Help me invisible wind
the twilight of life
is silently approaching
Icy shivers permeate my body
bones worn from
endless wandering
The letters are not arriving
into the desert of my soul
The images
between yellow pages
all harder to recognise
And I –
I am tired of waiting
——
Take me on your wings, my friend
to the threshold
of my beginning ,
over to Šubir
the hill of my youth
Not long ago
on the deserted playground
children’s games ended
innocent chattering,
the laughter of a child
become silenced
Chapel, white as a swan
defying the tooth of time
At her base
hungry wolves
do not howl
Werewolves
fear the shrines
Jumping snakes,
black streak snakes –
expelled by the faithful
from thorny blackberries
The fruit of crowned almonds
barefooted youngsters
forgot to harvest
The swing of Elm branches,
withered with time
———
Countless summers and winters
have passed
In a hidden corner of consciousness
unfulfilled promises
still awake
Sentience prevents
eyes from closing
Nana’s flock will go hungry
Who will cut copse for feed,
thread the wool
twine a vest
Collect dry leaves for winter
Pick white hoarhound
marshy heath
Gather mulberries and olives
before they perish
under the weight of solitude
Who will reap
fruitful cluster of grapes
off the tall trees,
before ivy spreads
its tentacles
Steals the sun
———
Carry me to
the valley of my childhood
where Matica river meanders
through heart of fertility
Unknown children still play
with rag ball
Mother safe-keeps
a small basket
woven from alkaline
We will angle
for a flat fish
like in old times
In a smoky kitchen
Brujet will simmer
in a heavy pot,
hung on the chain
Fire will glow
in living flame of memories
We’ll taste corn bread
warm slices
the colour of gold,
baked under sačura
———
The century-old walls,
stone guardians
will ensure protection
from anguish
At the distance
above a rock-high
we’ll listen to songs
Native songs …
sung by fieldworkers
Village chants,
haunting sound of old mandolins
Fiddle, bagpipes up to
Biokovo mountain will be heard,
rugged naked peaks
wrapped in moonlight
We’ll observe the flickering
Ljubuški lights
repeat almost forgotten
mother idiom
Come on, my wind
help me get back to old hearth
Even the departed souls are sad
under cold blanket
without visitors
———
How will I return
nostalgic heart into a whole,
live my last days
on a distant shore
Strangers will bury me
And there,
Oleanders in bloom
In the garden of rosemary and marigolds
my eyes will rest,
embrace dear faces
It is hard my friend,
very hard –
helplessly watch
from afar –
How witnesses of my youth
depart,
one by one
Forever ……
(C) Dinka Bednjacic,
Šubir ~hill …. Matica~river …. Brujet~fish soup…. Sačura~wok like dish …. Ljubuški~town ….
Edited translation of original poem “Želja”, published in Sydney,1992.
Dinka Bednjacic 