Текст и перевод песни Đorđe Balašević - Eleonora (Na Bogojavljensku noc)

Eleonora (Na Bogojavljensku noc)

Na bogojavljensku noć...
Peku se kesteni, lome se pogače,
A venci smokava
I praporci se pokače
U prednjoj sobi moga baće...
To je već navike moć
Bez slova poziva, društvo se sastalo pod istom ikonom,
Za crnim švapskim astalom
što pamti svadbe i daće
Redak sam gost u starom kraju...
Al' znam šta misle, i u snu
E, i oni mene kanda znaju...
Jer čak ni pripiti ni da mi pomenu nju
Čudna je zverčica strast...
Od one ljubavi, zbog glupe svađice.
U buri ćutanja potonule su lađice
I minus na kraju salda?
Dal' grom odabira hrast?
Ili se to pak hrast munjama nametne?
Za to baš nemam reči
Bog zna kako pametne...
To je ta sudbina, valda?
Bila je moja zlatna šansa...
A tek sam načeo svoj krug
Moj mali verni Sančo Pansa...
Moja ljubavnica...
Saborac...
I moj najbolji drug...
Oni ne pričaju o njoj...
A ja se ne raspitkivam
Ukrstim politru i noć...
I tu i tamo na taj krst se prikivam
Već me i Dunav pretiče...
Moja me senka spotiče
Al' ništa mi se ne tiče...
I malo šta me pomera i dotiče
Sem, možda, nje?
Kad đavo precepi špil...
Sve krene naopako,
Svale se vanglice, zadrema kum,
I nešto nisu ove "london štanglice"
Ko kadgod, u doba slavna?
Pogrešno uklopljen stil...
Kinesko posuđe, salvete heklane,
Model iz izloga a cipele od preklane
No, rizling sve to poravna
Već me Dunav pretiče...
Već me senka spotiče
Ništa me se ne tiče...
Ništa me ne dotiče
Već me Dunav pretiče...
Već me senka spotiče
Ništa me se ne tiče...
Ništa me ne dotiče
Nikad ne pričaju o njoj...
A ja se ne raspitkivam
Ukrstim politru i noć...
I tu i tamo na taj krst se prikivam
Već me i Dunav pretiče...
Moja me senka spotiče
Al' ništa mi se ne tiče...
I malo šta me pomera i dotiče
Sem, možda, nje?

Eleonora (On Epiphany Night)

Oh, Epiphany night...
The chestnuts they roast, the pogachas they break,
And the wreaths of dried figs
And the church banners they take in
In the front room of my father's kin...
It's just a force of habit
Without a word they gather, they meet under the same icon,
At the black Swabian table
That remembers weddings and taxes
I'm a rare guest in the old neighborhood...
But I know their thoughts, even in a dream
And they seem to know me, it would seem...
For they dare not mention her, not even when deep in their cups
Oh, passion, you strange little beast...
From that love, because of a silly little fight
A storm of silence drowned our boats in the night
And a minus at the end of our account?
Does lightning choose the oak?
Or does the oak thrust itself upon the lightning's stroke?
For that I have no words
God knows how clever...
That's fate, I suppose?
She was my golden chance...
And I had barely begun my round
My faithful little Sancho Panza...
My mistress...
My comrade...
And my very best friend...
They don't speak of her...
And I don't ask
I raise my glass to the night...
And now and then I nail myself to a cross
The Danube is already overtaking me...
My shadow is tripping me
But nothing concerns me...
And little moves or touches me
Except perhaps her?
When the devil splits the deck...
Everything goes awry,
The swallows turn into bats, the godfather dozes off,
And these "London stockings" are not
What they once were, in those glorious days?
A style that's just not right...
Chinese dishes, crocheted napkins,
A mannequin from the shop window but shoes from the day before
But the Riesling makes up for it
The Danube is already overtaking me...
My shadow is tripping me
Nothing concerns me...
Nothing touches me
The Danube is already overtaking me...
My shadow is tripping me
Nothing concerns me...
Nothing touches me
They never speak of her...
And I don't ask
I raise my glass to the night...
And now and then I nail myself to a cross
The Danube is already overtaking me...
My shadow is tripping me
But nothing concerns me...
And little moves or touches me
Except perhaps her?