E quante domande senza risposta può accumulare dentro di sé un uomo pur restando la stessa persona? Dev’esserci pure un limite, prima di crollare.

David Albahari, Sanguisughe (traduzione di Alice Parmeggiani)

Annunci

Questa narrazione ha già troppi fili così com’è, e probabilmente non diventerà mai un vero racconto. I racconti sono ordinati, in essi i fili sono disposti in modo armonioso, mentre quello che sto componendo io è piuttosto un riflesso della vita, che è sempre caotica, dato che troppe cose avvengono simultaneamente.

David Albahari, Sanguisughe (traduzione di Alice Parmeggiani)

Si deve dubitare, ma non si deve credere al dubbio.

David Albahari, Sanguisughe (traduzione di Alice Parmeggiani)

[…] ma ciò che avete tra le mani non è un libro, bensì una confessione che, sul limitare del bosco, io pronuncio al vento, e così le parole, logore come sempre, scompaiono, si uniscono all’azoto e all’ossigeno e a chissà che altro ancora, tanto che nemmeno io, che sto raccontando questa storia, riesco a sentirle.

David Albahari, Sanguisughe (traduzione di Alice Parmeggiani)

Translation

Word by word
I translate
the dead into living,
bones into meat,
winters into summers,
molehills into mountains.
I shed the snake’s skin,
tailor angel’s wings.
I am the word’s judge
who remains unseen within the text.
I sleep in a pillow
of someone else’s dreams;
I wake up, to a Good morning –
in dead tongues.

I translate
day into night
the past into present –
oblivion into memory,
today into tomorrow,
but did not anticipate
the cruel desiccating act,
the fact that with every translated breath
I lose my very own,
spend myself,
waste myself unknowingly,
floating word by word
into another context.

So now,
I’m expected to transport
the thirsty across the river
without getting wet,
without being quenched.
I neither have the breath,
nor words, nor hands,
to translate my own pain
into sadness, happiness –
plenitude – stop,
enough.

Zoran Ančevski, in Anthology of Contemporary Macedonian Poetry (traduzione di Sudeep Sen e Zoran Ančevski)

The Theater of Life

We think we’re actors on a stage and
so constantly quarrel over who plays
what role and why.

Yet what if there in the dark,
behind dimmed footlights, the
hall is empty, no one’s watching

our absurd grotesque? We
turn for a moment and
eagerly await the claque’s
applause…

Even hissing,
jeering and boos
would be better
than this silence.

Bogomil Ǵuzel, in Anthology of Contemporary Macedonian Poetry (traduzione di Peter Liotta e Dragana Velkovska)

Lachrymatory

A lachrymatory is a phial where European noblewomen gathered children’s tears to make their faces more beutiful. Our mothers, however, gathered their tears so that they would have something to take to the graveyards.

I saw my husband off to war
I bought a bottle for tears
and invited the sun into my home.
And I told it to sit beside me:
so that we could look each other,
lest my room be empty.
And to shine on me while I cried,
while I filled the bottle with tears,
lest, without them, I should feel ashamed:
have nothing to welcome my man with.
Oh, Sun, you that look everywhere,
tell, how many times I have filled the bottle
and emptied it how many times, tell,
I am still crying, gathering tears,
to have at least tears for his grave.

Petre M. Andreeveski, in Anthology of Contemporary Macedonian Poetry (traduzione di Filip Korženski)