> Psychedelic Fur

Psychedelic Fur

Par |2018-08-20T04:46:41+00:00 17 juin 2012|Catégories : Blog|

 

Doing busi­ness with God
I became his street dea­ler
wai­ting for
the lone­ly & the des­pe­rate
always in the same spot
always in the same lea­ther jacket
always in same dus­ty shoes

I grew up in the dark
wat­ching the light fli­cker
around the cho­sen ones
and I was rea­dy to explode in my cor­ner  
and save my soul and maybe yours too
and the souls of all souls
but someone did that long before me
he was given a chance and cru­ci­fied
all what’s left for me are
these four walls & the city
and that’s all I’ve got

exi­led among people
I sell love
to blind pas­sers-by
hell’s sym­pho­nies
and fat chil­dren
always hun­gry
I walk
always down the same street
always with chap­ped lips
always in the same dir­ty jeans

you know me
but you never say : hel­lo
your breasts
graze me in pas­sing
your touch
reminds me of futi­li­ty
your T-shirt says :
poets always mess around with eter­ni­ty

God’s phone is rin­ging
but he doesn’t have the time
to pick up the recei­ver
he packs and sends suf­fe­ring to the fai­th­ful
huma­ni­ta­rian aid to the saints
he real­ly takes good care
of his sad cir­cus    

the phone rings
but he’s busy
and lets things hap­pen
the way they will hap­pen
and I car­ry
my hai­ry heart
in a woo­den box
always on the same street
always in the same park
always in the same lea­ther jacket
with a rai­sed col­lar

I wan­ted to tell you
some­times I feel so lone­ly
when I stand
I look people straight in the eyes
that mir­ror sor­row                    
sad vio­lins
from the grey sub­urbs
lust is eve­ryw­here
the earth’s wea­ry with the weight
my T-shirt says :
only suf­fe­ring belongs to the people

I stand
always in the same park
bit by bit I sell
my life away
always to the same people
your breasts graze me in pas­sing
and the dark whirl of pas­sion
lin­gers behind
tooth­less ele­gies

I wan­ted to tell you that
I’m used to the soli­tude
it doesn’t hurt
just smol­ders
and if desire’s flame sparks up
that will be the end
fire is the devil
Satan of a thou­sand gree­dy tongues
he comes for the soul
per­so­nal­ly
and vanishes with it

doing busi­ness with God
I’m still his street dea­ler
exi­led among people
I wait for
the lone­ly & the des­pe­rate
that’s my only job
I don’t own a watch
or keys
I par­ked
my rus­ty used car
behind the buil­ding over there
I wait
always in the same place
always in same dus­ty shoes
always with the rai­sed col­lar
you know me
but you never say : hel­lo

I grew up in the dark
envying pain­ters
who tur­ned earth­ly figures
into hea­ven­ly beings
envying
the bums & the mad­men
they never              
mes­sed around with people
com­mu­nism & real estate
they never
applau­ded the vic­tors

my park is my work­place
I have to fill the quo­ta
I stand and look around
always on guard
my days
scat­te­red like confet­ti
tos­sed off the roof of a skys­cra­per
you know
things have rea­ched their limit
when lon­ging becomes lust
and sui­cide
hun­ger for life

I still tra­vel within myself
I ente­red the world of croo­ked lines
my mir­rors
have become vis­tas
my head
is still my only home

six­teen hours of thin­king a day
why did all the grea­test phi­lo­so­phers
long to be poets
in my room
a den­ted tin plate
full of ciga­rette butts
and emp­ty beer bot­tles
patient­ly awai­ting their bags

the future is bright & insuf­fe­rable
as I crawl along solitude’s walls
I hear bells
some­times I wish someone would kiss
my chap­ped lips
some­times I see
sha­dows leave their objects

I’ll demand
a shor­ter work­day
higher dai­ly wage
a foot mas­sage
I need atten­tion
a vel­vet thea­ter with fea­thers
and high heels
that
that’s exact­ly what I wan­ted to tell you

suf­fe­ring isn’t noble
and it’s so hard
when you turn your head away
and pass me by
your breasts
touch me in pas­sing
your T-shirt says
some­thing that real­ly dis­turbs me

you know what I mean

 

[Translated from Serbian to English by Ana Božićević]

 

 

Psihodelično krz­no

 

Trgujući s Bogom
pos­tao sam nje­gov ulič­ni diler
čekam
usaml­jene i oča­jne
uvek na istom mes­tu
uvek u istoj kož­noj jak­ni
uvek u istim prašn­ja­vim cipe­la­ma

odras­tao sam u mra­ku
i gle­dao kako tre­pe­ri svet­lost
oko iza­bra­nih
i bio spre­man da eks­plo­di­ram u svom uglu
i spa­sim svo­ju a mož­da i tvo­ju dušu
i duše svih duša
ali to je jedan već uči­nio dav­no pre mene
nje­mu su dali šan­su i raza­pe­li ga
meni su osta­la samo
četi­ri zida i grad
i to je jedi­no što imam

