One of the great lyric poets of ex-Yugoslavia in the 20th century, who is now hailed as a great Croatian poet, Tin Ujević (1891 – 1955) has hardly been translated at all into English. His Collected Works number 16 volumes, and he is greatly loved as a lyric poet in Croatia as well as all the other countries of former Yugoslavia.
Tin is a writer of voluminous intellect, whose use of language, gentle musicality, purity of literary form and mournful, melancholic sensibility are reminiscent in many ways of Verlaine. He lived simply, and was a frequenter of bars and cafés. He was always poor. He wrote in the Croatian variant of the language, with a strong Dalmatian influence. He lived at various times in Belgrade, Sarajevo, Split, Zagreb and Paris.
The Gulf! Whole oceans scaled over my head,
and gold fish fashioned out of crystallites,
I ask where Madam Moonlight’s lain abed,
and blue horizons haze blue mountain heights.
The dawn is spiked with delicate clear dread,
thought’s needles – piercing, lucid – snap and freeze.
No scales or spirals raise me, spirited,
nor mirrorings of rocked realities.
The heart’s a world unfathomed, fertile, deep,
and man, beneath his lead sky, breaks and sinks,
while life, a seagull, soars above his head.
Aye, well-fed easy woman, stuffed on bread,
thought’s rhythms broke our last connecting links,
but oh, how heart and pulse beat, beat and leap.
Kolajna (XXXII)
Ponore! More povrh moje glave
i zlatne ribe danom od kristala,
ja pitam gdje je Mjesečina pala
I gdje se gorski horizonti plave.
Zora je puna nježne jasne strave,
a miso je – bistra, ledna – stala;
ne zanima me skala, ni spirala,
ni česti odraz uzdremane jave.
Srce je sviejjta plodno I duboko
a čovjek slomljen pod težinom neba
a život krila visoko – visoko.
Nebrigo žene, presirtosti hljeba,
od ritma misli zadnja spona puca
A srce kuca blo kuca, kucva.
Star on High
He loves no less who does not waste his words,
but asks and cares too much, though seeming dumb,
and his whole scope of loving (like some crumb
of bread to feed to hungry teeth), he hoards,
preserving it to give some star on high –
his soul, his heart, his distant destiny.
His silence says: in this world’s alien loneliness,
flowers and poems occupy my dreams,
with plant-pots perched on seasoned wooden beams –
our poverty’s pure, simple lines of loveliness.
beneath the veil of day and night’s clean blue,
i’m dreaming: I shall come, I’ll come for you.
Zvijezde u visini
Ne ljubi manje koji mnogo ćuti
on mnogo traži, i on mnogo sluti,
i svoju ljubav (kao parče kruva
za gladne zube) on brižljivo čuva
za zvijezde u visini
za srca u daljini.
Ćutanje kaže: u tuđem svijetu
ja sanjam još o cvijetu i sonetu,
i o pitaru povrh trošne grede,
i o ljepoti naše svijetle bijede,
i u zar dana i u plavet noći
snim: ja ću doći, ja ću doći.
The Necklace (20)
Listen how in this perfumed dark
our nerves’ thin wires are twanged to flame
as if struck by a nettle’s spark.
For wounding us, they’ll take the blame.
In this deep hush, with glory filled,
our epic dawn sets, lost from view,
yet vision from this strife is spilled
through the green ranks of the avenue.
The beauty of our grieving frays,
its splendid silk and velvet folds
like dewy rainbows, fade in haze,
fringed like the moon in blues and golds.
Listen how in this perfumed dark
our nerves’ thin wires are twanged to flame
as if struck by a nettle’s spark.
For wounding us, they’ll take the blame.
Kolajna (20)
U ovom mraku mirisavu
sluš ajmo kako ječe živci;
i sjećaju na ljutu travu,
a naš em grču jesu krivci.
U ovom muku punom boga
zalazi rujna epopeja;
nutraš nja kavga i nesloga
otkriva zelen niz aleja.
Umire naš a lijepa tuga,
tuga od svile i barš una;
varava kao rosna duga,
zlatna i plava kao Luna.
U ovom mraku mirisavu
sluš ajmo kako ječe živci;
i sjećaju na ljutu travu,
a naš em grču jesu krivci.
The Necklace (XI)
Blessed morning, you cascade
roaring lightfalls in this room.
How can pain make me afraid,
dead already, in my tomb?
Well, perhaps you can ignite
buried sparks from ash and dust
since the lilac and the light
still swell longing in your breast.
When I lift your veil, you show
lines of quiet, forms of grace
in shelves of books, row on row –
then the whole room’s careworn face.
Yet, there’s something still I miss
from this crib without a cross,
a smile on darling lips, the kiss
of flowers in a waterglass.
Blessed morning, while you dress
this room in your translucent robe,
I have no fear of death’s caress.
Only give love back to this Job.
Kolajna (XI)
Blaženo jutro koje padaš
u svijetlom slapu u tu sobu,
već nema rane da mi zadaš,
počivam mrtav u svom grobu.
Možda ćeš ipak da potpiriš
pepelom iskru zapretanu —
jer evo, trome grudi širiš
čeznućem suncem, jorgovanu.
Dijeliš mi neke tihe slasti
kad o tvom zaru vidim knjige
na polici — i cijeli tmasti
vidik te sobe pune brige.
Za mene ipak nešto fali
u ovoj uzi bez raspeća,
na dragoj usni osmjeh mali,
u čaši vode kita cvijeća.
Blaženo jutro koje padaš
sa snopom svjetla u tu sobu,
već nema smrti da mi zadaš,
no vrati ljubav ovom Jobu.
Frailty
In this mist, in this rain –
oh drunken heart, don’t drown in pain.
Love unrequited gave no rest,
so now you yearn for earth’s breast,
and all your longing, cry of a slave,
is to find some quiet grave:
Here my soul will soon expire
and here will wither my desire
on the waves of our blue, blue sea
and white, white pebbles cover me,
and my needs will all come home
under blessed heaven’s dome,
with sun, calm blue, and clarity,
beneath the ground that once bore me.
Slaboća
Po ovoj magli, ovoj kiši-
o pjano srce, ne uzdiši.
Ti ljubilo si uzaludu,
a sada išteš rodnu grudu,
i tvoja čežnja, vapaj roba,
traži odnekud pokoj groba.
-Tu ću skoro da izdahnem,
tu ću skoro da usahnem,
na našem plavom, plavom valu,
na našem bijelom , bijelom žalu;
i sve ću naći što sam trebo
pod tvojim svodom, Sveto Nebo,
plaveti sunca i vedrine
nad zemljom stare domovine.
Nocturne
Tonight, my forehead gleams
and sweat drips in each eye;
my thoughts blaze through dreams,
tonight, of beauty I shall die.
The soul’s core is pure passion, deep
in the pit of night, a blazing cone.
Hush, weep in silence. Let us weep
and let us die. We’ll die alone.
Notturno
Noćas se moje čelo žari,
noćas se moje vjeđe pote;
i moje misli san ozari,
umrijet ću noćas od ljepote.
Duša je strasna u dubini,
Ona je zublja u dnu noći;
Plačimo, plačimo u tišini,
Umrimo, umrimo u samoći.
All originals Tin Ujević
© All translations to English by Richard Berengarten and Daša Marić
Published with the permission of Richard Berengarten