JERGOVIĆ, Miljenko Miljenko Jergović, bom in 1969 in Sarajevo, is a poet, story teller, essavist and journal-ist. He graduated in literature from the Faculty of Philosophv. He has published the following collections of poetry: Warsaw Observatorj, 1988, Anybody Learning Japanese in this Toivn Tonight?, 1990, Himmel Commando, 1992, Across the Ice-bound Bridge, 1997. He is the author of two collections of short stories, Sarajevan Marlboro, 1994, translated into several languages, and Karivani, 1995. Miljenko Jergović, pjesnik, pripovjedač, esejist i publicist, roden je 1969. godine u Sarajevu, gdje je diplomirao študij književnosti na Filozofskom fakultetu. Dosad je objavio knjige pjesama: Opservatorija Varšava, 1988, Uči li nočas netko u ovom gradu japanski, 1990, Himmel Komando, 1992, Preko zaledenog mosta, 1997, te knjige pripovjedaka Sarajevski Marlboro, 1944 (prevedena na više jezika) i Karivani, 1995. Sodobnost 2001 I 160 MILJENKO JERGOVIĆ American Dream Never shall I wade Through the boiling asphalt of arizona Never shall I be the driver Of a large american truck Travelling the world which doesn't know The trifles of everday hatreds Bloody jealous blows I would like to have a transcontinental truck with skteen valves Large as the elisabethan era louvre and athena In the smeli of petrol I would like To feel the rock'n'roll of the boiling american july Without slaughtered partisans Without everday communisms Without the shitty pants of balkan patriotism Its nationalistic genius The Bombing of a Town In the shadow of twilight I'm reading a book I see less and less, but I mustn't Put on the light If I do put it on Evervthing will change In the order of things in the room In the order of things in myself Souls in the plastic water can Turn inwards Sodobnost 2001 I 161 Miljenko Jergović And darken slowly and painfully While from far away the engines of supersonic seagulls are heard Himmel Commando In the square albanians light candles To the memory of their dead A hundred for one The vvhole square is aflame Every half hour in low-swooping flight The planeš put them out Stili there remains a flamelet There were so many dead Indifferenth/ we watch from the side To see what will disappear first People with matches Or fuel in the planeš The Street of Fallen Boys One story for adults says that children fall painlessly slipping on a banana skin, on grease, on ice every january. Their bones don't snap Their skulls don't decorate roadside stones. Their muscles are relaxed at every fall. Children in the story fall the way a leaf does Barely touching the ground, gently sinking into snow Drops of their blood bum through the whitness like a baby peeing in a maternity ward One story for adults says that children fall lightly Sodobnost 2001 I 162 Miljenko Jergović Pick scabs off their knees and peel them passionateh/ until white again. Children remember nothing They fall with the smile of a kamikaze Sometimes their names are etched in red colour in white granite. Their fall is torn with a cry easily outsounded by the boom of TV Children rise easily and without shame Only occasionally they never rise Concentration Camp In special moments you feel that it wasn't necessary to speak of socrates It was necessary to speak of swine. Generations whisper about his honour Because of him female students get epileptic fits While through the room in mad summer days wafts the smeli of hemlock Oh to be able to sentence oneself, oh to be able to cut off one's own head In special moments it is evident - just now I am speaking of swine They don't await their death proudly They cry from early morning cooped up on the outskirts of the town Tears streaming down their ugly snouts Fear coursing through their veins, there is a war And time to start talking fmally about swine The prophet punishes them with contempt, they wallow in the mud dreaming a deep clear lake, pines rustling in the morning, peaks of glaciers Maybe, scenes from childhood faraway. The swine are forgiven everything While muddy with shame they receive the last supper No-one is waiting for them in the other world Translated by Evald Flisar Sodobnost 2001 I 163 MILJENKO JERGOVIĆ Američki san Nikada necu gaziti Po vrelom asfaltu arizone Nikada necu biti vozač Velikog američkog kamiona Prelaziti svijetom koji ne poznaje Sitnice svakodnevne mržnje Krvave ljubomorne udare Htio bih imati transkontinentalni kamion Na šesnaest točkova Veliki kao elizabetanska era luvr i atena Htio bih u mirisu nafte Osjetiti rokenrol vrelog američkog srpnja Bez zaklanih partizana Bez svakodnevnih komunizama Bez usranih gaca balkanskog patriotizma Njegove narodnjačke genijalnosti Sodobnost 2001 I 164 Miljenko Jergović Bombardiranje grada U sjeni sumraka čitam knjigu Sve slabije vidim, ali ne smijem Upaliti svjetlo Ako upalim Sve če se promjeniti U rasporedu stvari u sobi U rasporedu svari u sebi Duše u plastičnoj kantici sa vodom Okrecu se unutra I tamne dugo i bolno Dok se iz daljine čuju motori Nadzvučnih galebova Himmel Comando Na trgu albanci svojim mrtvima U pomen pale sviječe Sto za jednoga Cijeli trg gori Svakih pola sata u brišudem letu Avioni ih gase / Ipak ostane plamičaka Koliko je bilo mrtvih Mi ravnodušni gledamo sa strane Koga če prije nestati Ljudi sa šibicama Ili avionskog goriva Sodobnost 2001 I 165 Miljenko Jergović Ulicom palih dječaka Jedna odrasla priča kaže da djeca bezbolno padaju Okliznu se na koru banane, na kolomast, na led Svakoga siječnja. Njima ne pucaju kosti Oni lubanjama ne krune ivičnjak. Njihovi muskulusi Opušteni u svakom su padu. Djeca u priči Padaju kao sto pada list Tek dodirnu tle, lagano potonu u snijeg Kapi njihove krvi nevino pogore bjelinu Kao mokrača beba u porodilištu Jedna odrasla priča kaže da djeca padaju lako Sa koljena čupkaju kraste, strašno ih gule Do nove bjeline. Djeca ne pamte nista Padaju sa osmijehom kamikaze Njihova imena katkad su napisana crvenom bojom U bijelom granitu. Njihov je pad pocijepan vriskom Kog lako zagluši tutanj televizora Djeca se dižu lakonogo i bez srama Tek povremeno se ne dignu nikad Sodobnost 2001 I 166 Miljenko Jergović Koncentracioni logor U posebnim trenucima osjetiš da nije trebalo govoriti o sokratu Trebalo je govoriti o svinjama. O njegovoj časti pokoljenja šume Zbog njega studentice filozofije dobijaju fras A sobom za ludih proljetnih dana širi se miriš kukute Ah samom sebi presuditi, ah samom sebi odsječi glavu U posebnim trenucima očito je - trenutno govorim o svinjama One svoju smrt ne dočekaše gordo Od ranog jutra plaču u čumezu na kraju mjesta Niz njihove ružičaste njuške teku suze Kroz njihove žile teče strah, rat je I vrijeme je konačno da progovorimo o svinjama Prorok ih kazni prezirom, u blatu se valjaju sanjajuci Duboko bistro jezero, borove sto šume kroz jutro, vrhove glečera Možda, prizore djetinjstva u daljini. Od svega se opraštaju svinje Dok blatnjave od srama posljednju primaju večeru Na onom svijetu ih nece dočekati nitko Sodobnost 2001 I 167