Pesnik iz istarskog sela Raklja ,Mijo Mirkovi (alijas - Mate Balota )teak , ribar , mornar , akademik , pesnik , 28.09.

1898 17.02.1963 Poet from the istrian village Raklja , Mijo Mirkovic (an alias - Mate Balota ) toiler , fisherman ,sailor , academician , poet

Izabrane Pesme 1 - P 1 - Chosen Lyrics 1

PRVA Moja Mati Moja mati je bila velika sirota Tuju je zemlju kopala ,tuje pode je prala Sva svoja lita otkidala je od svoga ivota I malo po malo sve je drugin razdavala

First One

Od vrha do dna su noj dani bili puni rabote Noi je ivila u strahu i krbi za druge Svako je brime nosila sama od svoje dobrote Prez plae je sluila svima , bolje od najbolje sluge Ona je ovce uvala ,drugi su vunu strigli Ona je prasce hranila , drugi su jili prute Sve a je s mukon prikupila ,drugi su lako digli Od mrsa , vina i smokav ,od sira i skute I meni je uda dala , a ja san njoj malo vrnija Daleko je ona od mene ,sama prez ninega svoga Da prosi a od blinjega ,ki zna ko ki bi je uja , I kad bi Boga molila , bog bi druge pomoga ,

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My Mother My mother s life was very hard Digging other s soil ,washing the floor of others All the years of her life , taken from her , Little by little ,all given to others From top to bottom her days were only toil Her night passed in fear and care for others In her goodness she would carry any burden without tears ,served better than any servant She cared for the sheep whose wool others carded She fed the pigs ,whose hams others ate Her heavy toil was lightly used by others Who took the meat , the wine , the cheeses and the figs To me she gave so much , and I returned so little Now she is far from me ,alone ,none of us there If she asked our help , who knows who would hear And if she asked God s help , he would help others .

DRUGA Dvi Daske

Second

Kad je pa na menduli cvit I ublog se ve zazelenija Ivi Sveten je umrla i Marija Divojka od dvajset lit Ive Sveti , sin stare Mare Iz zadnje hie na kraju sela Treset lit je samo po tujih delih dela A sad pod stare dane Njegova jedina i Doma mu mrtva lei Ive Sveti je bija najbolji ovik Ni pija , ni kleja ,ni pipu fuma Samo je dela cili svoj vik I zato je Sveti posta I siromah usta I danas na dan erine smrti je miran i tih kako svaki siromah jena tiha suza modro oko mu muti i samo ga obuzima strah da mora iskati milostinju za erinu mrtvaku krinju Sve selo je ubaa Dvi daske ni nideri naa Njih je iz starega poda izvadija Lipo ostruga i zagladija I krinju eri zgotovija A kad je Marija iz kue nestala Na podu je velika crna kulja ostala Da svakega dana po koji put Staroga oca domilja na siromatvo i smrt

 , , , Two Boards When the almond blossoms fell And the meadows already turned green Death took John Saint s daughter Mary A twenty year old girl John the Saint ,son of old Mara From the last house at the village end Worked thirty years for others And now , as he grew old , His only daughter At home is lying dead John the Saint was as good as man can be

Didn t drink , didn t swear , didn t smoke a pipe Only worked all his life And therefore became Saint And remained poor And today ,the day his daughter died He s calm and quiet like any poor man One quiet tear is clouding his eye An only one thing scares him That he must beg for help To build his daughter s casket He searched the whole village Two boards nowhere he found He pulled them out of the old floor Trimmed and smoothened them nicely And made a casket for his daughter And when Mary was gone from the house On the floor there was a big black hole To remind the old father every day On poverty and death

TREA Koza

Third

etiri ure je mati hodila Pedeset miljari korati je uinila natate Tako je dola priko brigi i drag h meni u grad i donila glas da je koza krepala Doma lei starica baba I mala je sestra bona Hia priz ita , prez muke ,prez olda I krepana koza Jopet miljari koraki Svaki je korak pun krbi Ma kako se moru tolike due prihraniti

Od plae jenega diteta u gradu Tri dane nis hrane pokusija Tri noi zakozon san plaka I dela u ognju etrnajst ur na dan Ma daleki cesar austrijski I veliki car od Jermanije Nisu ni slutit mogli a misli jedan mali ovik Ki cilu boju no proplae za kozon

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The Goat Four hours my mother walked Fifty thousand steps she made fasting Over hills and valley To me in town To tell me that The goat had died At home my old grandmother And , a small ,sick sister And a house without wheat , without flour and money An a dead goat Another thousand steps Each step is full of care How can so many be fed From the pay of just one child in town Three days I did not eat Three nights cried for the goat And worked in furnace Fourteen hours a day Not the far off Austrian Caesar Not the great German mperor , Can even begin imagining The thoughts of a small man Crying all night for a dead goat

Prevod , ,Translation . .