A dropp of ocean
...will never learn the hands that have swum it
unless it is taught tears to cry
kap okeana nikada nece nauciti ruke koje su ga preplivale
osim ako ga ne naucimo da place
C circle Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Light Of Day/Svjetlosni Dan
The thing standing by the well
Is not looking for a song
It wants a beat an echo and a fall
It wants a bottom bucket rope the water
It wants the hands that can find the way
To an abyss treasure and the light of day
Što kraj bunara stoji ne traži pjesmu
Ono hoće otkucaj eho jednog pada
Ono hoće dno vedro konop vodu
Ono hoće ruke koje znaju put
Do ponornog blaga i svjetlosnog dana
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Zdravo, Moje Ime Je Sara
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.
Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.
Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.
Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Moje Ruke
moje ruke ćute
tvoje ruke govore
moje usne stežu riječi
tvoje ruke grče ćutnju
moje oči sklap i znak
tvoje ruke dlan i mrak
moje tijelo kaže
sviće dan
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Crone/Hron
Crone
A big watchmaker
Clocked endlessness
Within the circle of his own limits
Crone
A big watchmaker
Never sharpened his own hands
Crone
A big watchmaker
Repeatedly cleaned
His own mechanisms
Crone
A big watchmaker
Stood at the entrance
Self-determined
Self-encaged
Hron
Veliki casovnicar
Otkucavao je beskraj
U krugu svojih granica
Hron
Velki casovnicar
Nikada nije ostrio
Svoje kazaljke
Hron
Veliki casovnicar
Stajao je na ulazu
Samim sobom omedjen
Samim sobom odredjen
2009.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Will you teach me-Hoceš li me nauciti
will you teach me the meaning of the dusk and dawn
and if I learn it will I be able
to set with the sun and dawn in the morn
hoćeš li me naučiti smislu sumraka i svitanja
i ako naučim dali ću moći
u sumrak da se smirim i zorom da svanem
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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O tebi
O tebi ne govorim ljudima jer shvatili ne bi
O tebi govorim
Tek listu kad lomno padne na tlo
Sumraku kad te razlije u boje
I rubu ponornog sjećanja mog
Tek tmini kada progovori glasno
Suzu prolomljenu u dnu crnog oka
Što kanuti neće nikad
Tek vratima odškrinutim i odjeku koraka
Zalutalim pragovima što kuće svoje traže
Otkucaju srca i posljednjom mrežom
Zahvaćenu vodu što kroz konope
Nazad u izvor lije
O tebi ljepoto moja
Ne govorim ni tebi
Jer čak ni ti shvatio ne bi
Da s površine riječi ništa se ne kreće
I ništa u dubine vratiti se neće
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
I zaronimo u geometriju oštrih slijepih uglova
Što žive svoje živote izmedu dva sna
Milimetri snage mogu se istopiti
U mapama i stazama
Muzejima na raskršcu
U semaforima što bespomocno trepcu
Kad želje bilborduju staze do pakla
U slike obmane grube zabave za posjetioce što kažu
Mi smo sad fini pristojni ljudi
Više ne gledamo kako mecka igra
Probadana žaracem
Jer smo saznali bol njenog makabra
Ali ipak smo stavili rukavice
Otišli do njenog Zoo vrta
Tražeci da nam da intervju
Iako nikad ni rijec nije rekla
Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Ispisuje se jedan aforizam bola
Što hrani se na kraju redova
I stiska adresu remek djelo
On pulsira 'mjesta molim mjesta da pokucam
Bez imena mrtva ste ulica
Došao sam da zaplacem kraj zvona na vratima
Što zvoni spram putujeceg prodavca snova
Što došao je samo da pozdravi majku
Jer danas ne prodaje ništa
Cak ni Boga za mjesecni prihod
Nijedan recept za srecniji život
Danas je došao da pita spavace sobe na spratu
O malom djecaku što mokrio je u krevet
I skrivao svoje košmare pod dušek
I matrici dizajniranoj što živi u kutiji za igracke
Medu jednonogim olovnim vojnicima
Kraj lutke djevojcice sa šibicama
Obešcašcene pod Božicnom jelkom'
Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Vozovi stanu zanijemili na šinama
Slijepi se putnici iskrcavaju peroni pucaju
Trgovi se crvene od paradajz revolucija
Što flertuju sa metaforama krvi
Bare podojene majkom hrabrošcu
Isparavaju u sušama južnih zraka
I vracaju se sa rodama što ne radaju djecu
Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Zidovi stružu svoju farbu suzno tražeci
Boju necijih ociju u svakoj zidanost da udave
I apokalipticno kripticni grafiti
Pomjeraju kaldrmisane ulice
I svi tramvaji nazvani po tockovima vremena
