Delimir Rešicki

I know a man
who never saw villa borgese.

when the summer rolls around
beggars rub silver gel
into their hair.

every day I visit my doctor.
on a small scale, softly rubbing my thumb against
my forefinger
I'm crumbling the dust from that journey
into her baby palms.
so every day she sinks
one tiny step lower.
the doctor says:
see how the streets grow longer and longer each day?
isn't that like orthography? like economy? like swans?
a lonely myoma in the convertible
of its own light?

how come no one bribes the linen of your sheets while you sleep?
paul celan cannot walk the rope
forever dead.
_________________________________
coo! coo! a laurie, was laurie ist?
big science? golden cities? golden towns!
...

1989.
u yugoslaviji
je konačno otkriven hamburger.

kristalna podmornica
izronila je noću kada je krizirao uštap i
ugledala, dugo gledala dubrovnik
sasvim nadomak svoje dobrostive usne.

svi su mornari
odmah pisali kući
svi su ti razgovori
odmah snimljeni na steriliziranu magnetofonsku vrpcu.
tada je jedan od njih doplivao do obale
i obrisao tu jednu jedinu suzu, vino amaro,
što je stoljeće po stoljeće
padala niz gradske zidine noću
kada se na pučini vidi 80 milijardi križeva
u samo jednome tvome amenu, o more!

ja sam svila prodana udaljenim glasovima, kopča u
žaluzini jednoga tako udaljenog dana.
na unutrašnjoj stijenki školjkinoga doma
napisano je proročanstvo o nama.
moj se grob vidi s krova toga grada, more
zašto te ne spale?

na kuli minčeti
nije bilo nikoga
ni tada ni sada
da zapleše na usijanome ugljevlju
i tako se naruga zrikavcima
čije su glasnice bile barbarske karavane
u kojima su se umivali i noćili
svi naši prosjaci.

u podne, na griču
top ispali tešku željeznu kuglu
koja je izorala očeva polja.

ukrast ću vrećicu juhe
i od nje si žlicu po žlicu
kupinu po kupinu
flash po flash
udahnuti nešto od te katarke o more
give me more
na tračnicama od dobro natopljene vate.

potom ćemo skupa
ti i ja
pročitati pismo
koje nam je netko
napisao na crnoj zastavi
njenoj jedinoj večernjoj haljini
poslano odavno

od usne do usne u tek načetoj boci.
...

in 1989
yugoslavia
finally discovered the hamburger.

a crystal submarine
surfaced at night when the full moon was flipping,
it saw dubrovnik and glued its gaze to its towers for the longest time,
so close to its benevolent lips.

all the sailors
wrote home immediately
all those conversations
were recorded immediately on the sterilized magnetic tape.
and then one of them swam to the shore
to wipe away that one single tear, vino amaro,
that century by century
was falling down the city walls by night
when on the horizon you can see 80 billion crosses
in just one of yours amen, oh sea!

I'm the silk sold to distant voices, the buckle in
Venetian blinds of a day so distant.
our prophecy was written
on the inside wall of the shell's home.
my tomb could be seen from the roof of that city, oh sea
why can't they burn you down?

but there was nobody
then or now
on the minčeta tower
who would dance on the red-hot coal
and mock crickets
whose voices were barbaric caravans
where all our beggars
washed and slept.

at noon, the cannon on the grič tower
fires a heavy iron ball
that ploughed through my father's fields.

I will steal a bag of soup
and spoon by spoon,
berry by berry
flash by flash,
I will inhale some of it,
some of its mast, oh sea,
give me more
on the railways of well-watered cotton.

and then
you and I
together will read the letter
that someone wrote to us
on the black flag
her only evening gown
sent a long time ago

from mouth to mouth in a brand new bottle.
...

