Kada bih živeo u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        posmatrao bih ostrvsko drveće

        iz svije osamnaestovekovne kuće.

        Mir bi se spustao lagano lagano

        a ja bih modulisao sebe od A do B

        možda čak i B plus

U Maloj dunavskoj.

Kada bih živeo u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        imao bih brda

        nalik brdima koje sam voleo iza sebe

        i veliku reku

        nalik onoj koju sam voleo u mladosti ispred sebe

        da mi treperi srce

        a miran bude duh

dok živim u Maloj dunavskoj.

 

Kada bih živeo u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        mogao bih da biram crkvu svake nedelje,

        već prema raspoloženju,

        čujem ponovo misu u rečima koje ne znam,

        tonem u zlato petnaestovekovnih svetaca,

        bez žaljenja

        gotovo bez promena

u mom pustnjačkom stanu u Maloj dunavskoj.

 

Kada bih živeo u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        slušao bih Liszta i Haydna,

        izbacio s polica Bixa i Birda

        kontrolisao bih ključ i tempo,

        odabrao sporiju kadancu

        težio varijacijama

        na već znane teme

među zidovima u Maloj dunavskoj.

 

Kada bih živeo u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        moj stil bi gradilo pero što ne zna

        sleng, profanost, duge rečenice

        na koje se žale čitaoci,

        bio bi neo-klasičan i čestit

        kao Richard Steel

za radnim stolom u Maloj dunavskoj.

 

Ali u Maloj dunavskoj u Estergomu

        deca, prijatelji i pisma

        nikada me ne bi našla,

        niti bi me prepoznali kad bi me tražili.

        Predeo koji me uzbuđuje,

        ljubavi koje opadaju i rastu,

        sve što hrani moje pero

Ne bi našlo dom u Maloj dunavskoj.

Prevod: Snežana Bukal

 

If I lived on Little Danube Street in Esztergom,

        I would look at the island's trees

        from my eighteenth century house.

        Peace would drop so calmly

        that I would modulate my type from A to B,

        or anyway B plus

on Little Danube Street.

 

If I lived on Little Danube Street in Esztergom,

        I would have hills

        like those I came to love behind me

        and a big river

        like the one I loved in youth before me

        to lift and move my heart

        and keep my spirit still,

while I lived on Little Danube Street.

 

If I lived on Little Danube Street in Esztergom,

        I could choose a different church each week,

        a style to suit my mood,

        hear Mass again in words I do not know,

        sink in the gold of fifteenth century saints,

        with nothing to repent

        and little to amend

in my hermitage on Little Danube Street.

 

If I lived on Little Danube Street in Esztergom,

        I would hear Liszt and Haydn,

        purge my shelves of Bix and Bird,

        control the key and tempo,

        move to a slower cadence

        seek variations

        on themes already heard

within my walls on Little Danube Street.

 

If I lived on Little Danube Street in Esztergom,

        my style would be quill-clean

        of slang, profanity, long sentences

        readers complain of,

        be neo-classical and chaste

        as Richard Steele's

from my desk in Little Danube Street.

 

But on Little Danube Street in Esztergom

        children, friends, and mail

        would never find me,

        or know me if they sought.

        Landscape that moved me,

        loves that waned and prospered,

        all that fed my pen,

would find no home in Little Danube Street.