PRVI I POSLJEDNJI PUT
By Miljenko Jergović
Translated by Lidija Stupar

Maj je
sa pijace stižeš žurna
i ovaj put svecano vesela
Kupila sam prve jagode – kažeš
Hajde da jedemo prve jagode - zoveš me
dok ih pereš u cjediljki za makarone

I danas se tacno sjecam
kada smo jeli prve jagode

Onda dodje juni, pa usamljena vrelina jula
jagoda ima još dvije-tri tezge
raspuknute su i trule, po peteljkama
hvata se budj
Dugo ih cistiš i zdjele bivaju sve manje

Potom dodje august i zadnjih se jagoda
ne mogu sjetiti

Ni sebe kako ih jedem

Po tome sudim da ih nije ni bilo

The First And The Last Time

It’s May.
You’re coming from the market in a rush,
again festively cheerful.
I bought the first strawberries – you say.
Let’s eat the first strawberries – you’re calling me,
while you wash them in the macaroni strainer.

Even today I clearly remember
the time we ate the first strawberries.

Then the June comes, followed by the lonely heat of July.
There are only two or three stands of strawberries left.
They are cracked and rotten, on their stems
growing mold.
You’re cleaning them long and the bowls are increasingly shrinking.
Then the August comes and the last strawberries
I can’t remember.
Or me eating them.
So I conclude that they were never there.