Spiteful song
Dobrica
Eriæ
(translated by Slobodan Skerovic)
I,
daughter of God,
Serbia,
proclaim of my own free will
through chains and wire,
before the witnesses
Force, Suffering and Injustice
that guilty I am
and that I admit the guilt!
Guilty I am for being someone
and not no-one and not-one[1];
Guilty I am, for at the time of
universal Serb-grazing
I attend the Orthodox Church
though, seldom,
and for I cross myself like this:
with three fingers!
Guilty I am for I am,
and I should be not;
Guilty I am, for a long time now,
for standing upright
and looking into Heavens, instead down to grass;
Guilty I am for daring myself
against the Wrong,
Guilty I am
for celebrating my baptismal saint[2]
Guilty I am for writing and reading
Cyrillic
Guilty I am for singing,
laughing and swearing
(and sometimes barking)
Guilty I am, and I admit
that I know not what I know, and I know what
I don't know
Guilty I am, and to end naming
my greatest guilt,
(before I choke laughing)
Guilty I am, me the stubborn-head
for being Orthodox
and Saint Sava-wise and for not believing
in holy crime and forgiveness of sin!
Guilty I am and sinful, therefore, for
being;
and apart for being, and daringly standing,
shouldn't I at least admit that I don't exist!
Should I admit that,
and thus preserve my head,
I'll lose the sacred cross and faith of my saint;
Should I not admit:
black will be my lot!
the entire world will charge at my Land;
bunches of ex-people,
thieves and sanquillots,
herds of robots and the likely monsters,
will be pouncing at my orchards and fields,
and my white cottages along the road,
around which, like the most beautiful goddesses
cherries, apples and plums bloom (...)
My ugly image,
my emanating face
which you replicate evenings and mornings:
that is the image of your own consciousness and sub-consciousness;
That is not I, on the outside
that is you – on the inside!
We must be very important,
My beloved land,
Me and My sisters:
the Truth and the Justice,
for such mighty powers,
Injustice and Wrong
gathered to gape at us!
Why are the Jihad warriors
Crusaders
and Yanks
quartering My sons and daughters?
Must be that the worldly gangs have heard
that ours are golden Hearts,
so they rip them out
and implant into their own chests,
hoping to become humans themselves (...)
I am not afraid of death's black rainbow,
but of slavish life and lasting disease.
Death is a common thing among us Serbs,
as spring
summer
autumn
and winter are,
and is not more dreadful,
especially in daylight,
as drought
flood
quake
or frost are...
when a man meets it on his own land,
his soul cleansed
and his face bright...
Fiends
well-fed and mad
you have banned me all in my own house:
to sing and to laugh, as I die;
And these happen to you no more:
even at your weddings,
even at your children's birth!
Spare me the pole and the rope
and crucify me on a mountain top,
as your forefathers did my forefather:
Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
I will watch
and you close your eyes,
Or your eyes will explode
in the brightness of my face!
Just, hurry up,
Crucify me soon -
the sooner shall I raise!
[1] niko i netko – This is a word play. Poet is referring to two things: niko and nitko are same as neko but voiced in two different dialects (Dalmatian and Croatian); niko also means no one or nobody.
[2] slava – Typical for Serbs, celebration of a family patron-saint. Slava means glory, but in this sense it is a celebration.