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A poem I'd like to know the meaning of - UniLang

A poem I'd like to know the meaning of

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Kenny
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A poem I'd like to know the meaning of

Postby Kenny » 2014-07-04, 12:43

Hey guys!

Could someone give me an approximate (ie. it doesn't need to be very literary-sounding or poetic or any of that) translation of the following poem? It would be much appreciated.

Thanks. :-)

____________________________________________________

Mile Stojić:


Govori Petrus: o posvetama

U pravu je bio Mallarmé kad je upozoravao:
Nikad ne posvećuj stihove poznanicima, političarima
prijateljima, ženama

Doživjet ćeš ravnodušnost
a možda i porugu

Hvalit će se da su ti posuđivali novac
da su te tri mjeseca izdržavali
da su te vodili u kliniku za venerične bolesti
da su te izvukli iz bijede

Osim toga, čim se nađu u pjesmi
odmah bi je preuređivali, prepravljali
Ne gode im aliteracije, zbunjuju ih asonance
Te: “Baudelaire bi to ovako, Carver onako”
kao da su posisali sve znanje iz teorije i poetike
Ti ih gledaš i razumiješ: Pa ovi ljudi ne znaju da je
đavo došao po svoje i da ćemo već sutra svi biti mrtvi,
Oni se ponašaju kao da su moji stihovi najvažnija
stvar na svijetu

i kao da im je moja pjesma babovina
Žene bi tu isti čas nešto čistile, raspremale
prozori tvoje pjesme su zamagljeni, zidovi neokrečeni
Metrika ti je uboga i atmosfera mračna.
Dok ti u riječi hvataš odbljeske tamnih kristala
one bi radije nasred pjesme kristalni luster
One su oduvijek, kažu, sanjale svjetliju pjesmu,
sa barem pet soba i balkonom

Stog poslušaj Mallarméa i ne posvećuj pjesme ljudima
Ako ih jednom pripustiš u stih
nikad ih više iz njega nećeš istjerati.

vijayjohn
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Re: A poem I'd like to know the meaning of

Postby vijayjohn » 2014-08-16, 1:16

I'd like to try. :) I will admit, though, that I got some help from another non-native speaker.

Peter speaks: On dedications

Mallarmé was right when he warned:
Never dedicate verses with acquaintances, politicians,
Friends, wives

You will experience indifference
And perhaps even ridicule

Those who lent you a coin,
Who supported you for three months,
Who drove you to the clinic for venereal diseases,
Who got you out of misery,
Will extol you

Besides that, as soon as they find themselves in the poem
They’d immediately reconstruct it, reprocess it
Alliterations would not please them, assonances confuse them
And: "This would be Baudelaire; that, Carver"
As if all knowledge came from theories and poetry
You look at them and understand: These people don't know that
The devil came on his own and we will all be dead by tomorrow,
They behave themselves as if my verses are the most important
Thing in the world

And as if my poem is their patrimony
Women would clean, uncover something here at the same time
The windows of your poem are fogged up, the walls unopened
The metric is wretched to you and the atmosphere dark.
While you grab the reflections of dark crystals in a word
They would rather (grab) the crystal luster in the middle of the poem
They have always, they say, dreamed of a brighter poem,
From at least the five rooms and the balcony

A stack of hay pays attention to Mallarmé and doesn't dedicate songs to people
If you allow one of them into verse
You will never drive them out of it again.


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