VLADO GOTOVAC

Born 1930, died 2000

Born in Imotski, Dalmatia, lived in Zagreb. In 1971 he was jailed for his political convictions. His books of poetry are:

PJESME OD UVIJEK [Poems from of Old] 1956, JEKA [The Echo] 1961, OPASNI PROSTOR [The Dangerous Space] 1961, I BITI OPRAVDAN [And to Be Justified] 1963, OSJEČANJE MJESTA [The Sense of Place] 1964, CUJEM OBLAKE [I Hear the Clouds] 1965, I ZASTIRE SE ZEMLJA [The Earth Is Veiled] 1967, PRIBLIŽAVANJE [Approaching] 1968, PREPJEVI PO SJECANJU [Recasting Poems by Memory] 1968, CAROBNA ŠPILJA [The Magic Cave] 1970, SPORNE SANDALE [Debatable Sandals] 1970.

UVODNA MEDITACIJA IZ "JEKE"	INTRODUCTORY MEDITATION FROM "THE ECHO"
Srce je ovdje kao prošlost Pjesma je još samo kolebanje Pjesnici su živi iz bojažljivosti Ima tu sjaja ali nema topline	The heart is here, as is the past A poem is no more than hesitation Poets are alive because of timidity There is splendor but no warmth
Više ne spašavamo ono što spominjemo Jer riječi su sada samo upotrebljive S pjesmom bi se moralo raditi	We don't save what we mention Because the words are only usable now One should work with a poem
Poslije srca uzaludna je matematika , Što možemo izračunati to možemo nadživjeti I svaku vještinu procijeniti i platiti	After the heart mathematics are useless What we can calculate we can outlive And every skill we can evaluate and pay for
Neki sami tuguju ali to nije pobjeda Smrt se ne pobjedjuje u društvu sjena Obnovljene priče su za kazalište Samo pravi život izmiče prolaznosti	One of us grieves in solitude, but this is not a victory One doesn't conquer death in shadows' company Revived tales are for the theater Only real life escapes the transitory
Besmisleno je podnijeti toliko za jedan vidik Ili tražiti ljubav iznad istine Danas pjesma nije osvajanje	It is nonsense to endure so much for a view Or to seek love above truth Nowadays the poem is not a conquest
Mi se ne nadamo i ne izdajemo život I sudbina pjesme je sve sličnija našoj	We don't hope, and we don't betray life And the poem's destiny is very similar to our own
Pjevati ne znači više od živjeti Ali ni razlozi za pjesmu nisu manji Jer ona nije ni slika ni oslabljeni život U njoj je i danas sve a gubitak je u životu	To write poems means no more than to live But the reasons for the poem are not lesser ones Because it is neither an image nor a watered-down life Nowadays everything is in the poem, and life is the loser
U pjesmi je ostalo samo čekanje Kao da se sa srcem sve dogodilo	In the poem only the expectation is left As everything concerning the heart is over
Razumno govorimo o pjesmama Jer samo tako se vidi koliko ih volimo I da se s ovim znanjem može i drugo raditi Ali mi se ne bojimo pjesama jer se ne bojimo života I ne prijetimo i ne tugujemo Jer mi ne tražimo ni pobjedu ni zaštitu Jer put života i put pjesme Isto su izgubili i isto ih održava	We talk reasonably about the poems For only in this way can one see how much we love them And that one with this knowledge can work on something else But we are not afraid of the poems because we are not afraid of life And we don't threaten, we don't grieve Because we seek neither victory nor protection Because life's road and the poem's road Have had the same loss and the same gain
Kroz pjesmu se sada sudbina razara I sa svakom pjesmom pjesma se raspada Da se mire oni koji još ne znaju Ni raditi ni umrijeti bez srca	Through the poem one destroys one's destiny And with every poem the poem decomposes In order to silence those who still don't know Either how to work or to die without the heart

