Grandpa in Mostar 1965

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Explored: Jan, 29, 2009 #275

 

Mostar rains / Mostarske kise

 

i loved a certain svetlana in mostar one autumn

if only i knew whome she was sleeping with now

i'd chop her i'd chop her

if only i knew who was kissing her now

i'd knock his i'd knock his

ah if i knew who picking apricots

still unripe in me

 

i was telling her you are a child you are green

i was telling her everything

and she wept on my hands at may words

i was telling her you are an angel you are a devil

your body is ripe don't pretend to be a saint

and all night blue rains were raining over mostar

 

there was no sun no birds there was nothing

she asked me whether i had a brother what i studied

whether i was a croat whether i love rilke she asked everything

she asked me if i could do the same with every girl god forbid

she asked me in a low voice if i loved her

and blue rains were falling over mostar

she was luxuriously white in the dark od the room

but she wouldn't give she wouldn't

or she didn't dare devil knows

 

it is autumn that dead autumn in window-panes

her eyes a bird her thighs a doe

she had a mole a mole she had i dare not say

she had a mole small and violet or so it seems to me

she asked me if i was a croat if i had a girl

if i loved rilke she asked me everything

while in the window like christmas bells of my childhood water

drops rang

and a night song softly along downtown

hey suleman mother's son

 

she spread her years upon the floor

her eyes were full ripe peaches

her breasts were warm as puppies

i told her she was stupid she was putting on airs

svetlana svetlana do you know this is the atomic age

de gaulle gagarin and such nonsense i told her everything

she wept she wept

 

i took her to the bazaar dives

i toke her everywhere

i hid her in caves carried her to a balcony

under bridges we played hide and seek the neretva a filly

under an old bridge i spoke of crnjanski

how marvelous he is how marvelous

 

i drew her knees in wet sand

she laughed so merrily so innocently like first lilies

i took her to mosques karadjoz bey dead too dead

under his heavy tomb

so shantich's grave she carried some flowers cried a little

like a women

i took her everywhere

 

it is this summer now

i am now quite different i write some poems

in a newspaper half a column gor pero zubac and nothing more

and all the night blue rains were falling over mostar

she was luxuriously white in the dark od the room

but she wouldn't give she wouldn't

od she didn't dare devil knows

 

that sky those clouds those roofs

the pale sun of the hungry boy over mostar

i can't forget

nor her hair her small tongue like a strawberry

her laughter which could hurt like a curse

that player in the chapel on the white fill

god is great she said he will outlive us

nor those heavy blue rains

oh autumn her barren autumn

 

she spoke of films of james dean

she spoke about everything a bit sadly a bit pathetically

or karenina

she said clyde griffiths could not

hurt a fly

i laughed you are stupid he is a murdeerer you are a child of

but those streets those news-boys selling the latest edition of

liberation

those half withered grapes in shop-windows i can't forget

that bitter barren autumn over mostar those rains

ske kissed me all night long and caressed me and nothing more

i swear by my mother we did nothing more

 

after that summers came again rains came again

only one short letter from ljubljana why there

those leaves on pavements those days

i can't i don't know how

to erase

 

she writes she asked me what i do how i live if i have a girl

whether i ever think of her and of that autumn of those rains

she is now the same she swears by god quite the same

shall i believe her shall i laugh i cursed christ a long time ago

and i don't quite love her whether she swore or not

it must be so lies are worthlees

 

i talked to her of lermontov chagall i told her everything

she carried with her on old zweig's book read in the afternoon

her hair was threaded with summer the yellow colour of the

sun a little of the sea

first night her skin was also somewhat salty fish asleep

in her blood

we laughed at the boys who were jumping from bridges for

cigarettes

we laughed because it was not summer and thay were jumping

they are real children

she said they could die they could get pneumonia

 

then her long too long silences came

i could freely think about anything explain spinoza

for hours i could look at others at leisure throw stones

down rock i could also go somewhere go far away

i colud have died alone on her breasts more lonely than anyone

i could have turned into a bird water a rock

i could have done all this

 

her fingers were long weak bloodless but quick

we played lady-bird and hide and seek

svetlana get out you are under the rock i am not blinde

i am not stupid come up don't hesitate you'll be beaten

when it was her turn i could flee into the river itself she would

find me

she smells me immediately she says she knows me well

i never belived her she may have peeped through her fingers

she liked chestnuts we picked them round about

she carried them to the room hung them on threads

she loved roses those autumn roses i brought her

when they withered she would put them into a tin

 

i asked her what she thought oh this world whether she belived

in communism

whether she would like to be natasha rostova i asked her

everything

sometimes stupid questions i know that only too well

i asked her whether she'd like a small son blond say

she jumped from enthusiasm yes yes

and all of a sudden she was overpowere by grief like dead fruits

she mustn't she mustn't she wouldn't do that for her life

do you hear him he thinks it's so easy as if i had fallen from

jupiter

who then is that zubac pera that he should be that mn and

not somebody else

by no means he thinks he is at least brando or such a one

 

i told her you are stupid you are clever you are a devil

you are an angel i told her everything she believed nothing

you men are born liars you are rascals

she said everything

and blue rains were falling over mostar

 

i really loved that svetlana one autumn

if only i knew who she was sleeping with now i'd chop his

i'd chop his if only i knew who was kissing her now

i'd knock his i'd knock his alas if only i knew who

was picking apricots still unripe in me

 

Pero Zubac, 1965

 

________

Translation:

© Branko Momchilovic

Pero Zubac: Mostar rains

First published: Weekly magazine 'Telegram', Zagreb, October 1965.

Done