Pomjeraju beskrajne gradove u svemiru
Što oplakuju avionske nesrece
Kad rukama isprepletanim gradimo mreže velegrada
Kao pauci sobom izjedeni što pletu
Tragove sopstvene pljuvacke da bi uredno bili usisani
U danima kad stanodavac ima vremena da ocisti prašinu
Naucimo da ulice mijenjaju imena
Onako kako zmije mijenjaju košuljice
Ali nikada nacin vijuganja
Naucimo da postoje hiljade bezimenih heroja
Koji sklupcani na uglovima prose mjesto
Gdje ulice nece imati imena
Koji nikad nisu zaradili ulicu što ce se po njima zvati
Zahvaljujuci nekom istoricaru što silovao je tekst u fusnotama
I oprao ruke krivice nad zlocinom
Što ulice pokrece da kruže
Što uglove pokrece do sljepila
Sa vlasnikom podataka bez vizije
Što umace svoje pero u bare onoga
Što treba da bude znacajno sjecanje
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A promise
Love's a promise few can fulfill
ljubav je obecanje koje mali broj moze ispuniti
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Kad kesten dvaput procvjeta
Oči vične čekanju u rascvaloj vodi
Uminuo privid u snazi talasa
Na dlanu mi sjever jutro mu hodi
Zvukom se u srcu praporac bjelasa
Oči vične gledanju promrzloga svijeta
Kad kesten dvaput procvjeta
Ruke vične lutanju u dozrele tmine
Pred kapijom jednom premrle od straha
Što u šaci drže usudom se vine
U planine sniježne zaleđenog daha
Ruke vične svijanju suludoga spleta
Kad kesten dvaput procvjeta
U kosu se spusti pupoljasta mrena
Gine snagom vida od dodira trena
Kose vične svijanju osijedjelog svijeta
Kad kesten dvaput procvjeta
1997.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hello, my name is Sarah
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is not
Who never is
These are the hands for my embraces
Mutilated in emptiness
Husked in the rings at twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They are writing a history of a plastic toy
Buried in the tombs of childhood
That never grew towards a cradle.
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is trying to be
These are the feet for my steps.
Frozen in the paths
Tied by tinkling jewelerry
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They walk the streets that there are no more
The streets trodden by mere silhouettes of paths
They go down the wells
To strangle in them
A swimming hope for the end.
My name is Sarah.
I am the one who wants.
This is the neck for your hands.
Slightly touch.
It's tied in thousands of necklaces
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
The darkness greedily eats
The circles I push the dreams into
I let it touch.
It's all right.
My name is Sarah.
I am the one who does not consent.
This is the hair for my plaits.
The silver ribbons
And shiny pearls at twilight I take off
And throw it into the dark.
It's all right.
I have broken all the rules
I have broken cliches
Magic circles
I tore the pages
On which
They try to write my fate.
I am Sarah
I am the one who is not
I am the one who is always
Only trying to be
I am the one who wants
I am the one who does not consent
I am always eternity tied
In pouring moments
I am the hope died for the end
I am the one who wants to understand
I am the one who does not always understand
But I AM.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam,
koja nikada nisam.
Ovo su ruke za moje zagrljaje.
Osakacene prazninom.
Okrunjene u prstenju koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
One pisu istoriju plasticne igracke
sahranjene u grobovima djetinjstva
koje nije doraslo do kolijevke.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja pokusava da bude.
Ovo su stopala za moje korake.
Ukocene putevima.
Vezana zveketavim nakitom
koji sumrakom skidam i u tmine bacam.
Ona hodaju nepostojecim ulicama
kojima gaze jos samo prividi staza.
Silaze u bunare
da u njima udave
proplivalu nadu za kraj.
Moje ime je Sara.
Ja sam ona koja bi htjela.
Ovo je vrat za vase ruke.
Dotaknite lagano.
Vezan je hiljadama lancica
koje sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam.
Ona jedu halapljivo,
krugove u koje sazimam snove
dozvoljavam da dira.
Neka je.
Zovem se Sara.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ovo je kosa za moje pletenice.
U njima trake od srebra
i bisere sjajne sumrakom skidam
i u tmine bacam. Neka ih.
Prekrsila sam sva pravila.
Razbila klise,
zacarane krugove,
pocijepala stranice
na kojima mi ispisuju sudbinu.
Ja sam Sara.
Ja sam ona koja nisam.
Ja sam ona koja uvijek
samo pokusavam da budem.
Ja sam ona koja hoce.
