Tanja prosjeka
Tanja je rekao sam: prosječna. Ponekad me iznenadi prednjim zubima nalik
onom blueserskom smijanju starog Raya Charlesa ili joj iz kose strši sasvim malo peruti.
I prsa joj znaju izgledati okamenjeno mala, neznatna kao arhaizam, kao dva voćna crva
željna pohlepe mladićeva jezika. Ali to ne usporava njene brzoplete slogove
upućene mom proždrljivom apetitu. Tanja redovito presvlači svoje gaćice
(vidi: Tanja jeftinog odijevanja).
Tanjine se male grudi ukrute kao stih Johna Updikea o beskrajnim smeđim kavama,
iako taj proces vrijedan zabilješke ponajtanje misli nisam vidio.
Oči joj se zašilje u jesen nad Sjenjakom i zapuštenom osječkom željeznicom.
Osuđeni na bezimeni grad Osijek, na grad koji možda i nismo željeli.
Ja sam Vinkovčanin i stranac svojih koraka, Tanja je mala Vojvođanka i dobra poznavateljica moderne srpske poezije (o kojoj nisam znao gotovo ništa).
Zajedno s Osijekom nemamo previše: dvije studentske iskaznice i jednu sudbinu.
I tu i tamo pokoji stari napjev uzaludnih anonimnih pjesnika koji su u tišini vlastite samoće doživotno mijenjali svijet, iako su i oni znali da neće promijeniti ništa osim svojih skrivenih navika uživanja u pisanju svačije umjetnosti.
Srećom, i u Osijeku dominiraju prosjeci. Nešto licemjerniji od klasične vjere u osvetničkog Boga-Oca-Spasitelja, doduše.
Ali može se: Tanja se od nas dvoje, od naše šarlatanske neimaštine sebe i nas donekle i proljepšala (smršavila je, više puši i češlja se u stranu).
Ni ja se nisam previše izmijenio u odnosu na svakodnevni nekad, na doživotnu vječnost ljudi.
Imam tragove prišta na vratu: Tanja bi svaki moj ožiljak nježno nahranila kiselim mlijekom svoje ženske pljuvačke.
Tanja će me poljubiti. Ona me, vjerujem, voli.
Svog kristalnog dječaka koji joj se u potpunoj tišini čak pomalo starački smije.
Tanja of the Average
Tanja is I said: average. Sometimes she surprises me with her front teeth resembling
old Ray Charles’s bluesy grin or very little dandruff protrudes from her hair.
Her bust as well looks petrifiedly small at times, insignificant like an archaism, like two fruit worms
yearning for the greed of a young man's tongue. But that doesn't slow down her hasty syllables
addressed to my gluttonous appetite. Tanja regularly changes her panties
(see also: Tanja of Cheap Clothes).
Tanja's small breasts stiffen like John Updike's line about endless brown coffees,
although I haven't seen that process worth jotting down the tiniest thought.
In the autumn her eyes sharpen above Sjenjak and the run-down Osijek railway.
Condemned to the nameless city of Osijek, a city we might not have wanted.
I'm from Vinkovci and a stranger to my footsteps, little Tanja is from Vojvodina and an expert in modern Serbian poetry (about which I knew almost nothing).
Apart from Osijek, we don’t have too much: two student IDs and one destiny.
And here and there an occasional chant by futile anonymous poets, who spent lifetimes in the silence of their own solitude attempting to change the world, even though they as well knew they wouldn’t change anything except their hidden habits of enjoying in writing everyone’s art.
Osijek is, fortunately, also dominated by averages. True, somewhat more hypocritical than the classical faith in the vengeful God-Father-Savior.
However, we’re managing: from the two of us, from our charlatan privation of self and us, Tanja became prettier to an extent (she lost weight, she smokes more and parts her hair on the side).
I haven’t changed either in relation to the everyday once, the lifelong eternity of people.
I have pimple marks on my neck: Tanja would gently feed my every scar with the buttermilk of her female spittle.
Tanja will kiss me. She, I believe, loves me.
Her crystal boy who in complete silence even laughs at her somewhat agedly.