TRANSLATED BY CAROLYN OWLETT HUNTER
FRAN MAŽURANIĆ
1859-1928
Born in Novi Vindolski, Croatia, March 26, 1859, died in Berlin, 1928. A man of restless and adventurous spirit, he changed professions and locations, which caused various rumors and legends in his native country. He first studied technology in Prague, but abandoned it to pursue a military career in which he achieved the rank of captain (1900). After the First World War he resided abroad until his death.
His book of prose poems is: LIŠĆE [Leaves].
ŠTO SAM MISLIO UMIRUĆI?
Čto ja budu dumat' togda, kogda mnje
pridetsja umirat' — jesli ja toljko budu
v sostojaniji togda dumat'?
— Turgenjev, Stihotvorenija v prozje
Bilo mi je osam godina, kad se je novljanska luka gradila.
U toj dobi znade većina primorske djece plivati, — ja još nisam znao.
Igrajuć se po luci, padnem u more. Potonem. — Voda me digne. Vidim na zidu, vrh sebe, djece. - - Pružam ruke, — Hoću da vičem, - - ne mogu! Gutam more, tonem - - Izgubljen sam!
Taj tren proletih sav svoj život. Svi grijesi mladanog vijeka došli mi na pamet: slador sam uzimao, brata tukao, lagao, na voću bio - - - Zadnja misao mi bijaše: "Idem u pakao!" — te se onesvijestih - -
Izvukoše me, — a čemu?
WHAT WAS I THINKING WHILE DYING?
Čto ja budu dunat' togda, kogda mnje
pridetsja umirat' — jesli ja toljko budu
v sostojaniji togda dumat'?
— Turgenjev, Stihotvorenija v prozje
I was eight years old when they built the port in Novi. At that age most children know how to swim — I didn't know how yet.
While playing about the harbor I fell into the sea. I sank. The water buoyed me up. I saw the children above me on the wall. — I extended my hands, — tried to shout, — I couldn't! I was swallowing sea water, — I was sinking, — I was lost! In that instant I flew through my entire life. All the sins of my young life appeared again before me: I was stealing sugar, I was beating my brother, I was lying, I was climbing the fruit tree — My last thought was: "I was descending into Hell!" — and I lost consciousness. They got me out — and for what?
MOJI SNI
Čudili se, što još hrvatski znadem, premda sam već toliko godina od kuće. — Pa kako to, da nisi zaboravio?
— A kako bili?! Ako i ne govorim hrvatski, to ipak hrvatski snivam, — a snivam vrlo testo ...
Bog zna, hoće li se ti moji hrvatski sni ikad obistiniti!?
MY DREAMS
They were surprised that I still know Croatian though now so many years absent from my native land. — How is it that you didn't forget?
— How could I? Though I don't converse in Croatian, yet I dream in Croatian, — and I dream very often ...
God knows whether these Croatian dreams will ever become reality.
Complete article: http://www.studiacroatica.org/jcs/28/2808.htm
Journal of Croatian Studies, XXVIII-XXIX, 1987-88 – Annual Review of the Croatian Academy of America, Inc. New York, N.Y., Electronic edition by Studia Croatica, by permission. All rights reserved by the Croatian Academy of America.
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