Ideja da napravim slike od pesama rodila se jednog leta kad smo bili u poseti kod našeg prijatelja Freda. Na balkonu sa pogledom na more, posto smo jeli ribe sa roštilja i pili crnog vina, počeo je da nam čita pesme njegovog čuvenog oca (pesnika Nikole Drenovca).

Prvo nam je recitovao na srpskom a zatim na engleskom. Zadivljeno smo ga slušali, očarani.

Od kako živimo u Holandiji svakodnevno sam u svojim mislima na tri jezika, ponekad  ponosna na sebe što to mogu a ponekad zanemim od nemoći.

Naći oduška u prevođenju  pesme na meni najbliskiji jezik; uz pomoć boje, kompozicije, svetla i sve to uz miris lanenog ulja i terpentina.

Zahvalna sam Fredu za inspiraciju a naravno i za divne prevode.

Očiju tvojih da nije

Haljina

U zimski dan

Srnina molitva

Boja tvoga dodira

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Očiju tvojih da nije

Očiju tvojih da nije
Ne bi bilo neba
U malom našem stanu

Smeha tvoga da nema
Zidovi ne bi nikad
Iz očiju nestajali
Slavuja tvojih da nije
Vrbe ne bi nikad
Nežno preko tvoga praga prešle

Ruku tvojih da nije
Sunce ne bi nikad
U snu našem prenoċilo
 

Were It Not For Your Eyes

Were it not for your eyes
There wouldn’t be a sky
In our small apartment

Were it not for your laughter
Walls would never
Fade away in your eyes
Were it not for your nightingales
Willows would never
Gently cross your threshold

Were it not for your hands
The sun would never
Spend the night in our dreams

Vasko Popa

(Translated from the Serbian. Translation © Slobodan Drenovac)

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Haljina

Niko ne vidi na njoj tvoje ruke

Kada prolazim ulicom

Niko ne vidi na njoj tvoje prste

Kad je vratim kući

Maleno dugme je opet ušiveno

I zakopčani svi snovi visoko do vrata

Ja ovu haljinu nežno skidam

Ja ovu haljinu pažljivo oblačim

Ona za mene moć mađije ima

Volela bih da tvoje ruke na njoj

Mogu da pokažem svima

The Dress

Nobody sees your hands on it

When I walk down the street

Nobody sees your fingers on it

When I come back home

The small button is sewed on anew

And all dreams buttoned high up to the neck

I take this dress off gently

I put this dress on gingerly

For me it has the power of magic

And I’d like so much for everybody

To see your hands on it.

Mira Alečković

(Translation © Slobodan Drenovac)

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U zimski dan

Celoga je dana sneg lagano pado

Kao s voćki cvet.

O, kako večeras, o kako bih rado

Odletela nekud daleko u svet,

Nekuda daleko kroz cvetove snežne,

Kao leptir lak

I nekome htela reći reči nežne,

Tople, lepe, nove, kakve ne zna svak.

I sutona celog sneg je tiho pado

Umoran i gust.

Večeras bih nekog ugledala rado,

Ali njega nema. Put je davno pust

Samo s bledog neba beloj zemlji sleću

Pahulje kroz zrak.

O, kako je bolno kad ti doći neće

Neko koga čekas, a spušta se mrak.

On a Winter Day

Snow fell softly all day long

Like blossoms from a fruit-tree.

Ah, tonight I would like, ah, how glad I’d be

Somewhere far and away to flee,

Somewhere far and away through the petals of snow

Like a fluffy butterfly

To whisper to someone love’s tender word

Warm, beautiful, new, that others have rarely heard.

All through twilight, snow silently falls

Drowsy and thick.

Tonight there’s someone I’d be glad to see,

But he’s not here. The road is empty a long time now

Only the snowflakes flutter and fly

To white ground under the pale sky.

Ah, how hurtful when someone does not come,

Someone you are waiting for, as darkness descends.

Desanka Maksimović

(Translated from the Serbian. Translation © Slobodan Drenovac)

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Srnina molitva

Istoku okrenuta,

srna pod borom kleči,

moli se molitvom zverinja,

bez reči.

Od jutarnjeg sjaja

oči su joj crvene,

ne vide oko sebe ništa,

ni okolno drveċe,

ni jezero, ni mene.

Hiljadu je vekova dizao

njen visoki hram,

vajao stubove u njemu,

Gospod sam.

Mahovinom je zastro

kamen goli,

da bi srna imala

gde da se moli.

Istoku okrenuta,

moli se glave dignute

da borovi pravo rastu,

da zime ne budu ljute,

da drvo novo nikne

na mestu gde staro se osuši,

da u jezeru voda

nikada ne presuši,

da jasne budu zore,

da šumu mimoilazi grom.

Istoku okrenuta,

moli se za svoj dom.

I svud iz borove kore,

kroz šume hram,

mirišu tamnjan i smola.

I dok se moli, sveċu

drži joj Gospod sam.

Doe's Prayer

Facing east

a doe kneels under a pine

utters the prayer of beasts,

voiceless.

Eyes red

with daybreak splendor

blind to every tree

to everything around,

to the lake, even to me.

Thousands of centuries He built

her towering shrine,

sculpted its columns himself

He, the Divine.

Over bare rock a bed

of moss He did prepare

so the doe had where

to impart her prayer.

Facing east

she prays with head high

for pines to grow erect,

for winters to be mild,

for new trees to sprout

where old ones will die,

for the water in the lake

to never run dry,

for dawns to glitter and for

lightning to spare the replanted earth

Facing east,

she prays for her hearth.

And from all the pine’s bark,

scents of incense and resin

come from the woodland’s shrine,

and as she prays a candle burns

in the hand of the Divine.

Desanka Maksimović

(Translation © Slobodan Drenovac)

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Colour of your touch

This small and powerful poem and translation I've received from Fred together with few other translations. This one is from my wife, he said, it is small but I like it very much.
Poem was an inspiration for Mladen who made my first site. It is a very beautiful peace of art, you can admire...(link)

Of all colors
I love most
the color of your touch…

Ja od svih boja
najviše volim boju
tvoga dodira…

Dragica Torić-Drenovac

(translation from Croatian into English by Slobodan Drenovac)

Colour of your touch

60x60

There are some few more poems for me to paint...waiting for the right moment of inspiration.

All rights reserved. Copyright by Dusanka Badovinac 2009 ©

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