Tomica Bajsić
Nacido en 1968. en Zagreb, Croacia. Poeta, prosista y traductor.
Estudió en la Academia de Bellas Artes de Zagreb, Croacia. Editor de poesía traducido en Poezija / Poesía revista trimestral, Croacia y fundador de Druga Prica / Another Story publicación. Trabajó también en restauración, dibujo y diseño. Miembro de la Junta Croata del PEN.
Traducido a muchos idiomas. Autor de cuatro libros de poesía y dos libros de prosa. Traductor y editor de cuatro antologías de poesía internacionales. Dos veces galardonado con los más altos premios nacionales de poesía. Publicado en numerosas antologías y revistas literarias en el país y en el extranjero.
Publicaciones: Tomica Bajsić
-Južni križ( Southern Cross) poetry Goranovo proljeće 1998
-Pjesme svjetlosti i sjene (Songs of Light and Shadow) poetry AGM 2004
-Dva svijeta i još jedan (Two Worlds & One More) travel prose Naklada Ljevak 2007
-Ana i vila Velebita (Ana and the Velebit Fairy) drawings and story NP Velebit 2007
-Pobuna obješenih (Mutiny of the Hanged) poetry Fraktura 2008
-Zrak ispod mora (Air Beneath the Sea) poetry Biblioteka nagrade Dobriša Cesarić 2009
UN REMO PASÓ A TRAVÉS DEL AGUA EN UN GIRO DE AGUJAS HELADAS NEGRAS
Entré al cuarto y le encontré dormido, tan immóvil
Pensé que usted estaba muerto.
Todavía habría cosas que no podríamos manejar para decir el uno al otro
para igualar si vivimos doscientos años.
Traducido del croata por R.V. Branham y T. Warburton y Bajo
VESLO JE PROŠLO KROZ VODU U KOVITU CRNIH LEDENIH IGLICA
Ušao sam u sobu i našao te kako spavaš
tako nepomična da mi se učinilo kao da si mrtva.
Da živimo i dvjesto godina uvijek bi ostalo stvari
koje nismo stigli reći jedno drugom.
40º
Cruzando la calle,
vi una mariposa que caía en alguna parte entre mi y una señora
negra y gorda con sus manos llenas de bolsos plásticos.
Amarillo de limón, azul y negro suave:
me pregunté cómo tales colores en una mariposa muerta y entonces miré a
las copas de los árboles, las colinas de granito
y las nubes,
y tuve conciencia de que éste es el Nuevo Mundo.
Traducido del croata por R.V. Branham y T. Warburton y Bajo
40°
Prelazeći ulicu vidio sam kako je leptir pao negdje između mene i debele crnkinje s
rukama punim plastičnih vreća.
Limun žuta, plava i mekano crna:
mislio sam, otkud takve boje na mrtvom leptiru a onda sam pogledao gore u vrhove
drveća i granitna brda i oblake i sjetio se da je ovo novi svijet.
Eleven Thousand Meters above the Great Plains
Excerpt from “Antarctic,” in Poems of Light and Shadow
On the airplane Miss Love sits next to the window so that she can watch
the clouds, white clouds, dense and soft like spun sugar
those foamy clouds that are good only for walking
in a sleeveless T-shirt. Late in the afternoon
(the hour when her hair receives that golden hue)
the sun tends to beat hard up there
at those heights.
There is a man sitting next to her
Suspiciously observing her hands
Full of scratches and bruises.
Miss Love sits on the plane with her knees pressed tightly against each other
clutching a macrobiotic dinner in her lap while the items
she purchased nestle under her legs. There is a teddy bear-shaped rucksack
on her back where she keeps her wedding dress and the urn
with the ashes of her late husband, the well known singer
whose name she forgot.
He's been sitting there in that teddy-bear-shaped knapsack for quite some time now
Miss had burried a handful of his ashes
under the willow tree in her garden while she mixed the other two with clay
and made tiny saucers, and a handful of it was unfortunately
inadvertently blown away:
ending up in the ventilation system shaft.
As for the rest: Miss Love always carries it with herself on her journeys
keeping it close to her heart – like a talisman.
The Cunning Barber
I went for a haircut in Santa Teresa
To a barber to whom I'd not yet been
Before I sat in the chair
I said to him looking straight into his eyes:
I don't want one of those modern hairstyles.
No way,
Said he in a hurt voice, I would never,
I cut hair in the good old way.
