In Memoriam

In Memoriam

By Miroslav Mika Antić

There is an incredible scoundrel,
By the name of Miroslav Antić.
He devours my bread.
He fathers my children.
He wears my suits.
With my wife, he regularly sleeps
Every night,
Because he knows that at the time
I’m far away, say, in Leningrad.

And that fella Antić,
Who ruined me both as a writer
And as a man,
Well, that fella Antić,
Who, one day, will very patiently
Lie into my own grave,
Asked me one morning:
What the heck is wrong with you, man?
You look kind of sick.

And, pardon my French,
What does he care
How I feel and
How long I can endure.
I’m most wonderfully being taken care of
By those who leave me alone.

And he,
Washes his hands with my brandy,
Has the keys to may atelier,
Messes with my blondes.
Guys, this man forces me to read books,
Slanders me in my own home,
Tells all sorts of lies,
To my children, what impertinence,
To my children he buys ice-cream
And bribes them.

I was a mariner.
I was fleeing from him.
Or, for instance, I go to Paris.
And I pull a blanket over my head.
I grow a mustache.
But, even there he finds me,
In some poor Rue Jolivet,
In some squalid hotel,
And takes me home, and makes me cry.

My mum, Melanija,
Who does not know she gave birth
To me and not to him,
Loves him more,
Trusts him more,
And he takes advantage of that.
And he is that pretentious bastard
Whose biography I write.
He is that distinguished animal
To whom I pay tribute,
This disparaged and alone
And extremely disgusted at
Being forced publicly to lend him my eyes,
And soul and that little money
Which I had difficulty borrowing.

When I, for instance,
Leaped from the Petrovaradin Fortress,
He jumped into textbooks.
When Dr Savić treated me for
Alcoholism,
He pretended it had something to do
With a movie.

Whenever I went, he pushed me
Aside so as not to embarrass him.
He interfered with my dreams.
He received my awards.
He grinned at my parties.
A hypocrite.
A true hypocrite.
A provincial.
The one who endured all that
I have never been able to endure.
And who’s now so wonderfully rushing
To die instead of me,
So as to be,
That scum,
So as to be the only one to live
Instead of me as soon as possible.

Translation from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

In Memoriam

Postoji jedan neverovatan gad
koji se zove Miroslav Antić.
Ždere moj hleb.
Pravi moju decu.
Nosi moja odela.
Sa mojom ženom redovno leže u krevet svake noći,
jer zna da sam ja tog trenutka
daleko negde, u Lenjingradu.

I taj Antić
koji me je upropastio i kao pisca
i kao čoveka,
dakle, taj Antić,
koji će jednog dana vrlo strpljivo
leći u moju sopstvenu grobnicu,
pita me jednog jutra:
šta vam je, bogamu, čoveče,
izgledate mi nekako bolesni?

A šta se,
izvinite za izraz,
baš njega tiče kako mi je
i dokle ja to mogu.
O meni se najdivnije brinu
oni koji me ostavljaju na miru.

A on,
pere ruke mojom rakijom,
ima ključ od mog ateljea,
petlja sa mojim plavušama.
Ljudi, taj me tera da čitam knjige,
ogovara me u rođenoj kući,
svašta laže,
mojoj deci, zamislite svinjariju,
mojoj deci kupuje sladoled
i podmićuje ih.

Bio sam mornar.
Bežao sam.
Ili odem, na primer, u Pariz.
Pokrijem se ćebetom preko glave.
Pustim brkove.
A on me i tu pronađe,
u nekoj bednoj Ulici Žolive,
u nekom bednom hotelu,
i vrati kući, i rasplače me.

Mati moja Melanija,
koja ne zna da je rodila mene
a ne njega,
više ga voli,
više mu veruje,
i on to još kako koristi.
A on je ta upeglana stoka
kojoj ja pišem biografiju.
On je ta uvažena životinja
kojoj ja dižem spomenik,
ovako popljuvan i sam
i do krajnosti zgađen
što moram da mu javno pozajmim oči,
i dušu, i ono malo para
koje sam jedva pozajmio.

Kad sam ja, na primer,
skočio sa Petrovaradinske tvrđave,
on je uskakao u đačke čitanke.
Kad me je doktor Savić lečio od alkohola,
on se pravio kao da ima neke veze sa filmom.

Gde god se pojavim,
gurao me je da ga ne obrukam.
Mešao se u moje snove.
Primao je moje nagrade.
Cerekao se na prijemima.
Jedan licemer.
Jedan stvarni licemer.
Jedan – provincijalac.
Jedan što je trpeo sve ono
što ja nikada nisam mogao da istrpim.
I koji sada tako divno žuri
da crkne što pre umesto mene,
da bi umesto mene,
đubre jedno,
da bi umesto mene
što pre jedini živeo.

miroslav-mika-antic-1432637032-59856

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