Mircea Dan Duta

Mircea Dan Duta (b. May 27, 1967 in Bucharest)

 

Poet, film scientist and translator.

 

He writes his own poetic creation only in Czech.

 

He published two poetry books:

 

Landscapes, Flights and Dictations (2014, Petr Štengl Editions, Prague)

 

Tin quotes, inferiority complexes and human rights or Married, no strings attached, selling dead born girlfriend (mention: worn-out) (2015, Petr Štengl Editions, Prague)

 

He is now preparing two new titles: They don´t speak Polish in the realm of death and Regular client of the pub At the Land of the Rising Sun.  

 

His texts are also published in literary magazines and revues in the Czrch Republic (Uni, Protimluv, Weles, H_aluze, Dobrá adresa, Polipet) etc. and abroad:

  • Dotyky, Literárny týždenik, Ilegalit (Slovakia)
  • E-Suštnost (Bulgaria)
  • Red-Hand Books / Balkan Poetry Today (Great Britain)
  • Accente, Romania literara, Urmuz (Romania)
  • soon expected in Canada, France and Israel

 

Some of his works are translated also into English, French, Hebrew, German, Polish, Bulgarian, Slovak and Romanian

 

He translated a lot of authors and books from Czech and Slovak into Romanian (especially poetic works and theater plays, but also novels and short stories. He is also translating from English, French, Slovak and Romanian into Czech.

 

He also put together and translated the first two anthologies of contemporary Czech poetry in Romanian (2015 respectively, 2016) and the first anthology of contemporary Czech theater (2016) after the fall of communism.

 

He also publishes scientific and specialized volumes and articles in the field of film and literary theory,  critic and history from which we will mention the book Storyteller, author and God (Edition Charles University, Faculty of Arts, 2009), which is dedicated to some narratologic and narrative aspects of the Czech and Slovak film New Wave in the 60s of the 20th century. .

 

He belongs to the Czech section of the PEN Club, is a member of the organizing team of the International Literary Festival Poetry Day in the Czech Republic and organizer of cultural events in the Czech Republic, Slovak Republic and Romania. From 2015 to 2016 he coproduced and co-moderated the Reading Poetry literary evenings and now is coproducing and co-moderating the series of readings and literary programs Poetry in the Front Room. He also cooperates with the Poetry Festivals MLN in Bucharest, FIP in Jassy and Transylvania in Cluj

 

Texts by Mircea Dan Duta from the prepared volume In the realm of death they don´t speak Polish

English versions: Judit Antal

Proofreading: Bernie Higgins

Kanibalové

 

Jedl jsem z tebe,
dokud bylo co,
nějak jsem totiž tušil,
že brzy tu už nebudeš.

Teď ze mě jedí oni

a musím z toho mít radost.

Totiž dokud je, co jíst,

Znamená to, že jsem ještě tu.

Ale to už ty vědět nemůžeš.

The Cannibals

 

I fed on you,

for as long as there was something left to eat.

In fact, I somehow sensed

you would not be here for long.

Now they are eating me

And I have to be glad of it.

For as long as there is food for them,

It means I´m still here.

But you can no longer be aware of this.

 

 

 

Last Will

Ty mi ji vezmeš.
Ty mi to vezmeš.
Ty mi všechno vezmeš.
Nakonec už nebudu mít nic.
Jenom tebe.

A budu se ještě doprošovat,

abych byl částí toho,

co budeš mít ty.

Last Will

 

You will take her from me.

You will take it from me.

You will take everything from me.

In the end I won´t have anything left.

But you.

And I will still have to keep begging

to remain a part

of what will be yours.

 

 

Vlna

 

Vyšel jsem z Teska

a viděl jsem ji za mostem.

Byla stejně krásná jako tehdy.

Mával jsem na ni

a volal Cześć, Kasia.

Ale šla dál.

Možná že mě neviděla,

neslyšela

nebo mi nerozuměla.

Anebo možná že ve smrti

se prostě nemluví polsky.

