Kockar

Standardno

Sjedim u ovom tužnom gradiću, i umjesto da smišljam predstojeći korak, živim pod uticajem prošlih osjećanja, pod uticajem svježih uspomena, pod uticajem svega onog vihora koji me je onda uvukao bio u onaj kovitlac da me poslije opet izbaci. Ponekad mi se čini da se još uvijek okrećem u tome vihoru, i da će svakog trenutka opet naletjeti ona bura, zahvatiti i mene svojim krilom, i da ću opet ispasti iz reda i osjećanja mjere, i vrtjeti se, vrtjeti , vrtjeti…
Uostalom ja ću se možda nekako i zaustaviti da se vrtim, ako položim sebi, koliko je to moguće, tačan račun o svemu što se dogodilo za ovo mjesec dana. I čudim se sam sebi: baš kao da se bojim da ozbiljnom knjigom ili kakvim bilo ozbiljnim poslom razrušim mutni zanos nedavne prošlosti. Baš kao da su mi vrlo dragi, onaj ružni san, i sve uspomene što su poslije njega ostale, pa se bojim i da ih dotaknem nečim novim, da se ne bi razletjeli kao dim! Da li mi je sve to odista dragocjeno? Da, razumije se da mi je dragocjeno, i možda ću se i posijle četrdeset godina tuge sjećati…
…ali što vrijedi da sada držim sebi predavanje o moralu! Ništa nije ružnije od morala, u ovakvo vrijeme!…O, vi samozadovoljni ljudi! S kakvim su gordim samozadovoljstvom spremni ti brbljivci da izlažu svoje sentencije! Kad bi oni, međutim, znali u kolikoj mjeri ja sam razumijem svu odvratnost mog sadašnjeg stanja, sigurno im se ne bi okrenuo jezik da mi drže pridike. A i što bi, što bi mi novo mogli reći, što ja već ne znam? I zar je stvar u tome? Stvar je u tome što je dovoljan jedan obrt točka, pa da se sve promijeni, i ti bi isti moralisti prvi došli da mi čestitaju, s prijateljskim šalama. Onda ne bi više okretali od mene glave, kao sada…Ali neka idu svi oni bestraga! Što sam ja sad? Nula. A što mogu biti sjutra? Sjutra već mogu uskrsnuti iz mrtvih i ponovo početi život! Mogu još naći čovjeka u sebi, dok sasvim ne propadne.

Fjodor Dostojevski

The Great Lover

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I mean, at that place in east Hollywood
I was so often with the hardest numbers
in town
I don’t speak as a misogynist
I had other people ask me,
“what the hell are you doing, anyhow?”

these were floozies, killers, blanks

they had bodies, hair, eyes, legs
parts
but, say, take one of them, it was like
sitting there with a shark dressed in a
dress, high heels, smoking, drinking,
pilling

the nights went into days and the days
went into nights
and we babbled on through, sometimes
bedding down, badly.

through the drink, the uppers, the
downers, I got myself to imagine
things- say, that this one was the
golden girl of the golden heart and
the golden way of laughter and love
and hope

in the dim smokey light the long hair
looked better than it was, the legs
more shapely, the conversation not as
bare, not as vicious

I fooled myself pretty well. I even
got myself to thinking that I loved
one of them, the worst one

I mean, why the hell be negative?
accept

we drank, drugged, stayed in the
center of the rug, through sunset,
sunrise, played Scrabble for 8
or ten hours

each time I went in to piss she
stole the letters she needed
she was a survivor, the
bitch

after one marathon session
of 52 hours of whatever we
were doing
she said, “let’s drive to
Vegas and get married?”

“what?” I asked.

“let’s drive to Vegas and
get married before we
change our minds!”

“but suppose we get married,
then what?”

“then you can have it any
time you want it.” she told
me

I went in to take a piss
to let her steal the letters
she needed

but when I came out I opened
a new bottle of wine
and spoke no more of the
subject

she didn’t come around as
much after that
but there were others,
about the same
sometimes there were
more than one
they’d come in two’s
the word got out that
there was an old sucker
in the back court, free
booze and he wasn’t overly
sexually demanding,
although at times something
would overtake me and I
would grab a body and throw
in a sweaty horse copulation,
mostly, I guess, to see if
I could still do it

and I confused the mailman
there was an old couch on
the porch and many a morning
as he came by I’d be sitting
there with, say, two of them
we’d be sitting there with our
beer cans, smoking and
laughing

one day he found me alone

“pardon me,” he said, “but can
I ask you something?”

“sure”

“well, I don’t think you’re
rich…”

“no, I’m broke.”

“Listen, he said, “I’ve been around
the world.”

“yeah?”

“and I’ve never seen a man with
as many women as you.
there’s always a different one.
or a different pair…”

“yeah?”

“how do you do it?
I mean, pardon me, but you’re kind
of old and you’re not exactly a
Cassanova, you know?”

“I could be ugly, even.”

he shifted his letters from one hand to the
other.

“I mean, how do you do it?”

“availability,” I told him.

“what do you mean?”

“I mean, women like a guy who is always
around.”

