Nisi dovoljan, nisi više
Dovoljan, crna cipelo
U kojoj sam kao stopalo živjela
Trideset godina, uboga i bijela,
Jedva se usuđujući da dišem ili kišem.
Tatice, morah te ubiti. Umro si
Prije no što imah vremena –
Mramorno težak, torba puna Boga,
Sablasni kip sa starim nožnim palcem
Veliki kao iz Friska foka
I s glavom u ćudljivom Atlantiku
Gdje se lije bob preko plavog
U vodama divnog Nauseta.
Uobičavala sam moliti da te vratim tu.
Ach, du.
Na njemačkom jeziku, u poljskom gradu
Koji je sravnjen valjkom
Ratova, ratova, ratova.
Ali ime je grada obično.
Moj prijatelj Poljak
Da ih je tamo tuce ili dva veli
Pa nikad nisam znala gdje li
Nogom kroči, korijen pusti,
Nikad ne mogoh s tobom govoriti.
Jezik mi se zaglavio u vilici
Zaglavio u omči bodljikave žice.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
Jedva mogoh govoriti.
Mislila sam svaki Nijemac da si ti.
I taj bestidni jezik
Mašina, mašina,
Otpuhnuvši me kao Židovku.
Židovku za Dahau, Aušvic, Belsen.
Počeh govoriti kao Židovka
Mislim da možda jesam Židovka.
Snjegovi Tirola, svijetlo bečko pivo
Nisu previše istinski niti
Čisti. S ciganskim pretkom i sudbom nemilom
I s tarok špilom i s tarok špilom
Mogla bih mrvu Židovka biti.
Uvijek se tebe bojah
Uz tvoju Luftwaffe, blebetanja tvoja,
I tvoj brk uredan
I arijevsko oko, plavo sjajno.
O ti, panzer-man1, panzer-man –
Ne Bog već svastika
Tako crna nimalo neba da proviri.
Svaka žena obožava Fašistu,
Čizmu u lice, beštijsko
Beštijsko srce beštije kao ti.
Stojiš pred školskom pločom, tatice,
Na mojoj slici o tebi
Rascjep ti na bradi mesto na stopalu
Ali zbog toga manji đavo nisi, ne, niti
To bi onaj crni čovjek koji mi je
Pregrizao lijepo rujno srce na dvoje.
Imah deset na dan pogreba tvojeg.
Pokušah da umrem sa dvadesetak.
I da se vratim, vratim, vratim tebi.
Mišljah da bi bile dovoljne i kosti čak
Ali su me izvukli iz vreće
I sastavili lijepkom.
I šta da činim tad sam znala.
Po tebi model sam sazdala,
Čovjek u crnom s Meinkampf izgledom
I ljubavlju da muči i tlači.
I rekla sam uzimam, uzimam2 .
I tako, tatice, za mene, svršeno je s tim.
Crni telefon – iz korijena skroz.
Glasovi ne mogu gmizati kroz.
Ako ubih jednog čovjeka, ubih dvojicu –
Vampira što veli da je ti
I krv mi je pio cijelu godinu
Sedam godina, ako želiš da znaš.
Tatice, sad možeš opet da počivaš.
Kolac je u tvom tustom crnom srcu
A seljaci te nikad ne voljahu.
Oni sad igraju i gaze po tebi.
Uvijek su znali da si to ti.
Tatice, tatice, ti kopile, slobodna sam.
< napisano 1962, objavljeno posthumno 1995>
1 Panzer-man (njem.) – čovjek u oklopu.
2 Uzimam – riječ kazana na vjenčanju
(English)
Daddy
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.
If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