While he was cutting my hair it seemed fine —
I looked at myself in the mirror
And it seemed to me that I saw Simon
Bolivar
Turning a bend
Up in the rocky peaks,
Riding into death
(El Liberador)
Wrapped in a blanket, incited by fever.
He has dropped to forty five kilos
But still does not give up.
Behind him seven mules carrying the luggage
With seventy medals of honour,
Next to him ride colonel Wilson and a handful of loyal
Desperadoes, vagabonds and soldiers of fortune;
Above them the eternal snow of the Andes and yellow bells,
And down in the depths were fields in which
A man could drown.
But when I came out I saw that on
The barber shop's front sign it said:
MODERN HAIR STYLES
And really, looking at my reflection in the glass
I realised that the old mule had tricked me,
Which was most upsetting.
Tito Apocrypha
Tito gnaws a pig's head in the attic
eyeing the street in fear that his parents might catch him
I don't give a damn / he thinks / I'll escape on my bicycle
Tito riding a tram in Vienna under cover
wearing his best grey suit thinking:
why should I be any worse than those students?
don't marry her
marry me
Tito riding over Mt Romanija
followed by old Nazor stumbling through the snow
Vladimir Vladimir / thinks Tito benevolently
Tito waving at the rows of kids from his Mercedes
red bandannas are tied around their necks like nooses / the Sun
will once grow dark / ponders Tito philosophically
Tito is elegant even in death
here are the mourners listed alphabetically:
bears rhinos lions / chess players
cineastes / circus acrobats / clerks
corn seller at work station no 7
Cuban cigar industry / employees of the Institute for the History
of the Working Class Movement / the English Queen
Greenpeace activists / heads of the tenant's councils
historic figures / hippies / honour students
Ilich Ramirez Sanchez aka “Carlos” / men with moustaches
officers from firemen's clubs / opera singers
presidents of fishermen's societies / pretty women
primary school teachers / punks / reserve policemen
retired warrant officers / Sai Baba
soccer players / tailors
Tito showed up again in a balloon above eastern Africa
pointing his binoculars at a herd of zebras
those devils with stripes / thinks Tito to himself / they are all the same
don't marry her
marry me
Tito says NO to Stalin and Stalin
responds I don't care anymore / who gives a fuck
do you know how to calculate?
I have twenty one thousand eight hundred and fifty six of them
ground into the leaves of the Katyn forest / I have three hundred thousand
secretly burried ones
I have ten million of those liquidated in liquidations
I have all of their IDs / the photographs of their children / the letters
filled with unwarranted optimism / their pencils / small change
I've got them all neatly placed on file
from “The Consolation of Chaos” Anthology of contemporary Croatian poetry, 1995 – 2005; from “If We Crash into a Cloud, It Won't Hurt,” Croatian Poetry 1989 – 2009., translated into English by Damir Šodan
NAKON ŠTO SAM SPUSTIO TELEFON (Croata)
vidim te: otvaraš dvostruka vrata
koja vode na terasu i sjediš
u stolici okrenuta borovima
djeca slažu tvrđavu od kocki
na četvrtini deke
kling, dižeš slušalicu s kavom
skoro je noć: zvijezde su vani
dječak ti trči u krilo i govori
“volio bih vidjeti što ima tamo gore”
zajedno čekate da mu se smiri srce
puhnuo je vjetar i misliš o džemperu
taktak, muhe se zabijaju u lampu
HAVING PUT DOWN THE RECEIVER (English)
I see you: opening a double doors to the patio
and sitting into the deck chair
facing the pine trees
the children are building a Lego tower
on a quarter of a blanket
Cling!- you raise your coffee cup
it's almost night: the stars are out.
our boy runs into your lap saying:
“I’d love to see what’s up there.”
you wait together until his heart calms down.
a gust of wind, you thinking of a sweater
Tick-tick: flies hit the lampshade
NACHDEM ICH AUFGELEGT HABE (German)
ich sehe dich: du öffnest die doppeltür
zur terrasse und setzt
dich auf den stuhl mit blick auf die kiefern
die kinder bauen eine burg aus klötzchen
auf dem viertel einer decke
kling, du hebst die kaffeetasse
bald ist nacht; sterne sind draußen
der junge springt auf deinen schoß und sagt
„ich würd’ gern sehen was dort oben ist“
beide wartet ihr bis sich sein herz beruhigt
wind weht und du denkst: ein pullover,
tick-tack, fliegen schlagen gegen die lampe.
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