Oranges and Snow

Selected Poems of Milan Djordjević

Milan Djordjević, Charles Simic

• Publisher: Princeton University Press
• Year: 2010
• Print ISBN:
  9780691205960
  9780691142463
• eBook ISBN:
  9781400836093
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Pulitzer Prize–winning poet Charles Simic introduces and translates one of Serbia's most important contemporary poets

Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles Simic has done more than anyone since Czeslaw Milosz to introduce English-language readers to the greatest modern Slavic poets. In Oranges and Snow, Simic continues this work with his translations of one of today's finest Serbian poets, Milan Djordjevi?. An encounter between two poets and two languages, this bilingual edition—the first selection of Djordjevic's work to appear in English—features Simic's translations and the Serbian originals on facing pages. Simic, a native Serbian speaker, has selected some forty-five of Djordjevi?'s best poems and provides an introduction in which he discusses the poet's work, as well as the challenges of translation.

Djordjevi?, who was born in Belgrade in 1954, is a poet who gives equal weight to imagination and reality. This book ranges across his entire career to date. His earliest poems can deal with something as commonplace as a bulb of garlic, a potato, or an overcoat fallen on the floor. Later poems, often dreamlike and surreal, recount his travels in Germany, France, and England. His recent poems are more autobiographical and realistic and reflect a personal tragedy. Confined to his house after being hit and nearly killed by a car while crossing a Belgrade street in 2007, the poet writes of his humble surroundings, the cats that come to his door, the birds he sees through his window, and the copies of one of his own books that he once burnt to keep warm.

Whatever their subject, Djordjevi?'s poems are beautiful, original, and always lyrical.

PART I

Kaput

Kaput leži. Na podu.

Bez kapi krvi u sebi.

Kaput leži. Umoran,

zgr

en, odba

en i crn.

—Kapute! Kapute! Kapute!

—Mili brate! Ustani! Ustani!

Barem klekni kraj tvog

Milana Djordjevi

a!

Mili brate zasipan

snegovima, kišama,

pogrdama, laskanjima,

uvaru moje samo

e!

Ustani! Ustani!

Tako ti praznih džepova,

ispuni

u ih mojim šakama.

Prhnu

e krilima u tebi.

Tako ti zjape

ih rukava,

pusti

u izmu

ene životinjice,

moje ruke, u tebi da gmižu!

I kaput po

e da diše,

otvori o

i, zadrhta,

pokrenu jedan rukav,

raširi krila, polete,

zagrakta, zaogrnu me svojim mrakom.

I sad sam njegova utroba.

overcoat

Overcoat lies. On the floor.

Without a drop of blood in it.

Overcoat lies. Weary.

Crumpled, discarded and black.

—Overcoat! Overcoat! Overcoat!

—Dear brother! Rise! Rise!

At least kneel next to your

Milan Djordjevi

!

Dear brother, guardian of my solitude,

beaten with rain, snow,

curses, flatteries!

Rise! Rise!

I will feel your empty pockets

with my hands.

They'll flutter their wings in them.

Inside your gaping sleeves

I'll let the threadbare little animals

that are my arms crawl!

So it may begin to breathe

and open its eyes, shudder,

then move one sleeve,

spread its wings, fly, caw

and drape me with its darkness.

I, who am its blood and guts.

Kiša bi da se ubije

Kiša prstima po tvom prozoru mrlja,

mrmlja. Htela bi da u

e da se ubije.

A ja vidim. Ležiš u postelji. I baš te briga.

U mraku. Gola. Baš te briga.

Raspustila kosu. Raširila butine.

I gle, crne mahovine!

A prst srednjak leve ruke, radi li radi!

Zlo

inac, traži crvenu krestu.

I zla

ani med ve

pocurio.

I zoveš me iz svog delirijum tremensa.

A ja se u gavrana prometnuo.

Doletim u tvoje krilo i kljucam, kljucam.

A onda u kljunu odnesem uhva

enu ribu,

pa odem da se kartam i pijem.

A kiša još uvek prstima

po tvom prozoru mrlja, mrmlja,

prebira amajlije,

htela bi da udje da se ubije.

The Rain Wants to Kill Itself

With its fingers the rain stains your window and mumbles.

It wants to come in and kill itself.

I see you are in bed and couldn't care less.

In the dark. Naked. Couldn't care less.

Your hair loose. Your thighs spread open.

And there, in plain sight, black moss!

Your left middle finger busy, busy!

Villain, searching for the red crest.

While golden honey alread...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Part I
• Part II
• Part III