For this is the way life always begins/Jer tako uvijek pocinje zivot
The night I took away your blues
To spill it behind you as a sign of good luck
You said- your iris- your iris quivering
It stole a dropp right from a well
To kiss place it on my lower lip
The tip of you fingers
To lightly touch the upper one
To draw them both within a smile
You said- there are teeth behind
Whose bite times ago foretold a mark on your neck
And there's a tongue fear snake
Stumbling upon drunken deceptions
Taking off its sagacity skins incurably
I asked- is love a sickness
Insufficiently recorded in medical documents of slow death
And is your name the fountain of health
The word inexhaustible that the sky said is allowed to drink
And should be drunk three times a day
And on the seventh take some rest from water
You said-yes love is a sickness still
Naively overcome under alchemists' gowns
But our names are the food of health
Bread basic the sky said is to be eaten
The meals of the morn noon and eve each day
And on the seventh the crumbs of unrest
Oversleep in each morsel
For this is how each life begins
One noći kad sam ti uzela plavetnilo
Da ga ko vodu za sreću za tobom prospem
Reče-tvoja zjena-tvoja zjena treperava
Kap iz bunara ukrala je
Na donu usnu poljpcem da je stavi
Gornju lagano ovori
Vrhom prstiju obje u osmjeh iscrta
Reče- iza su mi zubi
Kojima ujed jednom davno
Obreče trag na tvome vratu
I jezik što strahom zmijom zapliće obmane pijane
I košuljice mudrosti skida neizlječivo
Pitah- da li je ljubav bolest uvijek nedovoljno zapisana
U medicinskim spisima laganog umiranja
I ime tvoje jeli zdijenac zdavlja
Nepresušna riječ što nebo reče da pitka je
Da piti je treba tri puta na dan
A sedmog se od vode odmoriti
Reče- da ljubav je bolest
Još uvijek naivno preboljevana
Pod ogrtačima alhemičara
A imena naša hrana su zdravlja
Hljen nasušni što nebo reče za jesti je
Obroke jutra podneva večeri svakoga dana
A sedmog mrve svog nemira
U svakom zalogaju prespavati
Jer tako uvijek počinje život
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Mit o postanku zla
I sotona rece:
'Neka bude laž! '
I bi laž.
Skrila se u kamenju
Pa sa visina sipa.
I sotona rece:
'Nek licemjerja bude! '
I bi licemjerje.
Skrilo se u rijecima
I ceka da progovori.
Pokrilo se paucinom
I pauke hrani.
Od samog sebe se skrilo.
I sotona rece:
'Nek otrova bude! '
I otrova bi.
Šejtani ga iz olujnog daha
Vitlajuc macem prosuli.
Nataložio se na zemlji
I njenim tokovima tece.
Skrio se u krvi.
I sotona rece:
'Da bude mržnja! '
I bi mržnja.
Prštala na sve strane
Kao krv koja ne može da se zgruša.
Šapama trigova hodala
Pa se i ona pod mahovinom
Na sjeveru lednom skrila.
I sotona rece:
'Neka bude covjek! '
I bi covjeka.
U laži i licemjerju se skrio
Otrovom ga mržnja ko mlijekom dojila.
Pirat se skrio u jedra umotan.
I bi covjeka
U zvijerima se skrio.
I sotona tece:
'Da misli da me nema! '
Ali tako ne bi
Bješe mu laž u pocetku rijeci.
Napisano 1989. rekonstruisano 2012-02-06.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Vodo ja sam samo ruka
Tek dodir što te vječnošću tka
Dodir od pjene bez riječi i zvuka
I plima što ti tajnu zna
Vodo uvijek te čekam kraj stijenja
I usta su mi ogrezla u soli
Tu solim ranu sopstvenog htijenja
Da kap me tvoja više ne boli
Da riječ bude nevina kao tvoja pjena
Da pije tvoja vina i bude tvoja sjena
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The streets/Ulice
The streets can tell your walk
you're-called love
a shortcut to the end
and always the same answer
ulice ti prepoznaju hod
zoves se ljubav posjecanju
precica za kraj
i uvijek isti odgovor
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Za Spec Edu i Rehabili
potrošiću riječi jer ko dukat zvecka
tvoga znanja dar o draga
veselo zvecka tvoja niska oko vrata
viču tvoja usta bjelasaju zubi
ugriz opit potkovan
konjanikom raskovan
drum od kova ko ujed tvog brata
na grlu svijeta tvoje riječi trag
dolaziš nijema beskrajno usitnjena
na info postolju matricom krunisana
da zoveš me Zemljom planetom virtual
ti kraljica tron tajni ritual
u kom virgo intakta
ostavljena ad acta
pečatim peti čin
testamentom hljebnog okrajka
ja sam ti majka
al ti si kučkin sin
i ti od kraja sazdana kći
po zlu me mlijekom ne pamti
potom vas ne živim moji mili
pozdrav za Spec Edu i Rehabili
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Language/Jezik
Is like a bad detective always a way behind a good criminal.
