IVANKOVIĆ, Željko
Željko Ivanković, born in 1954 in Vareš, Bosnia and Herzegovina, is a poet, story teller, novelist, essavist, literary critic and translator. He graduated in literature from the Faculty of Philosophy in Sarajevo. So far he has published the following books of poetrv: Something of What Is, 1978, Racing Snails, 1982, Time ivithout Verbs, 1986, Lost Birth-place, 1995, Seeking Birth-place, 1997; books of short stories Tales ofLove and Death, 1987, A Stanj Day, stories for children, 1990,; novels With a Touch the World Begins, 1992, Love in Berlin, 1995; Who Lit up the Darki 1995; and the diary 700 Days ofSiege, 1995.
Željko Ivanković, pjesnik, pripovjedač, romanopisac, esejist, književni kritičar i pre-voditelj, roden je 1954. godine u Varešu, Bosna i Hercegovina. Diplomirao je študij književnosti na Filozofskom fakultetu u Sarajevu. Dosad je objavio knjige pjesama: Nešto od onog sto jest, 1978, Utrka puževa, 1982, Vrijeme bez glagola, 1986, Izgubljeni zavičaj, 1995, Traženje zavičaja, 1997; knjige pripovjedaka Priče o ljubavi i smrti, 1987, Zvjezdan dan, priče za decu, 1990; romane: Dodirom i svijet poče, 1992, Ljubav u Berlinu, 1995, knjigu proza Tkoje upalio mrak?, 1995; i dnevnik 700 dana opsade, 1995.
Sodobnost 2001 I 152
ŽELJKO IVANKOVIĆ
War Was Invented by Poets
Boys are being shot at
by poets from their textbooks.
Girls lost their shame
in a dream. Their mothers in longing
for unattainable passion.
People who in their previous lives
were regarded as writers
blow up trams, bark like dogs
at traffic lights,
inaugarate new cemeteries.
In a moonless night
woods are ashamed for hiding them.
Stili, finally something niče:
my son is no longer afraid
of films about werewolves.
End of Lovef
They say the war began on Sunday
but already I can't remember any
details. Ali I remember is
the cloudy afternoon when a warplane
flying low broke
the vaginal barrier of what today
we call definitive past.
The girl in my bed
said - end of the world,
but it was so divine.
Sodobnost 2001 I 153
Zeljko   lvankovć
If we subtracted the inevitable pathetics - what would remain of truth? She thought that this was the peak of love, and I... that this is, unfortunatelv, its end.
Night in a Cellar
We talked about poetrv
but the town was being shot at by former poets
We talked about death
but night was being lit up by streaks of colour
We talked about God
but outside there raged a godless war
We did not talk about women
our women were there beside us.
Christ in a Transport Vehicle
The good shepherd, with his finger
pointing ahead and with a look
which cuts the horizon with razor sharpness
in full armour, mechanised,
goes into the future without his flock.
An image unknovvn in the Bible:
the flock is looking for its lost
shepherd. How can the flock go to the Father
by itself, even if complete,
without its shepherd, without Christ?
But he, eternal and imperishable,
and even, so they say, merciful,
in a transport vehicle, so triumphant,
so distant, unreachable. But the flock,
his or whichever nation,
goes to its God vvithout its
good shepherd, praving, crying -
are we a good flock, Father,
if we come to you vvithout our shepherd?
Sodobnost 2001 I 154
Želj ko  Ivanković___________________________
Christ Goes to War
Tearful Mother of God
sits on the edge of the pavement
Christ hurries past her
he has no tirne for tears
he is off to war
with an open shirt
hairy-chested and
with the body of a man
in his prime
A recentlv emptied can
of coca-cola rolls
down the steep street in front of him
in the hills around glisten
sun-kissed barrels of guns
shop windows hide from
rare passers-by
in a hurry tramlines
forgot their trams
only a lame dog
looks back in amazement
at the tearful lonely Mother of God.
