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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 98 | volume XVII | September-October, 2014



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 98September-October, 2014
Poetry

When I Return From War

Translated by Damir Šodan


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p. 1
Marko Tomaš

When I Return From War
Try This, Dear Wagner
My People
Ghetto
A Little Man in a Little Town
Morning in Mahallah
People's Revolution Boulevard
About a Certain Faraway War

_______________________________________________________________________

When I Return From War

Perhaps I should go to some war.
Become a real man in a manly situation.
I am no longer good at predicting the future.
I am curing alcoholism with a rather conservative method.
In other words – I am gradually trying to quit.
How did the sea enter my verses? How did I grab the gun?
My face covered in moss, the smell of unknown soil.
I dream of agaves – our names carved into a single leaf. I miss you.

When I return from the war, I will kill you, I'll sit on the sofa,
light up a cigarette and let you bleed lying on the carpet.
Today I ate snails. How did we end up here? We have gone far, way too far.
I have tattooed your name on my forearm. You won't like it.
Perhaps I should try describing the sky? I think yesterday I killed a man.

When I return from war, I will kill all of those who seduced you while I was gone,
I will kill them before the eyes of their dearest the same way they killed me
When they slid between your thighs.
I have problems writing. Worms. Fire. Mutilation. However, it's mostly worms.
I feel sorry for the tree we knocked down yesterday. Do you like me, kitty?
Today it's raining. Soon we're off to the woods. Nature is beautiful.

When I return from the war, I will make sculptures out of wire,
I will calmly mow my lawn, grow roses,
keeping your heart safe in a jewellery box.
I'm all sticky from the mud. We're listening to the radio. Some sad song for the sad soldiers.
One of the murdered boys looked me straight in the eye. I was pissing blood. They say I caught a bad cold.
When we reached the sea, the captain shot himself in the forehead.
They are supplying us with rations of marijuana and brandy. Many of us are inconsolable.
We got hooked on death. I'm writing a poem for you, expect it in the next letter.

On the bedside table my photo in uniform.






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