LEAN RADIĆ

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LEAN RADIĆ

REQUIEM ZA LORENU

Pamtim Lorena
te jeseni kasne
jela si naranče
crvene i slasne.
Smrt razapeta
između otoka i kopna
tama : – iskovane misli
u boji tvojih očiju.
Oštrim koplje, a štit mi nosi tvoju noć
vrijeme prelomljeno u utrobi praznog ribnjaka.
Moloh ! Moloh !
Lutam već dugo
hodnikom svijesti
izgubljen u odjeku vlastitih koraka
uhvatim se ponekada kako mislim na tebe
( a obećao sam da neću )
kako si ljeta Gospodnjega na vrhu Učke
trčala po kiši
u vojničkim čizmama
i misli mi slala u gustim kapima,
tad hladan glas uma
dozove stvarnost
teška tuga zasjedne na grudi
pa kuhinjskim nožem po žilama šaram
i pišem tvoje ime na keramici pločica
LORENA.
( Jahve ozdravi me jer dršću kosti moje ). *
U Sulmonu pronašao sam pjesmu
to dani pupaju na trepavici.
Moloh ! Moloh !
Pa se ponovo uhvatim kako
mislim na tebe, ( a obećao sam da neću )
što nas je to snašlo :
Svemir i Moloh i Pakao…
Progutam šaku tableta za spavanje
onda sa sjećanjem o tebi usnem bez snova
LORENA.
Moloh ! Moloh !
Ne prolazim više Tizianovom ulicom
na prozoru hospicija tvoje lice mi se ukazuje
neka bude Moloh !
Blizanci u ogledalu
tvoj grob more od drugih izdvaja
na kuhinjskome stropu proročki je ispisano :
 » I najprije će uskrsnuti mrtvi u Kristu  » *
čujem kako spuštaju lijes
sedam godina ga nosahu.
Deus est mortuus ! Ave Moloh !
Pamtim Lorena
te jeseni kasne
jela si naranče
crvene i slasne.

*Psalam

ARBEIT MACHT FREI

U oblaku leže,
a Bog kao da je iz Njemačke
( puštaš suzu : zaboravljaš kako su te nekad zvali ).

( Podignut je zid
od svjetlosti,
a tek sad ne vidimo ).

Jakob između rake i sunca
spojen s kamenjem
( iz glave i oka
lete krpe pepela ),
bez zvuka
bez zapovijedi,
on – poravnat sa svijetom –
čekići udaraju o zvona i ulaze u
tebe.

Arbeit macht frei.

Kosa djeteta je tamna
( vrata duše su zatvorena ),
a Bog kao da je iz Njemačke
razdvojili su neizvjesnost od sata ;
kosa djeteta je bijela.

( Ciklon B – Ciklon B
Jürgen hrani Jevreje
– oko mu je plavo, oko mu je njemačko ).

Danas je mjesec umro na nebu
Rahelina majka stavlja cvijeće na stol
( maleni stol ),
a Bog kao da je iz Njemačke
(… i tijelo njezino
lebdi
nad dimnjakom visoko ).
Rahelino počivalište je nebo iznad
Poljske.

Arbeit macht frei.

Sada se kopaju jame
u zemlji
raznih veličina i oblika

jer za mrtve u zraku više nema mjesta.

Dugo su stajali
gologlavi u mećavi – svatko u svojim mislima
svatko u svojoj vječnosti
slobodni.

Zvijezde noćas
poput krijesa blistaju
za tebe Jakobe
za tebe Rahela

blistaju za Poljsku, blistaju za Njemačku.

MATI

Upalite svjetlo da ne budu same
široka suknja na mršavom struku
u činiji cvijet jesen-ciklame
miris bašte sniva na jastuku

Upalite svjetlo boje se tame
sijeda kosa skrivena u fačuku
sarce teško poput bovan-jame
nikog nema da joj ugrije ruku

Djeca odavno po svijetu se skiću
u duši kitina i tuga golema
sliku muža čuva u lančiću

ugasi svijeću pa ode da drijema.
Umrli feral u očima srne
noćas vijore horugve crne.

……………………………..

LEAN RADIĆ

REQUIEM FOR LORENA

I remember Lorena
that fall is late
you ate oranges
red and delicious.
Death crucified
between the island and the mainland
darkness: – forged thoughts
in the color of your eyes.
I sharpen my spear, and my shield carries your night
time broken in the bowels of an empty pond.
Moloch! Moloch!
I’ve been wandering for a long time
the hallway of consciousness
lost in the echo of his own footsteps
I catch myself thinking of you sometimes
(and I promised I wouldn’t)
how are the summers of the Lord at the top of Učka
ran in the rain
in military boots
and sent my thoughts in thick drops,
then the cold voice of the mind
dose reality
heavy sadness sat on his chest
so with a kitchen knife I scratch the veins
and I write your name on the ceramic tiles
LORENA.
(Yahweh heals me because my bones are shaking). *
I found a song in Sulmon
that days budding on the lashes.
Moloch! Moloch!
So I catch myself again how
I’m thinking of you, (and I promised I wouldn’t)
what happened to us:
The Universe and Moloch and Hell …
I swallow a handful of sleeping pills
then with the memory of you a dreamless lip
LORENA.
Moloch! Moloch!
I don’t walk down Titian Street anymore
at the hospice window your face appears to me
let it be Moloch!
Twins in the mirror
your grave separates the sea from others
on the kitchen ceiling is prophetically written:
« And first shall the dead rise in Christ » *
I hear them lowering the coffin
they wore it for seven years.
God is dead! Ave Moloh!
I remember Lorena
that fall is late
you ate oranges
red and delicious.

* Psalm

WORKING MACHT FREE

They lie in the cloud,
and God seems to be from Germany
(you shed a tear: you forget what they used to call you).

(The wall is raised
of light,
and only now we do not see).

Jacob between cancer and the sun
connected with stones
(from the head and eye
fly ash cloths),
without sound
without orders,
he – aligned with the world –
hammers strike the bells and enter
you.

Work is free.

The child’s hair is dark
(the door of the soul is closed),
and God seems to be from Germany
they separated uncertainty from the clock;
the child’s hair is white.

(Cyclone B – Cyclone B
Jürgen feeds the Jews
– his eye is blue, his eye is German).

Today the moon died in the sky
Rachel’s mother puts flowers on the table
(small table),
and God seems to be from Germany
(… and her body
floats
above the chimney high).
Rachel’s resting place is the sky above
Polish.

Work is free.

Now pits are being dug
in the land
of various sizes and shapes

for there is no more room for the dead in the air.

They stood for a long time
naked in a blizzard — each in his own thoughts
each in his own eternity
free.

Stars tonight
they shine like bonfires
for you Jacob
for you Rachel

they shine for Poland, they shine for Germany.

MOTHER

Turn on the light so they are not alone
wide skirt at a lean waist
in a bowl an autumn-cyclamen flower
the smell of the garden dreams of a pillow

Turn on the light afraid of darkness
gray hair hidden in a facet
sarce hard as a bovan-pit
there is no one to warm her hand

Children have been sketching around the world for a long time
in the soul of chitin and sorrow great
she keeps a picture of her husband in a chain

he extinguished the candle and went to take a nap.
A dead lantern in the deer’s eyes
black flags are flying tonight.

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