von ihm verabschiede ich mich nie...
Du kannst Mostar zwar verlassen, aber Mostar verlässt Dich nicht.
Mostar geht Dir unter die Haut, fliesst in Deinen Adern, vereint sich mit Dir, ohne dass es Dir bewusst wird. Und dann es ist zu spät, die Sentimentalität zieht Dich für immer in die Richtung Deiner Heimat an den Ufern der Neretva. " sagte mal Aleksa Šantić, geboren am 27.05.1868 in Mostar.
Ein wundervoller Schriftsteller, der obwohl er im Ausland studierte, die Welt bereiste, doch immer wieder nach Mostar zurückkehrte. Kaum einer findet so wunderschöne Worte für so eine wunderschöne Stadt wie Mostar. Doch seine Liebe und seine Wehmut galt nicht nur Mostar.
"Emina" ist ein Klassiker:
Sinoć, kad se vratih iz topla hamama,
Prođoh pokraj bašte staroga imama;
Kad tamo, u bašti, u hladu jasmina,
S ibrikom u ruci stajaše Emina.
Last night, returning from the warm hamam,
I passed by the garden of the old imam,
And lo, in the garden, in the shade of a jasmine,
There with a pitcher in her hand stood Emina.
Ja kakva je, pusta! Tako mi imana,
Stid je ne bi bilo da je kod sultana!
Pa još kad se šeće i plećima kreće…
- Ni hodžin mi zapis više pomoć neće!…
What beauty! By my faith I could swear,
She wouldn’t be ashamed if she were at the sultan’s!
And the way she walks and her shoulders move . . .
–Not even a hodja’s amulet could help me!
Ja joj nazvah selam. Al’ moga mi dina,
Ne šće ni da čuje lijepa Emina,
No u srebren ibrik zahitila vode
Pa po bašti đule zalivati ode;
I offered her salaam, but by my faith,
Beautiful Emina wouldn’t even hear it.
Instead, scooping water in her silver pitcher,
Around the garden she went to water the roses.
S grana vjetar duhnu pa niz pleći puste
Rasplete joj one pletenice guste,
Zamirisa kosa ko zumbuli plavi,
A meni se krenu bururet u glavi!
A wind blew from the branches down her lovely
shoulders
Unraveling those thick braids of hers.
Her hair gave off a scent of blue hyacinths,
Making me giddy and confused!
Malo ne posrnuh, mojega mi dina,
No meni ne dođe lijepa Emina.
Samo me je jednom pogledala mrko,
Niti haje, alčak, što za njome crko’!…
I nearly stumbled, I swear by my faith,
But beautiful Emina didn’t come to me.
She only gave me a frowning look,
Not caring, the naughty one, that I’m crazy for her!
Sinoć, kad se vratih iz topla hamama,
Prođoh pokraj bašte staroga imama;
Kad tamo, u bašti, u hladu jasmina,
S ibrikom u ruci stajaše Emina.
Last night, returning from the warm hamam,
I passed by the garden of the old imam,
And lo, in the garden, in the shade of a jasmine,
There with a pitcher in her hand stood Emina.
Ja kakva je, pusta! Tako mi imana,
Stid je ne bi bilo da je kod sultana!
Pa još kad se šeće i plećima kreće…
- Ni hodžin mi zapis više pomoć neće!…
What beauty! By my faith I could swear,
She wouldn’t be ashamed if she were at the sultan’s!
And the way she walks and her shoulders move . . .
–Not even a hodja’s amulet could help me!
Ja joj nazvah selam. Al’ moga mi dina,
Ne šće ni da čuje lijepa Emina,
No u srebren ibrik zahitila vode
Pa po bašti đule zalivati ode;
I offered her salaam, but by my faith,
Beautiful Emina wouldn’t even hear it.
Instead, scooping water in her silver pitcher,
Around the garden she went to water the roses.
S grana vjetar duhnu pa niz pleći puste
Rasplete joj one pletenice guste,
Zamirisa kosa ko zumbuli plavi,
A meni se krenu bururet u glavi!
A wind blew from the branches down her lovely shoulders
Unraveling those thick braids of hers.
Her hair gave off a scent of blue hyacinths,
Making me giddy and confused!
Malo ne posrnuh, mojega mi dina,
No meni ne dođe lijepa Emina.
Samo me je jednom pogledala mrko,
Niti haje, alčak, što za njome crko’!…
I nearly stumbled, I swear by my faith,
But beautiful Emina didn’t come to me.
She only gave me a frowning look,
Not caring, the naughty one, that I’m crazy for her!
(leider habe ich keine gute deutsche Übersetzung gefunden und ich selber traue mich da nicht ran)
