YOUNGER POETS OF CROATIA

Ivica Prtenjaca
Ivice prtenjace11

Ivica Prtenjaca was born in Rijeka in 1969. His poetry has been published and translated into English, French, Italian, Slovenian and Hungarian. He participated in the Biennale of Young Artists of Europe and Mediterranean (Rome 1999), as well as the 4th International Meeting of Young European Poets Days of Poetry and Wine (Medana, Slovenia). He won the prize for the best book of poetry at the 5th Kvirin`s meetings (2000, Sisak, Croatia). Two books of his poetry have been published; Writing Liberates (1999) and Yves (2000).



Terrace of Imperatives
Translated by Stipe Grgas.
measure
water always with an open palm
so that you lay it on the surface and
say look it's already
up to my navel
mottled words I want to find
the postman cries out from the end of the street
knows that I am joyous
brings candied thoughts
faraway clots of desire packaged
drunk from the ocean and hot
in the morning I open windows
with no second thoughts
the day is beautiful like my balcony
I'm certain that
I too am beautiful
because the birds have seen me
doing push-ups
and sit-ups
before and after mass

***

look
a sumptuous wave emits
a kilo of iron dream
straight into my vulnerable breast
the sea bellows a sad song
powders with the weight of the world
my innocent face
here I am
shake off a bit of literature
from a see-through fin
in a small bay
in ninety three
a speedboat here killed
two Austrian tourists
but now it is all quiet
early supper is being eaten
on one of the boats
the calendar is sleepy
the flesh is meager
it's deserted and slow
I've come up from the water
i.e. the clamor of fish
drove me to the surface


***

unclasp
the warm visor that covers you
the blue murano of the sky
I saw you fasten your sandals
the sun inverted its name
skidded down the glue
splotches darkened over the campsite
we are spring-cleaning
the souvenir wheat the fractures
the hotel with the mournful reception
devours our genitals
in a chair I drink a kind
of Austrian beer
look at the people on the third floor
patiently like a whale
who has just taken in breadth
I recall how our eyelashes got tangled
how the road burned
and a nearby
summer storm
restacked relationships


***

film
the aura of the telephone booth
where I stand this big I in the docile autumn
drenched and freezing I talk to you
about lens about angles
concerning things a bit older
everything has fled deeper
into the drawer my fingers drum
upon the dusty gasoline can
the sun bloats her up terrified
the night plants dew like artificial gems
my eyes are cold
they do not remember
they do not desire
men flee from my booth
my booth runs into the sea
it is a tired Jesus
walking the water for a while
and then sinking

***

follow
the shift of elbow the play of light and the belly button
what am I to do with this
I've torn myself apart
was thin as a trace of a blade
insane for a week
and then opposite the film
gave two bottles of blood
at the red cross
the breakfast was quiet long
as the look after the record set
in the 10,000 meter run
the first dusk to set in
I'll view from the inside
I think the weight of the branches
falls to the pavement
departure somehow approaches with neat steps
all night the eyes /all night the eyes/
polished the pathway to the moon
the wine and the teeth
the mule and the Audi 100
father the good job dick cave
the photo of the night swim
what am I to do with this
suddenly you bring your pure face
where did we stop
you utter not looking
how I feel

***

bite
the fake azure of the wave
that is your right to dream
a silver dolphin
steals the air from your ear lap
everything's changed in the city
the thing with the dream spins over the weekend
here
the shoulder is the sign of an amber wedding
the belly button a child of fertile magnets
offhandedly you throw back your hair
the cook from the yacht brings out
the empty backs
of shells
and we all see how good it is here
I stretch in the car
have slept on the rim of the island
with my head leaning out the window
I could smell the lough
wait for the water to rise
at noon

***

beckon
only beckon can you hear that, Victor.
but tomorrow I'm taking my course
tomorrow I'm karate not afraid of the night
with my foot I can extinguish the light
pick a fig write
with my foot there's nothing I can write
the birthday has a body
which can be seen by the slower taking in
of air in the more casual coming onto the terrace
at birthdays I am always the former girl
give me a bit of the yellow fox
the luck of its nose
in the hunt
there' ringing at the door
I hate the address
I hate them seeing me like this

***

come
because you are firm
because you haul your body out of the foam
like a boeing its nose out of the clouds
like a porpoise its head and tail
within the bay on a summer morning
which undresses
like some kind of skirt
simply
lay aside your departure like a ticket for a lousy film
hawk it at the bend
leave it on the dry asphalt
where tires burn most often
heights I have no fright
of height
the skyscraper wallowed
like the boxer' gaze in the ninth round
the ship sounded its horn
a few gulls took off
from the narrow terrace
silver and honey fell on us
come
because you are firm
for such we killed in duels.













© University of Wales, Aberystwyth 2002-2009       home  |  e-mail us  |  back to top
site by CHL