Antun Soljan - Poetry in Croatian and English - JCS 21

ANTUN ŠOLJAN

Born 1932

Born in Belgrade to Croatian parents, lives in Zagreb. His books of poetry are:

NA RUBU SVIJETA [On the Edge of the World] 1954, IZVAN FOKUSA [Out of Focus] 1957, GARTLIC ZA ČAS KRATITI [A Little Garden to Pass the Time] 1965, GAZELA [The Gazelle] 1970, IZABRANE PJESME 1950-1975 [Selected Poems, 1950-1975] 1976, ČITANJE OVIDIJEVIH METAMORFOZA I RUSTICHELLO [Reading of Ovid's Metamorphoses and Rustichello] 1977.

ŠEZDESET I TREĆE IZNAD GROBNIČKOG POLJA	IN THE YEAR SIXTY-THREE OVER GROBNIK FIELD[1]
Kad bih ja imao polje Možda bi vrijedilo živjeti zato polje Možda bi nam svima bilo bolje Meni i ženi i djeći, brojnim rodjacima, Orali bismo, jasno, i od svoje volje Osuli ovaj pejsaž kućnim odžacima (Dim se naše žrtve već u nebo diže)	If I had a field Perhaps this field would be worth living for Perhaps things would be better for all of us For me, my wife, my children, and for the numerous kin We would plow, of course, and by our own choice We would cover this landscape with chimneys. (Our offering's smoke is already rising into the sky)
Kad bih imao brod Možda bi vrijedilo živ jeti za taj brod Ovjenčan mrežama morem krstariti Na njemu živjeti na njemu stariti i ostavivši ga djeci osnovati rod Neustrašivih pomoraca vikinga argonauta Pretopit se polako u vjetar, sol i jod (Barko, moja barko, što te more njiše)	If I had a boat Perhaps this boat would be worth living for Garlanded with nets to cruise the sea To live on it and to grow old And bequeathing it to the children to found a lineage Of intrepid navigators vikings argonauts To merge slowly into the wind, salt, and iodine (Barge, my barge, rocked by the sea)
U nedostatku polja ili broda Možda bi dobro došlo imati kakvoga boga Možda nam ne bi trebala nikakva druga droga Možda bi vrijedilo ustati s maćem kakvu zemlju osvojiti I s cijelim svojim plemenom u usrdnoj molitvi Na koljena pasti usred razbojišta (Patrijarh, sijed i svečan, stoji sa zlatnim križem)	Having neither a field nor a boat Perhaps it would be welcome to have some kind of god Perhaps we wouldn't need any other drug Perhaps it would be worthwhile to conquer some country by sword And with our entire clan in devout prayer To fall down on our knees in the middle of the battlefield (The Patriarch, greyhaired and solemn, standing with the golden cross)
Ovako, nakon trideset godina, ne imajući ništa, ako i jest za me kakav brod, ukleto mu kormilo ako i jest gdje kakvo polje, ono je Grobničko.	Yet, after thirty years, owning nothing, Even if for me there were a boat, cursed would be its rudder Even if for me there were a field, it would be Grobnik Field.

GARTLIC ZA ČAS KRATITI[2]	THE PLEASURE GARDEN
1. U JEDNOSTAVNU CVIJETU…	1. IN A SIMPLE FLOWER ...
U jednostavnu cvijetu, što sa grane pada Videći mnogo više, ixgubio sam cvijet. Tako u vrtu oca svog nastradah; Njegovoj otev se sljepoći--ja sam slijep.	In a simple flower which falls from a branch Seeing much more, I lost the flower. So in my father's garden l have become lost; Getting rid of his blindness —I have become blind myself.
Vrt je mog oca potpuno zarobio, Nagradiv ga ropstvom, Ito ga je uzgojio. A ja, slobodnjak, mozgaš, što sam dobio U očevu vrtu videć kozmogoniju?	The garden made my father its prisoner, And bondage was the reward for his cultivation. And I, a free man, wonder what was my gain To observe cosmogony in my father's garden?
Kao klesar koji sažme kamen U gustu kocku smisla — gdje kamena nema. Izgubio sam glinu, cvijet i stablo, sadržane U vrtnoj geometriji, u tom kvadratu sjena.	As a stonecutter who cuts the stone Into a sensible block-where there was no stone, I lost the clay, the flower, and the tree, In the horticultural geometry, this shaded square.
U glini vidim mnoga lica, još puna života, Što poredana leže ispod ruža; Ko i moj otac slijep, ko i moj otac Ja njihove sam okatosti sužanj.	I see in the clay many faces still full of life, Lying under the roses in a row; Blind like my father, like my father I am the prisoner of their large eyes.
Prsti moga djeda u vinovoj lozi, Oči moje ljubavi u nebu, u nebu ... Zar nema pustinje, gdje bih mogo živjeti Bez prividjenja, o vlastitu hljebu?	My grandfather's fingers are in the vines, My love's eyes are in the sky, in the sky... Is there no desert where I could live Without visions, and by my own bread?
Bogatstvo vrta hrani moje siromaštvo, Svijet jednostavnih stvari sav ovisi o meni. Kako se dolazi do tog, kakvom obratnom maltom, Da ruža ne bude smrt, ni glina spomenik?	The garden's richness feeds my poverty, A world of simple things still depends on me. How can one make, by what inverted fantasy, The rose not be a death nor the clay a monument?