Rodericku
pokaži mi sretne ulice
svoja plava
široka bedra
bolnicu u čijem ćemo želucu voljeti
kada budeš debeljuškasti sonet
tamo ćemo razbijati čitljive ampule vremena
i njegovim glazbenim sirupom
dražiti udove umorne od kemije i
sodomije

sestro, budan sam i gledam
kako mi iz nosa
danima
svuda po modroj prašini
prosutoj uokolo tvoje postelje
kaplje bezbojna, usijana živa:

ja sam tvoj provaljeni makro
sestro
ja sam prodao tvoje rublje
uspaljenim voajerima u
nepreglednom setu
kabina peep-showa na golgoti
ja sam

u prvim danima rata
kada su ti usta bila vlažan
zadimljeni kupe
pritisnuo dugme na dovratak sumraka
od

koraka
ultramarina i
izloga

čije utrobe
dogorijevaju cijelu noć
...

for Roderick
show me happy streets
your blue
wide thighs
a hospital to make love in its stomach
when you turn into a plump sonnet
there we'll break legible ampullae of time
and with its musical syrup incite
limbs that are tired of chemistry
and sodomy

sister, I'm awake and watch
colorless, white-hot mercury
drip for days
from my nose
all over the azure dust
strewn around your bed

I am your snitched-on pimp
sister
I sold your undies
to horny voyeurs
in the endless set
of peep-show cabins on the calvary
I pressed

into those early days of war
when your mouth was a wet
smoke-filled compartment
the button on the sunset doorpost
of

steps
ultramarine and
shop windows

whose entrails
burn down all night long
...

ovaj je trg
maloumni trgovački papir
sumrak tek repetiran plebiscit svjetlosti
mirno
mekim šumovima erotičnog šinjela
potpisan u tvojim prohladnim venama

tamo gdje prestaje đubrište
niču montažne cvjećarne
u kojima se prodaju nezaboravna slova:

tvoje sunčane naočale
ekstatičan rafal
umilna gitareska ljeta
njegov dugi, dugi revolverski poljubac
uspavan na barikadama
kiromant con bendit
u barkama tvoje usne
na otvorenoj pučini
...

u vlažnom pijesku tvoje nadlaktice
nacrtan je morski konjic
uhode mora
prodavale su jučer u bescjenje
svilenkasto meso školjaka po
praznim tržnicama

u aulama školjki
zastakljenim dječjim glasovima i sedefom
slušali smo sagu o bonaci
kada je more kao zrcalo
u kome možeš vidjeti svoje lice
kroz tisuću godina i

to je ta priča
uredno stornirani semestri
plave kuverte rujna
u disco clubovima na periferiji
tvoje se gaćice miksaju s pneumatskim
udarcima bubnja čekića
lusteri isijavaju šalove
prvoga večernjeg znoja

u stiropornim plahtama
užareni asfalt
kada opuste otvoreni vrtovi uz cestu
sanja cijelo svitanje
meki razvrat tvojih stopala
...

in the wet sand caught on your arm
someone drew a sea horse
yesterday sea spies were selling
silky shell meat
for peanuts
on empty markets

in the atriums of shells
in glassy voices of babies and mother-of-pearls
we listened to the saga about the calm sea
when the sea is like a looking-glass
when you look at your face
for another thousand years

that's the story
of those meticulously rendered null and void
those September's blue envelopes
in the discotheques on the outskirts of town
where your panties get lost in the pneumatic
blows of the drum hammers
while the chandeliers are spewing out
first evening sweat

when the open roadside gardens
release the red-hot asphalt
from the Styrofoam sheets
the entire sunrise
dreams of the soft debauchery
of your feet
...

na svome hrbatu
po svojim stegnima
u haustoru u komu su klinci
vulvu naslikali kao romboid
kineskog zmaja po sredini svemira
u koga se vinula valera
na svome stomaku
po svojim očima
po zemljovidima mehaničara
koji putuju zemljom
otkupljujući užad
satkanu od tvojih bespolnih glasnica
na svome potiljku
po aortama ljubavnika
u kojima ključaju
taximetri otmjene prostitucije
kada suludi sekreti jeseni
plaču u očima prodavača kino karata
za brončanim prahom božanske grete
koja cijele noći obilazi napuštenu dvoranu i
s ulegnutih stolica
otire tragove svojih usana
i nikada neće umrijeti
na formularima u čijim se pagodama
specijalno testiraju inteligencija i
kičmena moždina
po girlandama i gondolama
smirenim slikovnicama predgrađa
sasvim blizu k tebi
kako bih mogao gledati
kako se u teškim mukama
ispod mirne površine vode
rađaju koralji i genocid

zato napiši, napiši me
bilo čime ulico

pisati znači depilirati
tvoje podatne jezike
...

