,

I’ll run as long as I live.

I’ll run

constantly forcing out of myself

wondrous forms of cries.

I’ll run

above words,

across mile-long sentences,

dry and brittle,

big and strong,

light and soft.

In the course of a victory lap

I’ll come across my own remains

on the racetrack.

Eventually, I’ll lie in bed

where eyes sleep.

I’ll sleep.

I’ll run, I’ll run.

I’ll last as long as I live.

VEČNO DOJENČE

Već dugo upozoravam

na ludilo papira;

već dugo kinjim sebe

vrškom pera.

Slikajte se

sa vašim grand-eksportima,

nosite se

sa vašim robnim kazamatima!

Nema sumnje, novac otkriva

nedostatak mašte.

Goleme samousluge

legu male glodare,

veliki orkestri

zakrčuju male barove.

Usahle reči,

u balama od stotinu tona,

stešnjuju prostor za disanje.

Reci šta god hoćeš,

ali oko,

to basnoslovno otkriće,

nevelika je sprava,

a um velikog kalibra

ne mora biti veći

od uma kolibrija.

Već dugo upozoravam

na ludilo papira;

već dugo kinjim sebe

vrškom pera.

Dakako, potrošač je

večno dojenče

koje plače

za svojom bočicom.

ETERNAL NURSLING

For a long time I’ve been warning

against the madness of paper;

for a long time I’ve been tormenting myself

with the tip of my pen.

Pose for photos

with your grand exports,

go to hell

with your consumer prisons!

No doubt, money reveals

a lack of imagination.

Immense supermarkets

breed tiny rodents,

big orchestras

fill small bars to capacity.

Withered words,

packed in bales weighing one hundred tons,

make breathing space cramped.

Say what you will,

but the eye,

that priceless discovery,

is a tiny device,

and a mind of great calibre

need not be larger

than that of a hummingbird.

For a long time I’ve been warning

against the madness of paper;

for a long time I’ve been tormenting myself

with the tip of my pen.

Naturally, a consumer is

an eternal nursling

crying for

his bottle.

RASKOL

Kad igraš, reci,

imaš li odvojene noge?

Kad sviraš na klaviru

i levom rukom

diraš dušu

a desnom

rušiš stene

da li ti se

napola

rascepi telo.

DIVISION

When you dance, pray tell,

are your legs divided?

When you play the piano,

touching the soul

with your left hand

and breaking rocks

with your right hand,

does your body

split

in two?

JA NOSIM SVETLOSNI OKLOP

Ja nosim svetlosni oklop;

začaran prolazim

ispod slapova vremena.

Ja svetlosni snop udevam,

prelamam u snu.

Poda mnom suva trava gori

i stare novine

pretvaraju se u večni plamen.

Omađijan prolazim

i dodirujem stvari.

Ja povezujem stvari

udaljene i tuđe.

Kroz svetlosni oklop

ne razaznajem udarce.

Samo ih

trpim.

I WEAR AN ARMOUR MADE OF LIGHT

I wear an armour made of light;

enchanted, I pass

under cascades of time.

I insert light beams,

breaking them in my sleep.

Dry grass burns under my feet,

as do old newspapers,

turning into eternal flame.

Enchanted, I pass

and touch things.

I connect things

distant and foreign.

Through the armour of light

I fail to register the blows I receive.

I merely

suffer them.

DEMON ANTARKTIKA

                                    Demon Antarktika

                                     demon je pesnika

                                                  (iz novina)

Demon Antarktika

hipnotički je beo,

ali je njegova magija

crna.

Staklena vuna kovrdža se

i budalasto pada.

U pravilnim naborima smetova

očvršćuju senke od ametista.

Smrt sporo presvlači

mnoštvo svojih velova.

Hromirani blesak avionskih krila

uvek najavljuje nekolicinu

u belo odevenih čudovišta.

Maskirani u polarna odela,

sa šapama-krpljama na nogama,

sporo se kreću jedan za drugim,

u potiljak,

‘’hodom gusaka’’.

Iz tranzistora stiže

glas-naredba:

‘’Drski putniče,

pristani na svirepost

i uspni se na Vrh užasa!‘’

Sa visine od 1.700 metara

otkriva se imperija

                                 od jedva prozirnog stakla;

masivni blokovi leda

ispunjavaju kalupe depresija.

Sunce je nalik sablasnoj zveri

koja pripada snu.

Monumentalna samoća,

gospodar i priviđenje,

potpuna je i čista.

Sećanje je ovde kristalno,

ali niotkuda dece

pored skromne vatre

da se teše pramenom dima,

iskrom u oku,

zurenjem u komad zaraženog drveta.

