Miroslav Antic

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    da li neko ima prevod Mikine pjesme ”Pustinja” na engleskom???


    Plavi čuperak




    Hvala Darko! Sve najbolje!

    Evo prevoda:

    Translated Poem: Miroslav Antić – Plavi čuperak


    pokusavam vec duze da nadjem prevod rasejane pesme mike antica za prijatelje koji ne govore srpski, ali bezuspesno… da li vi mozete da mi pomognete??? hvala!!



    Pozdrav svima, zovem se Darko i prevodilac sam, pa eto htedoh da doprinesem svojim prevodom ove neverovatne pesme na engleski, ako moze. 🙂

    The Immortal Poem


    If you are told that I’ve died
    and I was dear to your heart,
    perhaps something in you
    will suddenly turn gray too.

    The mist on your eyelashes.
    On your lips, an ashen mark.
    Have you ever thought about
    what it means to live?

    Like the snow on a warm palm,
    the childhood in you melts away.
    Are there any worries?
    Are there any sorrows?

    Up the ladder of imagination
    to your youth you climb boldly.
    There you will find it waiting for you –
    that beautiful, but mischievous rainbow.

    And live!
    Live to the full!
    Do not bite on your days like a mouse.
    Chew on air in its full expanse.
    Overtake the wind and birds.

    As the whole eternity is short.

    Out of nowhere those who laugh,
    in a mirror
    get to see their wrinkled faces.

    Out of the blue: behind this corner and that,
    there’s a tear lurking.

    Troubles approach tiptoeing.
    Years… turn gloomier.

    Suddenly the world that you tread upon
    becomes ever so narrow
    and your smile ever so quieter
    and quieter
    and distorted in a way.

    Therefore you need to live, live to the full!

    I used to live like that.
    In only half a century
    I went about eons.

    I do admit to being somewhat silly in doing that.
    Moonstruck at times.
    But I never stopped.
    I kept going into eternity.
    And going…

    Out of your aorta spin
    a never-ending golden thread
    and sew up those broken spots
    from which the trembling fascination seeps.

    And never perceive life
    as fearful forgiveness,
    but as an everlasting welcome
    and everlasting birth of awakening.


    And then, for real once,
    do think about what it means to die
    and where the man disappears.

    What is it that claims one forever?

    Don’t go to cemeteries.
    You won’t understand a thing.
    Cemeteries are the darkest of fairs
    and a theater of sadness.

    In all playfulness of impatience
    and your fluidity,
    don’t you feel the need at times
    just for a little bit to secretly set foot in
    to the new levels of mind?
    Into the neighboring futures?

    I’ll explain this to you sometimes
    if you find me there.

    You know what I’m going to do for you:
    I’m going to break your toy
    known by the name of pain,
    if you dare let me.

    I’m not lying to you.
    I’m inventing
    things that need to be,
    it’s only that you haven’t discovered them yet,
    because you haven’t looked.

    Remember: the reality is more real
    if you add the unreal to it.

    You’ll recognize me by my silence.
    Those from eternity do not speak.

    To outwit the wisdom,
    nurture the skill of listening.

    Great answers
    come about by themselves.

    After countless births
    and some petty deaths,
    when you realize at some point
    that everything you’ve been breathing in

    is not a single life,

    do come by to see me
    where I can touch you with light
    and turn you into a thought.

    The most distant of futures
    hold a future of their own
    that has the voice of its future
    resonating in itself.

    And there are no empty worlds.

    That, which we are not aware of,
    is not the inexistence,
    but it’s the existence existing alongside us.


    If you are told that I’ve died,
    here’s what happens.

    Thousands of colorful fishes
    shall be fluttering through my eye.
    And earth shall hide me.
    And weeds shall hide me.

    And meanwhile I’ll be somewhere,
    soaring up high.
    Remember: there are no boundaries,
    but an occasional passing limit.

    I shall sail above you at dawn,
    down the wind smooth as silk.
    I shall unveil the horizon for you,
    the outlines of times coming to be
    and the images from the future
    by the sheer beauty of invisible wings.

    And as a silent pendulum
    rocking in infinity,
    I shall hang by myself, of myself
    as if of a golden string.

    The space is the speed of thought
    gathered in its own way.
    I shall be standing in one place, but I shall come
    and go through time.

    I shall rest from the less important things
    like the galactic swarms
    that have joined in their pulses,
    which keep on beating in their essence.

    I shall rest from the less important things
    like the giant forests
    that have joined their branches
    into big hugs.

    I shall rest from the less important things
    like the giant birds
    that have joined their wings
    to cover up the entire sky.

    I shall rest from the less important things
    like the great loves
    that had been joined by the lips
    before they even met.

    Do you really think that my hand,
    or head,
    could turn into clay,
    a willow root
    or grass?

    That a tiny little secret,
    or a wavering fear
    can tomorrow become
    or dust?

    You know, I do come from the stars.
    My being is made up of light.

    Nothing in me will ever become
    extinguished or short-lived.

    I’m just going to return –
    it’s usually like that,
    at a random dawn –
    to a distant sun of mine
    with my eyes glowing in gold.

    Punished for everything I’ve thought,
    not to mention what I’ve done,
    I’ve been charged with being gentle
    and I’ve been found guilty
    for not putting out love with hate,
    but with a novel, even greater love
    and for not putting out life with death,
    but with something that lives in a different way.

    The ultimate borders of infinity
    are but a beginning of its vastness.

    He who lasts more than the everlasting
    is unfamiliar with the experience of moments.

    Never bother yourself
    with the question: how to keep living,
    but: how not to die
    after all the deaths.


    If you are told that I’ve died,
    don’t worry. In every century
    there’s been someone who’s mixed me up
    with the tired and the elderly by mistake.

    Nowhere are there more people
    as there are in a single man.

    No more differences,
    as there are in the things that are the same.

    If you fumble through spaces,
    you’ll dig me out of the wind.
    I’m in the water.
    In the stone.
    In every dusk and dawn.

    Being a human and multifold
    does not mean to be dehumanized.

    I am divisible by anything,
    but not destructible.

    And all those marvelous states
    and regenerations of myself
    are merely a whirlpool –

    You know what prophecies are?
    Moulds of earlier events
    and the gasps of one,
    that chases after itself over and over again.

    So why saying goodbye anyway?
    What are we sorry for?
    If you are told that I’ve died,
    you know that to die I don’t know how.

    Love is the only air
    I’ve been breathing.
    And smile is the only language
    in the world I understand.

    To this Earth I came only
    to give you a little wink.
    To leave behind me something
    that resembles a fluttering mark.

    Don’t be sad.

    I want so much
    that you cherish me inside
    as a silly man,
    and strangely dear to your heart.

    At night when you look up into the sky,
    do give me a wink too.

    Let it be a secret.

    In spite of the days colored in blue,
    whenever you see a shooting star
    paint in bright red the sky,
    remember: that’s actually me,
    foolish still, flying up about there alive.


    Hvala Darko!
    To je prva pesma koju sam prevela kad sam napravila ovaj sajt – moju verziju možeš naći ovde – KLIK


    Da li moze ima prevod pesme Plava zvezda od Miroslava Antica? 🙂

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