on my spine
on my tights
in the entrance where the kids
draw a rhomboid vulva
like a chinese dragon in the center of the universe
where valerian soars
on my belly
all over my eyes
on the maps of the mechanics
traveling the earth
purchasing ropes
made from your sexless vocal cords
on the back of my head
all over lovers' aortas
where taximeters of noble prostitution
boil
when manic autumnal excretions
weep in the eyes of ticket sellers
for the bronze dust of the divine greta
walking around an empty theatre all-night-long
wiping off traces of her lips
from the crummy chairs
doomed to immortality
on the forms in whose pagodas
IQ and spinal cord
are specially tested,
on garlands and gondolas,
quiet picture-books of suburbia
in your close proximity
so I could observe
how in excruciating pain
under the glassy surface of water
corals and genocides are being born

so write me, write me
by all means, oh street

writing means depilating
your willing tongues
...

kada se izujem
mjesečina trune u tvome ramenu.
europa ima novu spavaćicu
noću, sada posve sama
korača staklenim rubovima ceste.
romari će danas
u tvome domu
razapeti šatore svih njenih velikih praznika.
marseilleu je plima bol.
nešto, uvijek netko prije tebe
ugazi meki prštić
tu pred mojim stopama.
u proljeće, za stepom
ja ne mogu tako hudo žuriti.
diler će umrijeti sam
sa šišarkom od snijega
na sagu od jesenjih borovih iglica
u hodniku, tunelu, basni,
u svojim bisagama.

modrim koncima
porubom snijega na britvama, ti mi zato sašij
na večernjoj haljini sve te sive, sive
ptice rock'n'rolla. jer,

ti imaš kosu crvenu kao slovenija.
...

when I take off my shoes,
moonshine rots in your shoulder.
europe has a new nightgown
now completely alone it walks
at night along the glassy edges of the road.
in your home
pilgrims will pitch today
tents of all its great holidays.
tide is pain for marseille.
something, somebody always
treads before you
the powder snow here at my feet.
in spring I cannot hurry
quite angrily after a prairie.
a dealer will die alone
with a pine cone of snow
on the rug of autumn pine needles
in a hall, a tunnel, a fable,
in his own saddle bags.

so, with the indigo thread
snow hem on the razor blades, sew
on my evening dress all those gray,
gray birds of rock'n'roll. for,

you have a red hair like slovenia
...

noć, agave, galebovi, kontador.
vosak se polako, prema dnu, u vreloj svojoj mlaki
uspinje k svojim simbolima.
ako sada uistinu slušam radio,
ako je sada uistinu noć
stampedo polagane smrti
u svakom telexu tvoga uspavanoga daha,
tada stvarno napuštenom plažom
od istoka prema zapadu i natrag
pomičem mali, crni, zapaljeni obelisk.
jutrom, na zelenim obalama
ribari će pod mokrim kabanicama gutati tvoja ramena.
tvoj profil volge
koja teška od magle satima prilazi svome truplu
što gnjije.
s vrha cigarete
istresam pepeo u svoje cipele.
tako ću sutra lakše koračati.
prije pola godine, zimi,
dok su kukci pod tapetama zidali
ponton od vlakova i ruža
u jednokrevetnoj hotelskoj sobi
slušao sam radio.
nad moskvom
u to su te vrijeme već zaboravljali ždralovi.
palme je ubijen nekoliko dana poslije
u prvim minutama zelenog megaherza
kada je tvoja uniforma
već bila ugrijani skafander
s ucrtanim sazviježđem
melankoličnog spola.
...

night, agave, gulls, kontador.
in its burning hot puddle, slowly, towards the bottom,
the wax ascends to its symbols.
if I really listen to the radio now,
if it's really night-time now
the stampede of slow death
in every telex of your sleeping breath,
then I really move
a small, black, burning obelisk
on deserted beach from east to west and back again.
in the morning, on the green shores,
fishermen will swallow your shoulders under their wet raincoats.
your volga profile
that heavy fog moves for hours
towards its own rotting remains.
I flick cigarette
ash into my shoes.
that will make me walk more easily tomorrow.
six months ago, in winter,
while insects behind the wallpaper
built a pontoon of trains and roses
I listened to the radio
in the single-bed hotel room.
at that time over moscow
the cranes were already on the way to forget you.
palme got killed several days after that
during the first minutes of the green megahertz
when your uniform
was already a heated space suit
with the etched constellation
of melancholic sex.
...