Sećanje je ovde mučenje

da se potopi santa leda,

ali niotkuda usijanog ljudskog krika.

Samo usamljene postaje,

retko nadletanje helikoptera

i vađenje dotrajalih hangara

zubarskim kleštima.

Dolazi još jedna „noć tri psa“ *

sa svojim pravilom

ubiti ili biti ubijen

što očas se okrene u još veće  zlo:

                         istrebiti ili biti istrebljen.

Od čitavog pribora za pisanje

ostale su samo

saonice sa psima.

   *Eskimska izreka za najhladnije polarne noći

THE DEMON OF ANTARCTICA

                                    The demon of Antarctica

                                    is a demon of poets

                                                  (from a newspaper)

The demon of Antarctica

is hypnotically white,

but his magic

is of the black variety.

Glass wool curls

and falls foolishly.

The regular-looking folds of snowdrift

solidify shades of amethyst.

Death slowly changes

its multitude of veils.

The chrome-plated sheen of aircraft wings

always announces several

monsters dressed in white.

Masked in polar overalls,

with paw-like snow-shoes on their feet,

they move slowly

in a single file,

walking like geese.

The transistor radio

emits a voice-order:

“Brazen traveller,

acquiesce to cruelty

and climb to the Peak of Horror!”

From a height of 1,700 metres,

an empire of barely transparent

                                                glass is revealed;

massive blocks of ice

fill the moulds of depressions.

The sun resembles a ghostly beast

belonging to the realm of dreams.

Monumental solitude,

master and apparition,

is total and pure.

Memory is crystalline here,

but next to the modest fire

there are no children

to console themselves

with a wisp of smoke,

sparkle in the eye,

staring at a piece of diseased wood.

Here, memory constitutes tortuous attempts

to sink an iceberg,

but a white-hot human scream is nowhere to be heard.

There are only solitary way stations,

infrequent helicopter flights overhead

and taking dilapidated hangars out

with dental pliers.

Another “three dog night”* is on the way

with its rule of

kill or be killed,

which, in no time at all, becomes an even greater evil:

                                    exterminate or be exterminated.

Of all the stationery

there only remain

dog-drawn sledges.

   *An Eskimo expression signifying the coldest of polar nights.

MONADE

Tema je teška, dostojna

                                      Lajbnica:

priroda koja se, bez zazora,

ustremljivala čoveku u oči

- iznenada se predala.

Reči, glas  ljudski

samo su ohlađeni deo

opšteg bola.

Sa svakim okretom žrvnja

postaneš jači.

Postaješ jači

što je noć crnja.

Fosili, brojevi, monade

- mnogo znanja zakopano je

duboko u pamćenju.

Pesnici skupljaju misterije;

čudesa tušta i tma.

Ptičice zoblju

odbačene stihove

i duše padaju u pakao

tako gusto

kao kad pada sneg.

Munja, koja je nekad

slobodno lutala svetom,

pripitomljena

kao konj, pas ili mačka

prede privezana za kućni prag.

MONADS

It is a weighty topic, worthy of

                                      Leibnitz:

nature that, without any qualms,

preyed at man eye to eye

– has surrendered all of a sudden.

Words, the human voice,

are merely the cooled-down part

of universal pain.

With each turn of the millstone

you become stronger.

The darker the night

the stronger you get.

Fossils, numbers, monads

– much knowledge is buried

deep in the memory.

Poets collect mysteries;

a host of miracles.

Little birds peck at

cast-off verses

and souls fall down to hell

as densely

as snow.

Lightning, which once

freely roamed the world,

domesticated

like a horse, dog or cat,

purrs tied to the threshold.

RASKOPČAVAJUĆI ODEĆU

Raskopčavajući odeću

naiđoh, nenadano, na srce -

malo, puno ožiljaka,

ali istrajno u damaranju.

Istetovirano kao mišica,

razgolićeno,

zatečeno u bludu,

stiskalo se i otvaralo kao pesnica

kao da se snažilo ljubavlju,

u ropcu.

Probijajući ledenu barijeru,

nedaleko od vulkana Erebusa

na zaleđenoj dubini od tri hiljade

                                                       metara,

Skotova polarna ekspedicija

naišla je na srce okeana,

hiljadugodišnju amforu

ispunjenu ljudskom krvlju.

UNBUTTONING MY CLOTHES

Unbuttoning my clothes,

unexpectedly I came across my heart –

smallish, full of scars,

but steadily pounding away.

Tattooed like a biceps,

bared,

caught in debauchery,

clenching and opening like a fist,

seeming to gain strength through love,

in its death rattle.

Breaking through the ice barrier,

near Mt Erebus volcano

in the frozen depths of three thousand

                                                       metres,

Scott’s polar expedition

came across the heart of the ocean,

a thousand-year old amphora

filled with human blood.