2. I IZ NAJDUBLJEG SNA...	2. AND FROM DEEPEST SLEEP...
I iz najdubljeg sna kad se prenem Pred sobom vidim: plam se poljem pruža. Budjenje moje novo je rodjenje, A oko mene — vječno bdijenje ruža.	And from the deepest dream when I awake I see in front of me: A flame extending across the field. My awakening is a new birth, And around me there is an eternal vigil of roses.
Ko kratkotrajni leptir ronim odmah U razbuktan cvat, Ito je za me koban, I rufe rilce mog pogleda do dna, Kroz kanibalsku ružu do mog groba.	Like a shortlived butterfly I promptly plunge Into the glowing bloom so fatal to me, And the feeler of my glance probes downward toward the ground, Through the cannibalic rose straight to my grave.
Iz privremene smrti, što je snivah U grudi blata, kamenu i hrastu, Iz one zemlje, gdje mrtav počivah, Te žustre ruže klijaju i rastu.	From the temporary death of which I just dreamed In the bosom of the mud, in the stone, on the oak tree, From that earth where I rested dead, The sprightly roses now germinate and grow.
Pridružujem se burnom ružičnjaku Samo na časak, da bi grob smerdechi Mogo izabrat. Po posebnu znaku Izabrat ružu, pod koju ću leći.	I associate myself with the garden of blowing roses For a moment only, in order to choose My stinking[3] tomb, and particularly To choose the rose under which I shall rest.
I ono, što će mrtvo tijelo moje U rujnoj ruži stvorit, dajuć joj ljepotu, Možda će biti i ljepše i bolje Od sveg što sačini moj duh u životu.	And what will my body, dead, be able To contribute to the rose's beauty? Perhaps it will be better, will be lovelier Than all that my spirit created in this life.

3. KAD TVOJI PRSTI...	3. WHEN YOUR FINGERS ...
Kad tvoji prsti smrtonosni udju U bokorje mog vrta, ljubaznice, Svaki put, gospo, kad ubereš ružu Pomičeš vijenac, otkrivaš mi lice.	When your lethal fingers Enter the shrubbery of my garden, mistress, Whenever you pluck a rose, my lady, You shift my wreath, you unveil my face.
Moja je glava, gospo, izmed ovih ruža, Ukrasna vrtna kugla, lažan kristal: Zrcáli se u njoj i ti—svjetlost tudja Daje joj livot, čini je da blista.	For under these roses, mistress, my head has become A gardener's ornamental ball, a false crystal: Let yourself be mirrored in it—the alien light Gives it a new life and a novel glow.
Dok ogledaš u njoj ljupko svoje lice, I vlasno trgaš ruže, gospo razrnažena. Ne zaboravi na me, koji ležim nice, Lešina ispod ruža, sva tebi namijenjena.	While it reflects your lovely face, And haughtily you pluck the roses, my spoiled lady, Do not forget me who rests under here, Beneath the rose, a corpse completely yours.
Sve što sam bio i sve što sam dao U torn je grobu, gospo, zabavi se njime — Strpljiv ga je vrtlar za se iskopao, Da u tvom buketu kratkotrajno sine.	All that I was and all I gave Is now in this tomb; amuse yourself, my lady— For it was dug out by a patient gardener, To blaze forth suddenly in your bouquet.
Blaguj za trpezom ovom, kojom te podvorih, Životom svojim bilo mi ju platiti — Od svoga djela i groba ti stvorih, Sudbino moja, gartlic za čas kratiti	Dine with joy at this table where I am serving you, Because for this meal with my life I paid— From my works and from this grave I built for you, My destiny, a little pleasure garden.

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[1] In the original Grobničko polje (Graveyard of Grobnik, Grobnik Field), a village and community in Croatia where in 1242 the Croats victoriously fought against the invading Genghis Khan's Mongolian army.

[2] The title, "Gartlic za čas kratiti," is the title of a collection of poems by Fran Krsto Frankopan (1643-1671), a Croatian nobleman, poet, soldier, and martyr.

[3] In the original smerdechi, in old Croatian orthography, as it is used in. Frankopan's poem. The reference to stinking tomb is made because of the author's coming death on the scaffold.