Translated by Evald Flisar
'
Sodobnost 2001 I 155
Želj ko   I vanko vić
In praise of the barbarians
The barbarians come from the East
with sleepy eyes, with longing
in their nostrils, epically tearful
and strong in multitudes.
The barbarians do not understand
sunset, sweet dreams, and
the intoxicating fragrances of modest breasts,
they pour out ali their life into a scream.
The barbarians go to a grave,
they wail wildly, leave food
for the dead on the mound and
stare at the distance
Avith the eyes of a sad dog.
The barbarians do not hate, they merely
do not understand. In fact, they
hate and are hated. The barbarians
have invented hatred.
Translated by Mario Suško
Sodobnost 2001 I 156
ŽELJKO IVANKOVIĆ
Rat su izmislili pjesnici
Na dječake pucaju pjesnici iz njihovih čitanki. Djevojčice stid izgubile u snu. Njihove majke u žudnji za nedosegnutom strasti. Ljudi za koje u bivšim životima držahu da su pisci ubijaju tramvaje, psečim glasom laju na semafore, na novim grobljima presijecaju vrpce. U noči bez mjesečine šume se stide što ih skrivaju. Najposlije, ipak, nešto lijepo: moj sin se više ne plaši filmova o vukodlacima.
Kraj ljubavi
Kažu da je rat počeo nedjeljom a ja se več sada ne sječam detalja. Pamtim tek rano oblačno popodne kad je avion u brišučem lijetu probio vaginalni zid onog što danas zovemo definitivna prošlost. Djevojčica u mom krevetu rekla je - propast svijeta, a tako je bilo božanstveno.
Sodobnost 2001 I 157
Zeljko   Ivanković
Oduzme li se tome neizbježna patetika - što je ostalo od istine? Ona je mislila da je to vrhunac ljubavi, a ja ... daje to, nažalost, kraj.
Noč u podrumu
Govorili smo o poeziji
a na grad su pucali bivši pjesnici
Govorili smo o smrti
a noč su obasjavale živopisne boje
Govorili smo o Bogu
a vani je bio bezbožni rat
O ženama nismo govorili
naše žene su bile pored nas.
Krist na transporteru
Dobri pastir, s kažiprstom ispruženim naprijed i s pogledom koji rasijeca horizont vrškom žileta, oklopljen, mehaniziran, ide u budučnost bez svoga stada. Slika kakvu Pismo ne pozna: stado traži svog izgubljenog pastira. Kako če stado ocu, samo, makar i na broju, kako bez pastira, bez Krista? A on, vječni i neprolazni, kažu k tom još i milosrdni, na transporteru, tako trijumfalan, tako dalek, nedokučiv. A stado, narod njegov, ili čiji več, ide k svome Bogu, bez svoga dobrog pastira, i moli, ječa -Oče, jesmo li dobro stado, ako ti bez pastira dodemo?
Sodobnost 2001 I 158
Željko  Ivanković
Krist ide u rat
Plačna bogorodica sjedi na rubu trotoara pored nje žurno prolazi Krist nema vremena za suze krenuo je u rat raskopčane košulje maljavih grudi i sa stasom muškarca u najboljim godinama Strmom ulicom pred njim kotrlja se netom ispražnjena limenka coca-cole okolo na brdima svjetlucaju suncem dirnute cijevi izlozi se skrivaju pred rijetkim prolaznicima u žurbi tračnice zaboravile na svoje tramvaje tek hromi pas u čudu se osvrče na plačnu usamljenu bogomajku.
Pohvala barbarima
Barbari dolaze s istoka snenih očiju, s nosnicama punim čeznje, epski plačeni i u množini jaki. Barbari ne razipniju zalazak sunca, lijepe snove i opojne mirise čednih grudi, oni sav svoj život pretaču u krik. Barbari odlaze u grob, nariču divlje, mrtvima na humku ostave hrano i gledaju u daljinu očima tužnog psa. Barbari ne mrze, oni samo ne razumiju. U stvari, oni oni mrze i njih mrze. Barbari su izmislili mržnju.
Sodobnost 2001 I 159