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.
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(*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.
Post je objavljen 23.09.2007. u 00:14 sati.