Ostrvo, plaža, pivo

OSTRVO, PLAŽA, PIVO,

I palma u pozadini! Dodatak fotografiji,
pridružena razglednica nekome tamo, u domovini,
koju nikada nećemo poslati.

I tamne fleke po pitomom moru.
I tresetnica lako pada preko oblih kamenčića.
Biće razbacani posle po kutovima sobe,
kao idoli morskih noći, kao zalog tih dana.

Ritual spuštanja na plažu, ritual poniranja
u vodu, oživljavanje one boje
koja je život u punom sjaju.

Sa obaveznim kartama, bez keca u rukavu,
i zveckavim novčićima, svetlucavim sunašcima
za koja se može dobiti popodnevno pivo.
Zagarantovana fatamorgana.

Na fotografiji videće se jasno,
i koju marku piva pijemo, mokre kose...
A u pozadini palma!

Jesmo li svi, koji ovde boravimo,
privid nas samih, ili ostvareni snovi tela
u odblesku na vodi?!

Obavezno je nekoliko SMS poruka
prijateljima i inima. To. Da smo na plaži.
Da pijemo pivo. I, uopšte, nije loše.
živimo mali poetični privid. Plavu čistinu.

I ova pesma je kao i fotografija.
Uvlaenje u triko uplaćenih deset
all inclusive tretmana.

I da, na plaži merkamo, kako da zaboravim,
bludnog, divnog sina: Kavafija. Eto
je i poezija.



ISLAND, BEACH, BEER,

and a palm! An additional note to the photograph
on a group postcard for those back home
in the homeland, a postcard we’ll never mail

And those dark spots on the calm sea.
Heat easily falls over the rounded stones.
They will be scattered afterward all over the room’s corners
as icons of sea nights, as souvenirs from those days.

The ritual of our descent to the beach, of diving grandly
into the water, of reviving that color of life in full splendor.

with the obligatory cards games, with no ace up your sleeve,
and the clink-clank of the coins, those small, shiny suns
with which one can buy an afternoon beer.
A guaranteed mirage.
In this photograph, you can clearly see,
even the label on the beer we are drinking, wet-haired…
And in the background, a palm!

Are we all, we, here on vacation, all
a mere illusion of ourselves, or a dream realized in our bones
by our reflection in the water?

Must we send a few text messages
to friends and family; tell them how we’re at the beach?
How we are drinking beer. And, how it’s not bad, overall.
we are living a small poetic illusion. Under a clear blue sky.

And this poem is like a photograph:
of me squeezing into my leotard
after ten, all-inclusive treatments.

And yes, on the beach we eyed, how could I forget
that promiscuous, marvelous son: Cavafy! Now,
that’s poetry.



NOTE: Soundcloud contains reading the same poem in Spanish