Friday, 9 May 2008

Fast food

We were sitting in a Ćevabdžinica in Baščaršija. We were obviously eating ćevapi with kajmak. When we finished, she took a crumpled paper from her jacket. It was a poem in Serbian. I need to study it for my exam tomorrow, she said. Then she started translating to me:

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait with all you've got!
Wait, when dreary yellow rains
Tell you, you should not.
Wait when snow is falling fast,
Wait when summer's hot,
Wait when yesterdays are past,
Others are forgot.
Wait, when from that far-off place,
Letters don't arrive.
Wait, when those with whom you wait
Doubt if I'm alive.

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget.
Even when my dearest ones
Say that I am lost,
Even when my friends give up,
Sit and count the cost,
Drink a glass of bitter wine
To the fallen friend -
Wait! And do not drink with them!
Wait until the end!

Wait for me and I'll come back,
Dodging every fate!
"What a bit of luck!" they'll say,
Those that would not wait.
They will never understand
How amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life.
Only you and I will know
How you got me through.
Simply - you knew how to wait -
No one else but you.


Then she asked me if I liked it. I just said Yes, it's very beautiful. She nodded and sighted.

This is from the old hard times, you know, she told me. Everything was dark, hard, scary. Even looking through the window. Not to talk about going out. If your mother went out for water, and it took to her 5 minutes more than usual, then all nightmares came to my head. All was sad. But everything had a meaning. Important things were measured and valued just how they worth. Now things are different. Everything is like fast food. Like ćevapi. Everything must be done right now. And love is not fast food. We don't know what it's important in life anymore. So we are confused and frustrated.

I didn't reply. We took a look at Sebilj. It was snowing again.

(Few days later I discovered that this poem was written by Konstantin Simonov in 1941. He was Russian. All that made me feel a bit disappointed. Few weeks later, Sarajevo celebrated its liberation by Tito's Yugoslav Partisans on April 6th 1945. The same year Simonov wrote the poem, the city was occupied by the Nazis that used the Croatian Ustaša government as a puppet. Then the image of the Russian poet in the war front missing his lover Valentina came to my mind).



Dedicated to you for all the inspiration.

OST Some Skroz song I like on Radio Sarajevo

4 comments:

Félix / Mª Ángeles said...

Grande, grande.

Gran post.

Nos vemos la semana que viene.

Jose Luis said...

Menos mal que para casi todos siempre hay un mañana...

Dave Bastardo said...

Feeeli y Panta, nos vemos pronto. Y gracias por vuestro comentario! Me alegro de q os haya gustado.

Besotes guapos!

Dave Bastardo said...

Menos mal...

you know... always look at the bright side of life! :P