An Anthology of Croatian Literature

Vladimir Nazor (1876-1949)

Vladimir Nazor (1876–1949) A poet, novelist, and critic, Nazor at the relatively advanced age of 65 left the comforts of home to join the Yugoslav Partisans as they fought enemies domestic and foreign during World War II. He was above all a writer of vivid imagination, and versatile in his interests and writing styles. His works, from the epics Slavenske legende (1900, Slavic Legends) to his memoirs of World War II, span the entire first half of the twentieth century: they are characterized by an optimism somewhat unusual in Croatian literature of the time. A relatively large number of his poems and short stories have appeared in English . The translation of his poem “Iseljenik” (“The Emigrant,” 1912) was published in Iseljenički kalendar 86 (1986): 195–98. An Anthology of Croatian Literature 130 The Emigrant You asked me what I bear you From the great land o’er the seas, Where the gold is hammered Where black coal’s dug? You ask me if I’m hiding In my shirt sleeve, torn and old Silver coins, nuggets of gold. “Why’s he come with empty hands To our barren hearthside now? Who among us will tear the black bread From their lips to feed him?” No: I do not want your bread, I ask not for it nor do I need it. Look at these hands of mine: Hundreds of calluses upon them; Look at these feet of mine: Hardened like stones they’ve become; Look me in the eyes: In them flow broad rivers And fertile fields float within. I do not want your crust of bread: I know where the treasure’s hid Buried deep since time began. Listen! Listen! …I went away O’er the wide sea Frightened, humbled, lost and clumsy To the black, gold-bearing land. The great man sat in silence In a hillside all of stone. He grabbed me with an iron hand, Poked me, nodded with his head, And tossed me over a fence Into a heap of hired help Into a great herd of men. Thirsty, hungry, all gone wild. Like a column of blackest ants We started out across the town, Vladimir Nazor 131 Where woman’s shout was never heard, Or clatter of bells, a child’s laugh Only the scrape and crash Of some great underground dragon, Holding all people and their homes In some terrible iron net. We kept going further, further Where great mountains shone as white Below the fire of wild sun. And work commenced. We tore Hardened rock. We bore Great slabs on our backs. Weak from the sun, tortured At nighttime we’d collapse; And rocks in our dreams Rolled about on our chests And they shouted: “Is it harder Is it heavier, that grey stone Where your mother bore you, Under which you’ll sleep so long With hands crossed upon your chest?” We arose… We dove down deep Into the depths of the black earth To dig the stone fire. We raised on high the mallet And pounded long and hard. The brittle coal rang out like hail And thunder rumbled through the dark cave. From on high and down below: There, there across the sea Above the village, in the mountain Black golden castles lie, And the key rests in your hands. And on we went, on and on Through the forest and the desert On a plain by a blue river. And we mowed the fields of rush. And we dried out a great swamp, We tore up grey mountains bare, An Anthology of Croatian Literature 132 Let them plow, let them sow, Let them be soaked in cold water, So they’ll harvest sweetest foods In the forests of the rushes, Heaven on earth will bloom and grow In that land to us unknown: Flames oft’ singed us, wind did batter, Wild animals were at our throats. We held our own, we were victorious. From the stream of our sweat Plants have sprouted, flourished But when for harvest comes the time: Coarsened ears of grain and corn. And the barren fields murmur: “Your hot sweat’s too strong for us. Where is the far-off thirsty land Awaiting sweat to then produce Fruits, so sweet and bountiful?” Run, run. Now o’er the river, Through the jumble and all the towns Joyless: …I will swim across That sea that has no end: In the hillside...