Текст и перевод песни Vlado Kreslin - Golob

Golob

Ena taka August Tanko harmonika se je razlivala skozi na stežaj odprto okno
Preko sveže pometenega dvorišča
Ko je tistega sončnega nedeljskega dopoldneva stopil na hišni prag
Fantič kakih desetih let v kratkih hlačah,čevljih
Ki mu jih je že vse zarano zloščil oče
Morda celo v belih nogavičkah in novi svetlo modri srajčki
Kratkih rokavov

Zgoraj na tramu so se prestopali golobi in poskušali pritegniti pozornost praznično napravljenih ljudi
Ki so mimo hiše po makadamski cesti štorkljali k maši
Oče jih je gojil iz nekega nikoli pojasnjenega razloga
Mama pa se je čemerila
A ravno nad vrata si jih moral dati,da nam serjejo na prag
Fantek je poznavalsko vdihnil dobro znani vonj po ocvrtem piščancu in restanem krompirju
Ki je pridišal izza vogala
In s pogledom zaobjel svoje kraljestvo okrog hiše

Poskušal je pozabiti na vso to mamino slikanost,ki jo bo moral prenašati še do kosila
Ko se je nekaj rahlo dotaknilo njegove desne rame
In po srajčki,ki jo je prvič oblekel je polzela topla že obarvana sluz
Na tramu pa se je začulo odobravajoče gruljenje

A,a,a,a,da,di,da
Da da di da
Di da da da,da da da

Moški je stal pred oknom
Njegov pogled pa je visel nad strehami v nedeljo prebujenega mesta
Ko je nekaj rahlo potrkalo na šipo
Na polici se je prestopal golob
Podoben tistim golobom
Kaj?
Ravno takšen kot so bili očetovi golobi
Pa ne da je isti? Ah ne
Toliko časa pa že ne živijo
Koliko let pa živijo? Saj res
Koliko let pa sploh živijo golobi pomislim
Še enkrat preverim rimo v nedokončani pesmi
Zaprem račumalnik,vstal in stopil proti kuhinji
Od koder je že dišalo po ocvrtem piščancu in restanem krompirju

Dove

That August, a thin bandoneon droned through a wide open window
Over the freshly swept yard
As, on that sunny Sunday morning, he stepped onto the doorstep
A boy about ten years old in short pants, shoes
That his father had polished early that morning
Maybe even white socks and a new powder blue shirt
Short sleeves

Up on a beam, doves strutted and tried to attract attention from the festively dressed people
Who were waddling past the house on the dirt road to mass
His father kept them for some never explained reason
But his mother was annoyed
Why did you have to put them right above the door, where they crap on our doorstep
The boy breathed in the familiar scent of fried chicken and roasted potatoes
That came from around the corner
And took in his kingdom around the house with his eyes

He tried to forget all that mother’s fanciness, which he would have to endure until lunch
When something lightly touched his right shoulder
And on the shirt, which he was wearing for the first time, a warm, already colored mucus slid down
And from the beam came an approving rumble

Ah, ah, ah, ah, yes, di, da
Da da di da
Di da da da, da da da

The man stood in front of the window
But his gaze hung above the roofs of the city awakening on Sunday
When something lightly tapped on the pane
A dove strutted on the ledge
Similar to those doves
What?
Just like his father’s doves
But it’s not the same one? Ah no
They don’t live that long
How many years do they live? Well, really
How many years do doves live, I wonder
I check the rhyme again in an unfinished poem
Close my computer, stand up and head toward the kitchen
From where I already smell fried chicken and roasted potatoes