to smo mi, oni isti koji spavaju
na jastucima od istrulog rogovlja jelena
što su svoje faluse trljali o zeleni, sumporni
ocean domovine.
taj truli mir srebri se kao bolna teenagerska usna
svaki puta kada se skamenjeni,
hodajući po lišću
s obližnjih zvijezda
vraćamo u grad. ja ne mogu smisliti
bolju deskripciju ove ulice u četiri iza ponoći.
polja ružmarina u twistu, again, na usijanome vjetru
umrla je biljana i ohrid sada isparava insekte
koji će se vratiti kao dolarska apokrifna kiša.
gase se svjetla u spavaoni br. 5
crn prezervativ kao kos u snježnoj zimskoj šumi
putuje u anus anđela:

cicciolina, i love, i love you too.
...

gađenje i strah.

konac i prsti pletu mirno ludilo ruku,
tapiseriju usne.

uvijek u gomilama
(strah ulaza, izlaza i zida)
bijelo u brigu, oličenoizobličen dan.

oni nemaju kuda do natrag, kaže prvi glas:
pijana sperma lije ludilo u vrijeme, ja sada
čujem, veli drugi glas:
sedam su dana hodali i glave
kupali i uranjali u tmini.

osmo im se jutro
pokazala ravnica.
...

loathing and fear.

tread and fingers are knitting the quiet madness of hands,
the tapestry of a lip.

always in crowds
(fear of entering, exiting, and the wall)
white into the wary, into a paint-distorted day.

they have nowhere to go but back, says the first voice:
drunken sperm pours madness into time, and
I hear them now, says the other voice:
they were walking for seven days,
washing their heads,
and dipping them into dark.

on the eighth morning,
they saw the plains.
...

rublje je uglavnom bijelo.
lijevom i desnom dižem lakše utege.
ružan sam, zato ti se smijem.
zato što sunce izlazi i zalazi
mijenjaju se straže čiji te koraci
zibaju u posteljini i
liječe od nesvjestice.
tamo gdje počinju modrina i pamćenje
prestaje razum, svatko to zna.
na vagi ni danas nema ničega
ali kazaljka kao i nekada
pulsira između dvije mrtve, svijetle usnice.
x = x
u plastičnu vrećicu pa na smeće
ćeš ti s mojim velikim srcem
samo ako i danas ne bude snijega.
potpuno sam smetnuo s uma
sve tvoje dobre navike.
ako doista svatko bude petnaest minuta netko
imamo točno tričetvrt sata za
ustrijeliti se.
revolverom na vodu.
...

clothes are usually white.
I'm lifting lighter weights with my left and my right hand.
I'm ugly, that is why I'm laughing at your face,
because the sun goes up and the sun goes down
the guards are changing and their footsteps
are gently swinging you inside the sheets
and healing you from the unconsciousness.
where the azure and the memory begin,
the reason stops, everybody knows that.
today the scale is empty, just like on any other day,
but its arm throbs between the two dead,
shiny lips as it used to do.
x = x
into a plastic bag and onto the garbage heap,
you will throw away my big heart,
unless it snows again today
I have completely forgotten
all your good habits.
if everybody should indeed become somebody for fifteen minutes,
we have exactly three quarters of an hour
to shoot ourselves.
with water guns.
...

ako je oko mali projekcioni stroj
tada nazubljeni kotači pokreću perforirane
moždane vrpce dok harlekini, pajaci, svi
šašavi sinonimi pljuske
darivaju jednim meni tako poznatim tijelom
mirnu i ljekovitu vodu zamračene venecije.

tako tijelo ponovno pljusne
onaj svoj prvi, zaboravljeni očinski šamar.
tako jedan hobist - nadrealist
uživa svoju potkupljivu intimu.

tvoja kostobolna koljena
zaborave na tren svoju konačnu sudbinu.
annie lennox pjeva: jeniffer. ako nije
idiot, to svatko razumije.
ti kažeš
moja su leđa prazna poleđina
reklamnoga dolara iz koga ulični slikari
izrezuju žive siluete.

poslat ću vam razglednicu svojih golih leđa
za blagdane, za blagdane, razglednicu koja svira.
čula sam, moja rašivena break-dance čarapa
taj je skori sabat.
...