Ja sam ona koja ne pristaje.
Ja sam uvijek,
vjecnoscu stegnuta
u sipljive trenutke. Ja sam nada
umrla za kraj.
Ja sam ona koja hoce da razumije.
Ja sam ona koja ne razumije uvijek.
Ali JESAM.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Good Teachers Bad
Some teachers regret the day when they taught their students to read and write
I wonder about mine.
Neki uč itelji zažale dan kad su svoje djake nauč ili da č itaju i pišu. Pitam se za svog.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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For The Unwritten / Za Nedopisanost
The faces the scars
The hands the writings
The words an excuse
Are
The hands the scars
The faces the writings
The words an excuse
Are
For the unwritten
Lica ožiljci
Ruke zapisi
Riječ i izgovor
Jesu
Ruke ožiljci
Lica zapisi
Riječ i izgovor
Jesu
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hands In Desire
Hands in desire
Have swum through the mires
Handprints just building the wall
Face broken mask
Now speaks through the dusks
‘You will be your own fall’
Heart in despair
You’ll no longer be there
Footprints are closing the hall
Crossed by the vast sky
The roads stand still split
Like the heart that still beats scarlet
Just as the root is
Fed on the soil dear
Delusion I am fed on you
I’ll try to move on
Equally torn though
Born in your heart’s memory
I’ll try to move on
Cling to the beams so
Perhaps the days will come to me
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You cannot teach me
I paint the birds because they fly
And draw the windmills because they spin
I colour the hearts because they beat
And dance the dawns for what they are
I write the words because they speak
When silences spread I listen – you know
I listen carefully so as not to get mute
No one taught me that
I always knew
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Marina who knew the wisdom of crying
Last night she shed a tear for me
Lost in her pond Love’s broken bonds
Lost in her sight Love’s misty nights
Lost in her eyes Marina broken I
Stood lost in her tears though I didn’t cry
For I am a lady who’s strong
I place my tears among
Deep skies of an eternal blue
Sorry Marina- I cannot cry for you
Dec 13th 2011.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Chrone
Chrone
A big watchmaker
Clocked endlessness
Within the circle of his own limits
Chrone
A big watchmaker
Never sharpened his own hands
Chrone
A big watchmaker
Repeatedly cleaned
His own mechanisms
Chrone
A big watchmaker
Stood at the entrance
Self-determined
Self-encaged
Hron
Veliki casovnicar
Otkucavao je beskraj
U krugu svojih granica
Hron
Velki casovnicar
Nikada nije ostrio
Svoje kazaljke
Hron
Veliki casovnicar
Stajao je na ulazu
Samim sobom omedjen
Samim sobom odredjen
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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If I am the dropp the morning conceived
Let me be that water oh beautiful
That comes to your lip and makes you heart speak
That leaks through its holes into the world
Where the world is but a place to be
Next to your smile and close to your hand
Hugging the edges of dawn
Hear me there say the moment will rise
To time void of flow and eyes void of tears
In memory blue at the door of paradise
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Between the two lights/Izmedju dvije svjetlosti
I appreciate your instant reply
I judge-it's not correct
For the thing shivering in my heart
Will never know for the fall on the knees
Nor will the thing banging in my head
Ever find an echo on my tongue
I laugh because you know
I laugh because you don't know
The bridges are the hands in the air
Beyond the banks which have grown into a canyon
Like words in touch with the trembling
I laugh because you know
Because you know this is what you don't know
Stuck within a comparison
Between the two lights
Cijenim tvoj instant odgovor
Prosuđujem - nije tačan
Jer što mi kleca u srcu
Ne zna za pad na koljena
I što mi puca u glavi
Na jeziku nema eha
Ja se smijem jer ti znaš
Ja se smijem jer ti ne znaš
Mostovi su ruke u vazduhu
Nad obalama što su izrasle u tjesnac
Kao riječi u dosluhu sa strepnjom
Ja se smijem jer ti znaš
Jer ti znaš da to ne znaš
Zaglavljen u poredjenju
Izmedju dvije svjetlosti
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sub surface
Eating
Brain damaged core
Fairly unknown
Words transcend into silence
Some cut off from the hands shaking
Some cut off from the hearts breaking
Some cut off from the eyes uncried
Deeply wombed all dived
Plunge craving
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Carry me
the whirl spinned leaf
the sandclocked glass
the short breath brief
and the rhythm blast
the stormed healed tongue
the winged splash of a bird
the song heard unsung
and the word whispered unheard
the passion burned unforgotten
the beauty spoken miracle touch
give it all to 'the only begotten'
Son of Earth you gave me too much
Copyright circle Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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