Hičkok / Hitchcock

Bosnian

U velikoj kući na selu čuo sam zvuk
tvoga auta, škripu guma što su
prelazile preko oštrog kamenja razrovanog puta.
Zadrhtao sam,
shvatajući da slušam neki drugi šum,
možda lepet ptice u zapletene u svome
perju za grane,
u čijim se smeđim očima pejsaž gubi;
možda pokret mačije šape u lišću
koja u tišini prisluškujući
ispušta crne kandže,
a možda zvuk ničega.

Kolima koja nisu postojala,
nastavila si da se približavaš,
prošla si pored prozora,
zatresla ih,
zakolutala zavjesu na kojoj su žuti
patuljci prašine počeli da plešu,
vrte se u zraku
i ljube.

Crvenom cipelom,
Koja nije imala oblik tvoje noge,
Izašla si iz kola i oštro udarila od
asfalt.
Dok si se približavala prema kući,
sve se umanjivalo.
Penjala si se uz kamene stepenice
zvukovima nesanice.
Kada si dohvatila željeznu šteku
moje sobe,
vatra iz kamina je
bljesnula.
Crna mačka se raspršila u odsjaje
svojih dlaka.
linije na foteljama su se širile,
gutale jedna drugu,
nadvisivale se nada mnom i davile me
kao zmije.
Likovi na uljanim slikama su se
kezili, hučali,
a ja sam se plašio
da mi ne kažeš neku nježnu riječ,
koja bi ugasila moć vatre.

English Translation

In the large house in the village I heard the sound
of your car, the squeal of tires
passing over the sharp rocks of the dug up road.
I shivered,
knowing that I was listening to another sound,
perhaps the flapping of the wings of a bird
caught in the branches,
as the landscape recedes in its brown eyes;
perhaps the movements of a cat’s paws in the leaves,
listening intently in silence,
extending its claws,
and perhaps it was the sound of nothingness.

In the non-existent car,
you kept coming closer,
you drove by the windows,
they shook,
the curtains billowed
making the yellow dust bunnies dance,
spin in the air
and kiss.

In a red shoe,
whose shape did not resemble your foot,
you stepped out of the car and sharply struck
the asphalt.
As you approached the house,
everything diminished.
You went up the stone steps
shedding sounds of insomnia.
As you reached for the iron door handle
to my room,
from within the furnace,
flames flashed forth.
The black cat dissipated into the reflections
of its fur.
The lines on the armchairs widened,
swallowing one another,
towering over me and strangling me
like snakes.
The oil portraits
grinned and roared,
and I was afraid
you would say a gentle word
that would extinguish the power of the fire.

Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com

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