The Wave

 

I was coming out of Tesco’s

and I saw her on the other side of the bridge.

She was as beautiful as ever.

I waved at her

and called her name: Cześć, Kasia.

But she kept going.

Maybe she didn´t see me,

didn´t hear me

or didn´t understand me.

Or maybe in the realm of death

they just don´t speak Polish.

 

 

 

 

Dokud 

 

Všichni tě chtěli.

Já jsem tě nechtěl.

Všichni se na tebe těšili.

Já se netěšil.

Všichni byli z tebe nadšení.

Já nebyl.

Všichni ti rádi věnovali vše nej,

co měli.

Já nerad.

Všichni nám blahopřáli.

Já jsem v tom neviděl důvod.

A teď, teď přišla řada na tebe.

Všichni to chtějí,

všichni se těší,

všichni jsou z toho nadšení,

všichni vám blahopřejí,

všichni věnují to nej,

co mají.

A ani nevím, jestli ty

to chceš,

se na to těšíš,

jsi z toho nadšený,

vidíš v tom důvod k blahopřání

a rád věnuješ vše nej,

co máš.

Tys totiž

stejně jako já

nikdy nemluvil.

Tys vůbec nebyl toho schopen,

já zas jsem se stále bál něco říct.

A jak na tom bude on?

To nevíme ani ty, ani já.

A i kdybychom věděli,

stejně bychom to neřekli.

 

While

 

Everybody wanted you.

I didn´t.

Everybody was looking forward to your coming.

I wasn´t.

Everybody was enthusiastic about it.

I wasn´t.

Everybody was glad to offer you the best

they had.

I wasn´t glad at all.

Everybody was congratulating us.

I didn´t find any reason for it.

And now it´s your turn.

Everybody wants it,

everybody is looking forward to it,

everybody is enthusiastic about it,

everybody is congratulating you,

everybody is glad to offer the best

they have.

And I don´t even know, whether you

want it,

are looking forward to it,

are enthusiastic about it,

consider it a reason for congratulation

and are glad to offer the best

you have.

And that´s because,

just like me,

you have never spoken.

You have never been capable

and I have always been afraid to say anything.

And what about him?

Neither you nor I know.

And even if we knew,

we still wouldn´t tell.

 

 

 

 

Příští zastávka

V Rajské zahradě se nekouří,

nepije,

nefetuje,

Marie nepřicházejí o panenství

a nerodí v chlívech,

neberou se jména nadarmo

hlavně když je nikdo nenosí,

nekradou se jablka,

nezabíjejí se hadi,

nemluví se polsky

a nejede metro.

A i kdyby jelo,

určitě by nezastavilo,

a tak bychom stejně museli vystoupit

na příští zastávce.

 

Next stop

 

In the Paradise Garden there’s no smoking,

no drinking,

no drugs,

Marys don’t lose their virginity

and don’t give birth in stables,

no names are taken in vain,

especially if no-one bears them,

no apple stealing,

no snake killing,

no Polish speaking

and no metro passing through.

And even if it did,

it certainly wouldn´t stop,

so in any case we should get off

at the next station.

 

K nedopsání  

 

Měním se,

ani nevím v co.

Rád bych tě vzal s sebou,

ani nevím kam.

Se srdcem na dlani

se mi třesou ruce.

Anebo že by to srdce ani nebylo moje?

Už dlouho neočekávám,

aby se mi rozsvítilo,

slunce jsem zradil,

světlo prodal

za třicet a půl stříbrných.

Drobné si nechám

Unfinishable

 

I´m changing,

not even knowing into what.

I would so much like to take you with me,

not even knowing where.

My hands are shaking,

my heart on my sleeve.

Or maybe this heart isn´t even mine?

A long time ago I stopped waiting

to be enlightened.

I deceived the sun,

I betrayed the light

for thirty and a half pieces of silver.

I will keep the change.

