SLAVKO MIHALIĆ

Born 1928

Born in Karlovac, lives in Zagreb. His books of poetry are:

KOMORNA MUZIKA [Chamber Music] 1954, PUT U NE¬POSTOJANJE [Journey into Nonexistence] 1956, POČETAK ZABORAVA [The Beginning of Oblivion] 1957, DAREŽLJIVO PROGONSTVO [The Generous Exile] 1959, GODIŠNJA DOBA [Seasons] 1961, LJUBAV ZA STVARNU ZEMLJU [The Love for the Real Country] 1964, PROGNANA BALADA [The Banished Ballad] 1965, JEZERO [A Lake] 1966, IZABRANE PJESME [Selected Verses] 1966, POSLJEDNJA VECERA [The Last Supper] 1969, VRT CRNIH JABUKA [The Orchard of Black Apple Trees] 1972, KLOPKA ZA USPOMENE [A Reminiscences Trap] 1977.

UGLAVNOM NE ŽELIM	GENERALLY SPEAKING, I DO NOT WANT
Očekujem dan smaknuća.	I await the day of execution.
Dolaze mi u šarenim haljinama toliko tudji da ih ne mogu osjetiti i nude nešto izmedju zraka i nepostojanja.	They come in colorful robes, they are so strange that I cannot stand them and they offer something between air and nonexistence.
Poželim da sam odjeven u haljine kakvoga junaka, zavjerenik možda kojeg će spasiti vratolomijom.	I wish to be dressed in a hero's robe, a conspirator who will perhaps be saved by some hazardous adventure.
Ali uglavnom ne želim.	But generally speaking, I do not want.
Još kada me zidovi salete tjeskobom i ne mogu krenuti velike betonske jezike. Hito bih da ih nestane.	Moreover, when the walls assail me with anxiety and I cannot set in motion the cement's great tongues. I would like them to disappear.
Ne da se valjam po zelenoj livadi, ne da se napijem bistre vode, jer toga je bilo i suviše već da sam razrijelen, bez tragova, da samog sebe ne pritištem.	Not because I would like to roll on the green meadow, not because I would like to drink clear water, for there was too much of all that, but to be released without a trace, so that I don't press on myself.
Što bih još želio? Kakav položaj sjedenja i gledanja? Kako još da izvrnem svoje dlanove? Koko još da uvteredim svoju kosu?	What more could I want? A new kind of sitting and watching posture? a way to reverse the Palms of my hands? Or a way to disentangle my hair?
Očekujem, kažu, smrt, ali ja znam da mene više nema i sve je izlišno.	I await, they say, death, but I know that I don't exist anymore, and that all is useless.

NEKOLIKO NAS	A FEW OF US
Antunu Šoljanu	To Antun Šoljan
I.	I
Uz nas struji oštra brzica mrtvaca A netko glavni sve to mirno promatra Nas nekoliko od zlata s osmijehom pred puškama Tko zna možemo li umrijeti	Nearby there flows the rapid stream of the dead ones And somebody important quietly observes a few of us golden ones facing the guns with a smile Who knows if we can die
Vjetar bi da uresi našu kosu suhim lišćem Sunce naprotiv kuša da nas razjari	The wind would adorn our hair with dry leaves The sun, on the contrary, tries to provoke us
Ništa ne razumijemo i sve krivo činimo Što ćete vi kad-tad blagoslivl jati	We don't understand anything, and we do everything wrong That someday you will bless
II.	II
Kušali su nas kupiti ljubavimo, ali se nismo mogli prodati Premda su očito naše ruke bile pružene smo u sjajne ratove po blistave ordene No kad su se dijelili mi smo usnuli	They tried to buy us with love, but we wouldn't sell ourselves Though, obviously, our palms were extended We have gone into splendid wars for glittering medals But when they bestowed them we fell asleep
Da, htjeli bismo da nam netko kaže kome pripadamo (Kad već svoji nismo)	Yes, we would like to be told to whom we belong (Since in fact we don't belong to ourselves)
Onaj koji znade — šuti, kao da još razmišlja Premda je odluka po svoj prilici donijeta	The one who knows—keeps silence as if he is still deliberating Though the decision has probably already been made.