Breath-hold diving

/, Blesok no. 71-73/Breath-hold diving

Breath-hold diving

The Color of the Bura, the Exuberance of Hair
The Island Sightseeing
Breath-Hold Diving
Dramatic Peaks on Fridays after the Fish in the Workplace Canteen
Foam of the Day
A Picture

the repertory unexpectedly worsened.
the singer began to loose his ear and his voice.
the heat was insufferable, the headache seemingly endless;
the tepid beer, the intolerable racket,
nervous and standoffish girls:
god, what chaos in my head!

i should have been clearheaded by now
going round in a little boat,
the island’s careless naturists
sun-bathed their wholesome selves,
their pretty, ugly, fumbling, elegant selves:
čedo ogled lone beauties basking on the rocks,
then, importantly picking the binoculars,
he’d examine the details with essayistic care:
then he anchored abruptly and plopped into the sea:
fucking balmy water! –
he said calmly
čedo, a skipper based in hamburg,
today his ship was sent to a scrap yard
but he had not shed a tear,
instead he calmly soaked up the smooth skin
of a young and playful german girl
who unruffled swam past
the anchored boat
and bobbing in the hot afternoon sun,
so naked and unique,
called her undecided boyfriend
who was still lazily taking off
his underwear in a wild and porous rock outcrop


Translated by: Boris Gregorić

2018-08-21T17:22:55+00:00 June 30th, 2010|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 71-73|0 Comments