25.07.2011.

Velike su pustinje



Gilbert Garcin



Velike su pustinje i sve je pustinja.
Ne treba samo nekoliko tona kamenja ili crijepova
da bi se prerušila zemlja, ova zemlja što je istina.
Velike su pustinje, velike su i puste duše —
puste jer nitko njima ne prolazi osim njih samih,
velike jer se odande vidi sve, i sve je umrlo.

Velike su pustinje, dušo moja!
Velike su pustinje.

Nisam napravio ulaznicu za život,
promašio sam vrata čuvstva,
nema želje ni prigode što ih nisam izgubio.
Preostaje mi danas samo, uoči putovanja,
s otvorenim kovčegom što očekuje odgođeno spremanje,
sjedeći na sjedalici u društvu izvađenih košulja,
preostaje mi danas samo (izim nelagode što ovako sjedim)
ovo znati:
velike su pustinje, i sve je pustinja.
Velik je život, i ne zavrjeđuje muku življenja.

Bolje spremam kovčeg s očima što ga misle spremiti
nego spremanjem umjetnim rukama (držim da sam se
dobro izrazio).
Pripaljujem cigaretu da odgodim put,
da odgodim sva putovanja,
da odgodim cio svemir.

Vrati se opet sutra, stvarnosti!
Dosta za danas, ljudi!
Odgodi se, posvemašnja sadašnjosti!
Bolje je ne biti nego biti ovako.

Neka se kupi čokolada djetetu koje greškom naslijedih,
i neka se digne oznaka jer je sutra beskonačno.

Ali trebam spremiti kovčeg,
trebam svakako spremiti kovčeg,
kovčeg.
Ne mogu ponijeti košulje u pretpostavci a kovčeg u pameti!
Da, cio sam život trebao spremiti kovčeg.
Ali sam također, cio život, ostao sjedeći na hrpi košulja u kutu
u preživanju, kao bik što nije ispunio svoj usud da bude Apis.

Trebam spremiti kovčeg opstojanja.
Trebam postojati da bih spremio kovčege.
Pepeo cigarete pada povrh košulja.
Gledam sa strane, ustanovljujem da sam zaspao.
Sve što znam, to je da trebam spremiti kovčeg,
i da su pustinje velike i da je sve pustinja,
i neku poučnu priču glede toga, ali je se više ne sjećam.

Uspravljam se naglo bivajući svi Cezari.
Konačno ću spremiti kovčeg.
Đip! trebam ga spremiti i zatvoriti,
trebam vidjeti kako se odavle nosi,
trebam postojati neovisno od njega.

Velike su pustinje i sve je pustinja,
bez zablude, naravno.
Jadna ljudska duša u oazi pustinje odasvud!

Bolje je spremiti kovčeg.
Kraj.

__________



Great are the deserts, and everything is desert.
A few tons of rock with bricks on top
Won’t disguise the ground, the very ground that everything is.
Great are the deserts, and the souls deserted and great —
Deserted because they’re crossed only by themselves,
Great because from there you see everything, and everything’s dead.

Great are the deserts, my soul!
Great are the deserts.

I never got a ticket for life.
I chose the wrong door of feeling.
There wasn’t a wish or a chance I didn’t lose.
Today there’s nothing left to me, the night before the trip,
With my open suitcase still waiting to be packed,
As I sit on the chair with the pile of shirts that won’t fit in,
Today there’s nothing left (aside from the discomfort of sitting here)
But knowing this:
Great are the deserts, and everything is desert.
Great is life, and life’s not worth the trouble.

I’ll pack the suitcase better with an eye toward thinking of packing
Than I would by packing it with my fake hands (I believe I’ve made myself clear).
I light a cigarette to put off the trip,
To put off all trips,
To put off the whole universe.

Come back tomorrow, reality!
That’s enough for today, folks!
Come back later, absolute present!
It’s better not to have to be like this.

Buy chocolates for the child I replaced by mistake,
And take off the wrapper, because tomorrow is forever.
But I have to pack the suitcase,
I definitely have to pack the suitcase,
The suitcase.
I can’t take my shirts in a hypothesis and my suitcase in reason.
Yes, all my life I’ve needed to pack the suitcase.
But also, all my life, I’ve been sitting in the corner on a pile of shirts,
Chewing — like a bull who never became Apis — destiny’s cud.
I have to pack the suitcase of being.
I must exist packing suitcases.
My cigarette ash falls on the top shirt of the mountain.
I glance at it and verify: I am asleep.
I only know that I have to pack the suitcase,
And that the deserts are great and all is desert,
And some parable about this, but I already forgot it.

Suddenly I rise like all Caesars.
Once and for all, I’m going to pack the suitcase.
Damn it, I’ll pack it and close it;
I’ll see it taken out of here;
I’ll exist independently of it.

Great are the deserts and everything is desert —
Unless, of course, I’m mistaken.

Poor human soul with the only oasis in the desert next door!

It’s better to pack the suitcase.
The end.

(Alvaro de Campos)
Fernando Pessoa

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