Naše teške kiše
Kad je Bob Dylan 2016. godine dobio Nobelovu nagradu za književnost mnogima nije bio jasan razlog. Percepcija njega kao kantautora nije im se uklapala u nešto tako ozbiljno. Uostalom, sve je manje onih koji slušaju i tekstove pjesama. Osobno sam tu vijest dočekala s radošću zato što je Švedska kraljevska akademija konačno malo proširila vidike. Borac za ljudska prava, protivnik rasizma i rata stihovima je mijenjao svijet, ili je barem pokušao, i pokazao kako treba izgledati sinergija glazbe i stiha.
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, himna protiv nuklearnog rata nastala je ranih šezdesetih i ostala aktualna do danas.
Nakon izvornog teksta možete pročitati i izvanredan (srpski) prijevod Dragoslava Andrića.
Bob Dylan, A HARD RAIN'S A-GONNA FALL
(https://youtu.be/T5al0HmR4to)
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin’
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ’fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
PAŠĆE TEŠKA KIŠA
O, gde si to bio, plavooki sine?
Iz kakve to, mili, dolaziš daljine?
Posrtah niz deset maglenih planina,
Duž šest vrludavih tumarah dolina,
Bejah usred sedam ojađenih gora,
Suočen se nađoh sa sto mrtvih mora,
I najdublje zađoh u čeljust stratišta,
A kad se sve stiša, pašće teška kiša,
Pašće teška, teška, pašće teška kiša.
I šta si sve video, plavooki sine?
Šta sve vide, mili, usred te tuđine?
Novorođenče međ' vucima što reže,
I drum od dragulja od koga svi beže,
Crne šume videh, i krv po tom drvlju,
Ljude s čekićima zamazanim krvlju,
Poplavljen trem videh, a u toj baraci
Trista govornika s jezikom u šaci,
I oštre mačeve i puške hajduka
Što ih je nejaka dečja vukla ruka,
A kad se sve stiša, pašće teška kiša,
Pašće teška, teška, pašće teška kiša.
A šta li si čuo, plavooki sine?
Šta li si sve čuo usred te tuđine?
Čuo sam gromove što preteći hukte,
Vale što svetove spiraju i lome,
Hiljadu bubnjara čije ruke bukte,
Hiljade što šapću a nemaju kome,
Jednog što mre dok se svi od smeha grče,
I pesmu pesnika što u jarku crče,
I vapaje klovna zapalog u govna,
A kad se sve stiša, pašće teška kiša,
Pašće teška, teška, pašće teška kiša.
A koga si sreo, plavooki sine?
Koga si sve sreo usred te tuđine?
Kraj mrtvog konjića video sam luče,
I belca što jaše neko crno kuče,
Devojku čije je telo vatra ždrala,
Devojčicu što mi s neba dugu dala,
Sreo sam čoveka ranjenog u ljubav,
Drugog što doveka od mržnje je gubav,
A kad se sve stiša, pašće teška kiša,
Pašće teška, teška, pašće teška kiša.
Pa šta ćeš da činiš, plavooki sine?
Šta misliš da činiš, kada ovo mine?
Pre nego što kiša, teška kiša, line,
U dno prašumskoga otići ću mraka,
Gde je puno ljudi a svi praznih šaka,
Gde otrovno seme plovi rečnim tragom,
Gde se dom sparuje sa tamničkom vlagom,
Gde su dželatima lica sakrivena,
Gde glad ružno štrči, duše krije sena,
Gde je crno boja, nula mesto broja...
Sve ću onda reći glasom ili dahom,
Ili makar samo mišlju svojom plahom,
Blesnuću sa hridi, da sav svet to vidi,
I, na kraju moći, pučinom ću poći;
Pre no što, klonuo, zapevam za braću,
Dok budem tonuo, svoju pesmu znaću.
A kad se sve stiša, pašće teška kiša,
Pašće teška, teška, pašće teška kiša.
Prijevod: Dragoslav Andrić
Ruski se vojnici pripremaju za bitku kod Kurska, srpanj 1943. godine; autor fotografije je David Lee Guss
Nataša Skazlić, voditeljica Kreativnog pisanja