Contribution: To a Lady

Contribution: To a Lady

By Momčilo Nastasijević

Increasingly alone.
You haunt me in a dream, a stranger.
Sinful, when in solitude I call you.
It is someone else’s children that you bore.

Have mercy.
Your medicine is not a cure, but a thorn.
Pierce me with pain like an arrow.
Lady, I waste my life on poetry,
Forlorn.

I cry out,
But my voice fails.
Sweet-sounding salvation somewhere on a star awaits
That I’ve muttered down here, a poor bard.

Because no hand can untie the knot.
And up there, in eternity,
Will your rays still sting?
Will I love someone else’s creatures that you bring?

Have mercy.
Your medicine is not a cure, but a thorn.
Pierce me with pain like an arrow.
Lady, I waste my life on poetry,
Forlorn.

Translation from the Serbian by:
Danica Dimitrijević

Gospi

Sve samlji.
Snom pohodiš me tuđa.
Grešniji kad samotan te zovem.
Tuđa su deca iz tebe zaplakala.

Smiluj se.
Truje, ne celi tvoj lek.
Silovito me čemerom prostreli.
Hudi svoj, gospo,
na pesmu proćerdavam vek.

Zavapim,
al’ izvije se glas.
Miloglasan je negde na zvezdi spas,
što bolni pevač promucah ovde dole.

Jer nema ruke da razdreši nam čvor.
Al’ tamo, i na veke,
zrak tvoj hoće li boleti?
Tuđa iz tebe bića hoću li voleti?

Smiluj se.
Truje, ne celi tvoj lek.

Silovito me čemerom prostreli.
Hudi svoj, gospo,
na pesmu proćerdavam vek.

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