MOJ PORTRET U JEDNOM DANU Govorim sebi u šetnji	MY PORTRAIT DURING ONE DAY I Talk to Myself While Walking
Poštivam stidljivost onih, Koji zavolješe neke neohične stvari. Gospodina s mrenom na očima, Slabim sluhom i opipom, Koji se čudi sebi iznutra. Prijatelja izvaljenih koljena, Koji nekom starom pantomimom Izražava svoje sumnjive misli.	I respect the timidity of those Who have grown fond of some unusual things. The gentleman with the cataract With the weak hearing the weak sense of touch, Who inwardly wonders about himself. His friend with sprawling knees, Who with some old-fashioned pantomine Expresses his doubtful thoughts.
Lijepe su mi ljubičaste pjesme seoskih krčma I jedna ruka, Koja suvišno visi niz stolove; I neki veslači, I neke propale skitnice, Koji su prosjačkog sveca Smutili licima i alkoholom.	Beautiful to me are the violet songs of country inns And the hand, Which carelessly hangs down from the tables; And some rowers, And some broken vagabonds, Who bewildered the beggarly saint With their faces and alcohol.
I drag mi je moj umor blijedih boja, Što prolazi kroz moje oči, ruke i noge. I poštivam skromnu glavu svoju, Koja klima o zalazu sunca. Poštivam stidljivost onih, Koji zavolješe neke obične stvari. Ludjakinju malu pred kavanom, Koja rastjera posjetioce, A ima samo tanke ruke i noge. I strah svoj volim, Jer moja mama želi da živim. — Pažljivo, a ne s ljubavl ju, Prelazim ulicu!	And dear to me is my pale tiredness, Which crawls through my eyes, hands, and feet. And I respect this modest head of mine, Which nods at sunset. I respect the timidity of those Who have grown fond of some simple things. The little crazy-woman in front of the café Who chases the visitors But has only thin hands and legs. And I like my fear, Because my mamma wants me to live. —With care, but not with love I cross the street.
Na ploniku	On the Sidewalk
Toliko sam strpljiv, Da mi ruke razvlače ramena. Upozoravam se na igračke u izlozima, Ali ne mogu se smijati. I onda poblijedim od mira.	I am so patient That my hands put a strain on my shoulders. My attention is called to the toys in the display windows, But I can't laugh. And then, from peace I am becoming pale.
Na uglu sam se udobno smjestio u popodnevu Oznojen i slab od očekivanja. Onaj dolje, koji cvili prošnju, Od strpl jivosti ima ruke teže od mojih. Zato sam nekom svecu Zabunom ponudio novac. — Ja sam danas 22 čovjeka S ovješenim sječanjem.	I have installed myself comfortably on the corner in the afternoon Perspiring and without expectation. That one down there who cries for alms Has, from his patience, hands even heavier than mine. Therefore, by mistake I offered a holy man some money. —I am today 22 men With a lingering memory.
Kroz park	Across the Park
Ovom sam dječaku bio prijatelj Prije osamnaest godina. Tako znam, da svaki dan Ne sretem sve prijatelje. — Uokolo starci nesigurno guraju riječi Kroz nekoliko zubi.	I was a friend of this boy Eighteen years ago. So I know that I don't meet my friends everyday. —Around me old men precariously pull words Through a few teeth.
Nisam mekog srca I nikoga nemam da zovnem. Odlazim bez pratnje I nimalo svečano.	I don't have a soft heart I don't have anybody to call by name. I leave without escort And not at all solemnly
Ulazeti u rastanak	Entering into Farewell
Vrata su moje kuče samo za mene napravljena I sve do moje sobe jedne su stepenice. U cijeloj ovoj gradjevini izražena je pakost samote. Moja kuća — kuća bez susreta.	The door of my house is made only for me And only one flight of stairs leads to my room. In this entire building there is expressed the malice of solitude. My house—a house without encounters.
Pod prozorom klecaju dani skromni i slabi. Ni za jedan dan, koji se ponavlja Ne treba čistiti cipele. Za svaki dan, koji se ponavlja Previše je par očiju. Kad su mi misli počele gubiti sigurnost, Praznina mi se popela na glavu u neugodnom društvu. Zaključio sam bez, imalo strave: Ah, mi sasvim živimo bez čudaka.	Under the window my days, humble and frail totter on. On, any repetitive day There is not any necessity to polish one's shoes. For any repetitive day A pair of eyes is too much. When my thoughts started to lose their security. Emptiness, in bad company, surged up into my head, I concluded without the least panic: Ah, we live our lives quite without oddities.