pro­te­ran među ljude
pro­da­jem
lju­bav sle­pim pro­laz­ni­ci­ma
sim­fo­nije iz pak­la
i debe­lu decu
uvek glad­nu
pro­la­zim
uvek istom uli­com
uvek ispu­ca­lih usa­na
uvek u istim prl­ja­vim far­mer­ka­ma

ti me poz­na­ješ
ali mi nikad ne kažeš : zdra­vo
tvoje gru­di
me okrz­nu u pro­la­zu
tvoj dodir
me pod­se­ti na uza­lud­nost
na tvo­joj maji­ci piše :
pes­ni­ci uvek neš­to petl­ja­ju s več­nošću

tele­fon zvo­ni kod Boga
ali on nema vre­me­na
da podigne sluša­li­cu
pakuje i šalje patn­ju ver­ni­ci­ma
huma­ni­tar­nu pomoć sve­ci­ma
on zais­ta brine o svom
tuž­nom cir­ku­su

tele­fon zvo­ni
ali on je zau­zet
i puš­ta da se stva­ri deša­va­ju
ona­ko kako se deša­va­ju
a ja nosim svoje
dla­ka­vo srce u drve­noj kuti­ji
uvek u istoj uli­ci
uvek u istom par­ku
uvek u istoj kož­noj jak­ni
s podi­gnu­tom kra­gnom

hteo sam da ti kažem
da se pone­kad osećam
tako usaml­jen
dok sto­jim
gle­dam ljude pra­vo u oči
one su ogle­da­la tuge
tužne vio­line
iz sivih pred­građa
požu­da je svu­da
zeml­ja je umor­na od tolike težine
na mojoj maji­ci piše :
jedi­no patn­ja pri­pa­da lju­di­ma

sto­jim
uvek u istom par­ku
pro­da­jem parče po parče
svog živo­ta
uvek istim lju­di­ma
tvoje gru­di me okrz­nu u pro­la­zu
i tam­ni vrt­log stras­ti ostaje
iza bezu­bih ele­gi­ja

hteo sam da ti kažem
da sam navik­nut na samoću
ona ne boli
samo tin­ja
i ako se poja­vi pla­men požude
biće to kraj
vatra je đavo
soto­na sa hil­ja­du poh­lep­nih jezi­ka
koji dola­zi po dušu
lič­no
i nes­taje s njom

trgu­jući s Bogom
i dalje sam nje­gov ulič­ni diler
pro­te­ran među ljude
čekam
usaml­jene i oča­jne
to je moj jedi­ni posao
ne pose­du­jem sat
ni ključeve
par­ki­rao sam
zarđa­li polov­ni auto­mo­bil
iza susedne zgrade
čekam
uvek na istom mes­tu
uvek u istim prašn­ja­vim cipe­la­ma
uvek s podi­gnu­tom kra­gnom
ti me poz­na­ješ
ali mi nika­da ne kažeš : zdra­vo

odras­tao sam u mra­ku
i zavi­deo sli­ka­ri­ma
koji su zemal­jske likove
pret­va­ra­li u nebes­ka bića
zavi­deo
skit­ni­ca­ma i luda­ci­ma
oni nika­da nisu
petl­ja­li s lju­di­ma
komu­niz­mom i nekret­ni­na­ma
oni nika­da nisu
aplau­di­ra­li pobed­ni­ci­ma

moj park je moje rad­no mes­to
moram da ispu­nim nor­mu
sto­jim i osvrćem se
uvek na opre­zu
moji dani
rasu­ti su kao kon­fete
bačene sa kro­va soli­te­ra
znaš
stva­ri su dote­rane do gra­nice
kad čezn­ja pos­taje požu­da
a samou­bist­vo
glad za živo­tom

još uvek putu­jem kroz sebe
ušao sam u svet kri­vih lini­ja
moja ogle­da­la
pos­ta­la su pre­de­li
moja gla­va
i dalje je
moja jedi­na kuća

šes­naest sati raz­mišl­jan­ja dnev­no
zaš­to su svi naj­veći filo­zo­fi
žude­li da budu pes­ni­ci
u mojoj sobi
iskrivl­jen lime­ni tan­jir
pun je opuša­ka
i prazne boce od piva
str­pl­ji­vo čeka­ju svoje kese

buduć­nost je svet­la i nepod­nošl­ji­va
dok puzim uz zidove samoće
čuju se zvo­na
pone­kad pože­lim da neko pol­ju­bi
moje ispu­cale usne
pone­kad vidim
kako senke napuš­ta­ju pred­mete

tražiću
skraći­vanje rad­nog vre­me­na
povećanje dnev­nice
masi­ranje sto­pa­la
potreb­na mi je pažn­ja
pliša­no pozo­rište s per­jem
i viso­kim pot­pe­ti­ca­ma
to
baš to sam želeo da ti kažem

patn­ja nije otme­na
i tako je teš­ko kad okre­neš gla­vu
i prođeš pored mene
tvoje gru­di
me dodir­nu u pro­la­zu
na tvo­joj maj­ci piše neš­to
što me zais­ta uzne­mi­ruje

znaš na šta mis­lim

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