TO JE, DAKLE, ŽIVOT

Dovde da doploviš,

jedrila svoja da spustiš;

u pustom zimovniku

da pristaneš.

Srce da zakopaš u zemlju

i zaćutiš.

To je, dakle, život.

To je, dakle, život:

naopako da se krećeš

kroz zvezdani prostor,

sve bliži svom rođenju.

THAT, THEN, IS LIFE

To sail this far,

take down the sails;

anchor in the empty

winter harbour.

To bury your heart in the ground

and fall silent.

That, then, is life.

That, then, is life:

to move backward

through the starry void,

ever closer to your birth.

VELIKI EKRAN

Žreci su valjda gore,

jer u oblacima već drhte

plave munje.

Inače, nered je na nebu:

zvezde se otkidaju,

s pljuskom padaju u vodu.

Iza polarnih krajeva sviće,

kompas otkazuje poslušnost

(magnetna igla pravi gluposti!)

brod-priviđenje vuče za sobom

svetlost nadnaravne dužine.

Mornari ropću. U očajanju  

prizivaju priču o Isusu Navinu:

Isus naredi suncu da se zaustavi.

Nebo u ulozi velikog ekrana:

na njemu se ogledaju senke

slučajnih figura.

Originali svih slika

nalaze se negde daleko;

vazdušno prostranstvo leži

između originala i kopije.

Ogledala mora rastavljena

na slojeve različite gustine.

Žreci proveravaju ogledala

prinoseći ih grebenima:

grebeni postaju visoki talasi,

visoki talasi postaju grebeni.

Iza polarnih krajeva sviće.

Budimo se na dnu

vazdušnog okeana.

BIG SCREEN

The priests are presumably up there,

for blue bolts are already pulsating

in the clouds.

Otherwise, it is chaotic up there in the sky:

stars get torn off,

and fall down into water with a splash.

Dawn breaks beyond the polar regions,

the compass runs wild

(its magnetic needle acting foolishly!),

the ship-apparition drags behind

light of supernatural wavelength.

The sailors chafe. In despair,  

they invoke the story of Jesus Navin:

Jesus ordered the sun to stop.

The sky acting like a big screen:

shadows of accidental figures

are reflected in it.

The originals of all pictures

are somewhere far away;

aerial expanse lies

between the original and a copy.

Mirrors of the sea split

into layers of varying density.

The priests check the mirrors

holding them close to the rocks:

the rocks turn into high waves,

high waves become rocks.

It is dawning beyond the polar regions.

We awake at the bottom

of the aerial ocean.

UVELIČAVAJUĆE STAKLO

Za sve o čemu pokušavam da vam govorim postoji jedan aršin, jedna mera – to je 

č i o d a.

Ali sa kakvim se prećutkivanjem, sa kakvim nipodaštavanjem odnosi prema njoj velika većina! Pod mojim uveličavajućim staklom njen ubod raste,  produbljuje se, bol je trajnijeg karaktera, ubod čiode postaje pod mojom lupom – ubod noža.

Verujem da sva omalovažavanja dolaze od ljudi čija su tela suviše razređena. Za njih je čioda neznatna, jer im ne pričinjava nikakvih teškoća, ne zadaje im nikakvog bola. Moje je telo koncentrisano, rekao bih – prepunjeno. Svaki od tih tobože sitnih, ali veoma ljutih uboda, za mene je opaka zaraza, patnja, čitava eksplozija.

Ubod mača ili kakvog drugog dugog i veoma oštrog oružja, koje druge ubija u mukama, za mene je tek jedan potreban izliv, davanje oduška.

Moje uveličavajuće staklo tada je samo neupotrebljiva sprava, koja ne doseže dovoljno, koja ne sažima ono što se oko nje dešava.

MAGNIFYING GLASS

For everything that I’m trying to tell you there is one measure, one unit of measurement – that is a p i n.

But the majority of us fail to mention it at all, indeed, treat it with utter disdain! Under my magnifying glass, its pinprick increases, deepens, the pain is more durable, under my magnifying glass a pinprick becomes – a knife stab.

I believe that it is people whose bodies are too diffuse who are prone to such a disdainful attitude. To them, a pin is insignificant, for it causes them no difficulties, causes them no pain. My body is concentrated, I would say – overfilled. Each one of those seemingly tiny, but very poisonous pinpricks, is vile contagion, suffering, and an entire explosion.

A sword stab, or a stab coming from any other long and very sharp weapon, which causes others to die in great pain, is just a necessary outburst to me, giving vent to your feelings.

Then my magnifying glass is just a useless device, which doesn’t reach far enough, doesn’t condense that which happens around it.