domingo, 23 de diciembre de 2012

TOMICA BAJSIĆ [8.916] Poeta de Croacia

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


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


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.


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



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 
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: 
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


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


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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