“uh,” he said, then walked off to continue his
rounds

his praise didn’t help me
what he saw wasn’t as good as he thought
even with them there were unholy periods of
drab senselessness,
and worse

I walked back into my place
the phone was ringing

I knew that it would be a female
voice.

Charles Bukowski

O NJOJ I NJEMU

Standardno

Originally posted on SLAVKO PEROVIĆ POEZIJA:

O NJOJ I NJEMU 

ONA

Mogla je prolećeti kraj nas, mogla sam ostati zaustavljena u dahu, budna, a sputana oklopom svijeta, života, bez tebe, sama…Gledajući  tvoja polja, okeane, na  vrhovima prstiju,  pažljivo,  kroz tvoje cvijeće hodajući, grudima tiho kroz tvoje valove, kušajući ukus tvoje čistoće kao utjehu, tvoje svjetove crvene, na dohvat ruke, blizu srca moga…Ali nije mogla, morala je biti NAŠA, Naša ljubav! Tražili smo se, a da nijesmo znali, ali smo vjerovali…od početka vremena,  jer vodila nas je ista ruka, od mirisnih sutona u Kutima, od škura na hladnoj buri, od borova prkosnih i mirnih na kršu. Sa snježnog vrha Lovćena nad Bokom, bdio si nada mnom od mog rođenja…I porodio me ponovo! Iz tebe se rodih i na tvoje ruke, čista u krvi našoj, položih glavu za prvi poljubac  što si mi ga dao, ne znajući da ljubiš sebe u meni, da će naša mora postati…

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Takva sam, kakva sam

Standardno

Takva sam kakva sam.
Baš takva sam stvorena.
Kad imam želju da se smijem,
Smijem se grohotom.
Volim onog ko me voli.
Pa zar sam za to kriva?
Što nije uvijek isti onaj koga volim.
Takva sam kakva sam.
Baš takva sam stvorena.
Pa šta sad hoćete?!
Šta hoćete od mene?!
Stvorena sam da se dopadam
I tu se ništa ne može izmijeniti.
Potpetica mi je suviše visoka,
Struk mi je suviše vitak,
A grudi suviše čvrste.
I koluti pod očima suviše modri.
A onda i zatim
Takva sam kakva sam!
Dopadam se onome kome se dopadam.
I šta se to vas tiče?!
Ono što mi se dogodilo…
Da, ja sam voljela nekoga.
Nekoga ko me je volio.
Kao djeca što se među sobom vole
I znaju prosto da vole,
Da vole, vole, vole…
I zašto me onda ispitivati?!
Ja sam ovdje samo da vam se dopadam
I ništa se tu ne može izmijeniti.

Jacques Prevert

Cows In Art Class

Standardno

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn’t always happen
and when it does
it doesn’t
always last.
man is
more stable:
if he’s bad
there’s more chance
he’ll stay that way,
or if he’s good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
sex
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight in Spangler’s Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here. I am drinking in Spangler’s Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it’s what I’ve got to
decide:
kill myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where’s the information
coming from?
books…like broken glass:
I wouldn’t wipe my ass with ‘em
yet, it’s getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
tits
buy the cow with the biggest
rump.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden piss of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.

Charles Bukowski

Standardno

Nemoj otići još,
Moji su mrtvi loše večeras;
Stavi mi prst u uho da znam da si tu
I kada zaspim. Više ne vladam
Izrazom sopstvenih očiju. Kome se one
Od kad te tako, pokoravaju? Slušaj!
Srce u mraku izbija zbir nečijih godina
Što se navršuju u nama.
Zaustavljeni sat prolazi opet
Kroz čas tačnosti…Ili
Okrenimo svetiljku ovako:
Koliko smo puta mogli leći
Kao i do sad, ti i ja, a nismo.
Da nije i ovo jedan trenutak
Što propada uzalud? Kakvom Bogu
Prinosimo tu žrtvu? Umor?
Pa nisu nam nikad porasli nokti na veslu
I so talasa sprala soli znoja.
Hajde, naučiću te kako se čita pesma.
Uđi. Tako, sad sklopi, pa ispruži ruke.
Dakle? Da li gutaš? Bradu
U vis i napred. Nemoj suviše uza struju
Budi pažljiva prema tom toku;
Ta voda bi se mogla lako udaviti u tebi.
Reči ciljaju u svoje senke
I kada pogode nestanu ili kažu:
“Dođi bilo gde, ali budi tačna!
Teško, zar ne? Najbliže smo kada ne mirujemo,
A sada stavi vlas kose medju listove.
Sutra ćeš možda naći dve
Kao da si zasadila nešto što je rodilo
U međuvremenu. Ako se vratiš.
Jer, ujutru se probudiš, a još i ne sanjaš
Ko te je sve već ošamario.

 

Milorad Pavić

Uvek sam se plašio da ti tepam

Standardno

Uvek sam se plašio da ti tepam
Plašio se uvek da ti kosu držim u ruci
Prestrašen bio da naglo možeš da se okreneš
i da mi uhvatiš nežno oko na svom vratu.
Jer sam glupavo verovao
da ću ako ti ruku na rame stavim
da ću ako ti prstima čelo dodirnem
da ću ako ti u tople oči grudi slijem
da ću izgubiti sebe.
Sad kad si otišla imam sebe, isuviše.

 

Zoran Radmilović