 

 

Vše nej (leden 2017)

 

Včera

Se narodil On

A dnes já jsem sále naživu

Prý mám z toho mít radost

Ale co budu oslavovat zítra

Až Vánoce už nebudou

Tak šťastné a veselé

 

All the best

 

Yesterday

He was born

And today I am still alive

They say I should feel joyful about it

But what am I going to celebrate tomorrow

When it’s no longer Christmas?

So, let’s be happy today.

 

 

 

 

Tichá noc  (leden 2017)

 

Zelené mrtvoly

ležící na chodníku.

Mrtvoly dřevené.

mrtvoly odkořeněné,

mrtvoly odzdobené,

mrtvoly odbarvené.

Včera oslavovaly Ježíše,

poznaly Ježíška,

poslouchaly, hrály

a zpívaly koledy,

nosily ozdoby a nabízely dárky,

blikaly tísici lesklýma očima

splnily přání,

byly snad zelenější než teď,

staly

a neležely,

ale stejně byly to mrtvoly,

jenom že

stejně jako dnes

nikdo je jako takové neuznával.

 

Včera totiž mrtvě vůbec nepůsobily

 

a dnes zas nevypadají,

že by někde působily živě.

Ať je jim chodník měkký

a pádající sněh lehký.

Další hrob

stejně nikdy mít nebudou.

Lehnu se mezi ně

A zavřu si oči,

abych z těchto Vánoc

přece jen něco také měl.

Silent Night

 

Green corpses

lying on the sidewalk.

Wooden corpses,

corpses cut off at the root,

corpses stripped of their ornaments,

corpses stripped of their color.

Yesterday they were celebrating Jesus,

meeting Santa Claus,

listening to, playing

and singing Christmas carols,

wearing ornaments and offering presents,

winking with a thousand sparkling eyes,

making wishes come true,

maybe they were greener than now,

they were standing,

not lying down,

but nevertheless still corpses.

Only

just like today,

nobody considered them as such.

 

That´s because yesterday they didn´t look dead at all

but today they look

as if they had never appeared alive.

May the falling snow rest lightly on them

and the sidewalk softly underneath.

In any case they will never have

a different tomb.

I´m lying down among them

And closing my eyes,

to finally feel something

of the spirit of this Christmas.

 

  .

 

 

 

 

Devín (27. ledna 2017)

 

Vystoupit z nočního autobusu.

Slovánské nábřeží bez Tebe.

Tichá Morava. Zamrzlý Dunaj.

Ruiny.

Tma.

Modlit se.

Nevědět komu.

Modlit se beze slov,

bez rtů,

bez boha.

Sedět na sněhu.

Stavět sněhuláka.

Hned vedle

Dunaj líbá Moravu,

ticho se vlévá do mrazu.

Modlit se sněhuláku.

Ozdobit stromeček.

Rozsvítit ho.

Přečíst si pod ním báseň. Vánoce s Tebou.

Lehnout si na sníh.

Zavřít oči.

Modlit se bez myšlenek,

bez vzpomínek,

bez modliteb,

bez odpuštění,

bez rozhřešení.

Ponořit se do ticha.

Vlévat se do mrázu.

Tvoje kniha na Slovánském nábřeží.

Ruiny.

Mlha.

Nastoupit do ránního autobusu.

Rozsněžit se.

 

 

Devín Castle (January 27th, 2017)

 

Getting off the night bus.

The Slavic Embankment without you.

The silent Morava. The frozen Danube.

Ruins.

Darkness.

Praying.

Not knowing to whom.

Praying without words,

without lips,

without God.

Sitting on the snow.

Building a snowman.

Next to me,

the Danube kisses the Morava,

silence flows into frost.

Praying to the snowman.

Decorating a Christmas tree.

Lighting it up.

Reading a poem under it. Christmas with you.

Lying on the snow.

Closing eyes.

Praying without thoughts,

without memories,

without prayers,

without forgiveness,

without absolution.

Diving into silence.

Flowing into the frost.

Your book on the Slavic Embankment.

Ruins.

Mist.

Getting on the morning bus.

Snowing all around.

Books of Mircea

 

 

Beautiful Romania

 

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