A Story

A Story

By Miloš Crnjanski

I only remember that she was
Innocent and slender,
And that her hair was
Warm as black silk
In bosom bare.

And that before dawn the tender
Scent of the white locust imbued us.

All gloomy I recalled it by chance,
Because I love:
To close my eyes and keep silent.

Next year, when the locust spreads
Its scent, who knows where I will be.
In silence I feel
I will not be able to recall her name,
Ever again.

Translation from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

Priča

Sećam se samo da je bila
nevina i tanka,
i da joj je kosa bila
topla, kao crna svila
u nedrima golim.

I da je u nama pre uranka
zamiris’o bagrem beo.

Slučajno se setih neveseo,
jer volim:
da sklopim oči i ćutim.

Kad bagrem dogodine zamiriše,
ko zna gde ću biti.
U tišini slutim
da joj se imena ne mogu setiti
nikad više.

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