Intermezzo 5 – Sonet, iliti Zašto ne mogu spavati?
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Put je bio dosta dug i zamarajući… međutim, bez obzira na umor, želim s vama podijeliti iskustvo jednog prekrasnog soneta… No, prije svega… first things first: Jučer sam s frendom šetao centrom Grada i, kako on zna za moju pasiju vezanu za knjige, upita on mene, da li bi išli do (barem za mene) novog Profilovog Megastore-a u Bogovićevoj… iako nisam baš imao neku pretjeranu inspiraciju za kupovinom, rekoh, pa možemo napraviti đir po trgovini… čisto da vidim kakva je… nismo se dugo zadržavali… do ruku mi je došlo 5-6-7 interesantnih knjiga, jedna prekrasna monografija o firentinskim Uffizima, monografija ‘500 autoportreta’… itd… itd… i, na koncu… jedna knjiga Dubravka Škiljana – ‘Vježbe iz semantike ljubavi’… Kako me je naslov prilično zaintrigirao, uzeo sam knjigu u ruke… i otvorio nasumice, stranicu 156… I smrznuo se… I iz prvog pokušaja, iz nasumice otvorene stranice, našao sam odgovor na pitanje koje glasi: ‘Zašto loše spavam posljednjih mjesec dana???’ OK… neću duljti… sonet:(*1) Ay, Floralba! Sońé que te... Dirélo? Sí, pues que sueńo fue, que te gozaba Y quién sino un amante que sońaba, juntara tanto infierno a tanto cielo? Mis llamas con tu nieve y con tu hielo, Cual suele opuestas flechas de su aljaba, Mezclaba Amor, y honesto las mezclaba, Como mi adoración en su desvelo. Y dije: "Quiera Amor, quiera mi suerte, que nunca duerma yo, si estoy despierto, Y que si duermo, que jamás despierte" Mas desperté del dulce desconcierto, Y vi que estuve vivo con la muerte, Y vi que con la vida estaba muerto. Francisco de Quevedo (AKA Francisco Gómez de Quevedo y Santibáńez Villegas) E sada… na toj, ranije imenovanoj stranici Škiljan lijepo obrazlaže kroz antagonizam antonima što je što… i u konačnici… što je čemu uzrok… neću elaborirati… osim dvaju finalnih antagonizama, koji su međusobno povezani: dulce desconcierto = slatka konfuzija / vida-muerte = život u smrti, a u svezi sa: duermo = spavam / estoy despierto = budan sam… I sve bi jasno… osim činjenice da sam počeo loše spavati nekih desetak dana prije toga… a to mogu protumačiti samo kao… svojevrsnu anticipaciju… * * * Sutra: više o zadnjem danu u Prijestolnici * * * Pjesma za laku noć / dobro jutro / dobar dan: Suzanne Leonard Cohen Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there And she feeds you tea and oranges That come all the way from China And just when you mean to tell her That you have no love to give her Then she gets you on her wavelength And she lets the river answer That you've always been her lover And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that she will trust you For you've touched her perfect body with your mind. And Jesus was a sailor When he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching From his lonely wooden tower And when he knew for certain Only drowning men could see him He said "All men will be sailors then Until the sea shall free them" But he himself was broken Long before the sky would open Forsaken, almost human He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind And you think maybe you'll trust him For he's touched your perfect body with his mind. Now Suzanne takes your hand And she leads you to the river She is wearing rags and feathers From Salvation Army counters And the sun pours down like honey On Our Lady of the Harbour And she shows you where to look Among the garbage and the flowers There are heroes in the seaweed There are children in the morning They are leaning out for love And they will lean that way forever While Suzanne holds the mirror And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that you can trust her For she's touched your perfect body with her mind. ------- (*1) – španj.: sonet – (prijev. N. Milićević) Floralba, sanjah da te… Zar da kažem? Da, jer san bješe, da grlim te ludo. Ljubavnik samo, u snu, takvo čudo stvara, i skupa raj i pakô slaže. Tvoj snijeg ledeni i moj oganj vreli, kao suprotne iz tobolca strijele, spajao Amor, spajao ih smjele, ko ljubav moja, kad te budna želi. I rekoh: da mi sudbina dosudi, ako sam budan, da ne zaspim nikad, i ako spavam, da se ne probudim. Al prodbudih se, nesta što sam snio, i vidjeh da sam živio u smrti, i vidjeh da sam, živeć, mrtav bio. |