Jezik je kao los detektiv uvijek u zaostatku za dobrim kriminalcem.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Moja Jutra
Moja jutra su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Tu svićem tu zanoćim
Ponoćno dišem
Tešku tminu raznosim
Zvijezdama je brišem
Moja jutra su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Tu svjetlošću puta
Hranim sive gladi
Stojim nesvrgnuta
Gdje riječ mi se gradi
Moja su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Bjelinomispisuju
Noći tihe magle
Plavim ispisuju
Što ruke su takle
Teret jedne strasti
U osvitu pjene
Jutrom ću potkrasti
Sopstvene zjene
Da svako bijelo prividom gine
Zlatom se optoči i suncem sine
U znak moga jutra
U jutro moga sutra
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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What Made The Breathing So Soft And So Silent-Ono Što Je Uč İ nilo Disanje Tako Mekanim İ Tako Tihim
when the pillows choked a feather made dream
was the sound of the wells mute to the light of day
their water still dripping right through my hands
not a single dropp could contain the thought
ono što je uč inilo disanje tako mekanim i tako tihim
kad su jastuci ugušili paperjasti san
bješe zvuk bunara nijemih za svjetlost dana
njihova mi voda još teč e kroz šake
nijedna kap nije mogla da uhvati misao
©Miroslava Odalović
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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The Ister Girl/Djevojka sa Istera
He’s gone never seen my heart
Do you hear me Vesna
Do stop your walk
In Ister gone never heard his voice
Do you hear me Vesna
Do stop you walk
This love has love has
Swayed the woods for me
Entangled my hair
His kisses like gallop horses
Are coming back to me
I’ve been loved with the love of the wind
Look, it’s all written on the eyelashes
Each word eyes closing into a dream
And in this dream I cried
And in this dream I touched
With a mourn black dress of mine
The clear water with mourn black dress
The clear Ister water
I curse the lip drinking it down
I curse the head dreaming it now
On nestade srce mi ne vidje
Č iješ li Vesna zaustavi hod
Isterom nestade glas mu se ne č u
Č uješ li Vesna zaustavi hod
Ta ljubav mi ljubav mi
Zaljuljala šume zamrsila kose
Sad meni hrle
Ko konji galopom
Poljupci njegovi
Bijah ljubljena ljubavlju vjetra
Pogledaj sve piše na trepavicama
Svaka riječ u san sklapa mi oč i
I snu sam plakala
U snu sam dotakla
Haljom crnom tugovankom
Bistru vodu haljom crnom
Bistru vodu Istera
Prokleh usnu što ga pije
Prokleh glavu što ga snije
Written in 1994.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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If There Is
If there is the water you have not overswum
you can always cry it out
ako postoji voda koju niste preplivali
uvijek možete da je isplač ete
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Beside the ashes of an hour/Kraj pepela od sata
You said -it is seven o'clock
And this has not been filled yet
And this hour still strikes the night-
-Here's a moment here's a moment-
A Sunbeam is whispering
-Come one build it a home
A mole builds a dam against the rivers and currents
A bird builds a best from salvation straws
Humans build the houses themselves the windows and the doors
Re-paint the cave
Beside the ashes of an hour
Reče sedam je sati
A urna ova još nije puna
A ura ova još kuca noć
Evo trena evo trena
Šapuće Sunčev zrak
Hajde gradi mu dom
Ko krtica brane spram rijeka i toka
Ko ptica gnijezda od slamčica spasa
Ko čovjek kuće sebe okna vrata
Pećinu nanovo oslikaj
Kraj pepela od sata
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Stradanja hram
daj mi moja dušo bijele vode znanja
u kaplji nastanjen tvoj tihi plam
daj mi moja dušo niti tvoga tkanja
da ispletem riječi i da tako znam
da život ide jednom
a smrt stazom drugom
u traganju žednom
i zasut tugom
ja sam
stradanja hram
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Can You Hear The Music / Cujes Li Muziku
Can you hear the music in a handful of the ground
There’s an endless circle growing out of spheres
My light will step inside
Your light will step inside
And we’ll be the children of the language
Love pronounced at the break of dawn
Cujes li muziku u grumenu zemlje
Iz sfera nice beskrajan krug
U njega uci ce svjetlost moja
U njega uci ce svjetlost tvoja
I bicemo svi ceda jezika
Zorom ozgovorena ljubav
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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We made them dance
This is how I made you
I took the fibres of black
Spread the twinkling of my heart
Across your body
To make the most beautiful night in the world
I spinned it round and round
Made it dance the river dance
Made it dance the morning dance
Made it dance the evening dance
I made it dance
This is how you made me
You took the fibres of red
Spread the beating of your blood
Across my body
To make the most beautiful love in the world
You spinned it round and round
Made it dance the dance of your seed
Made it dance the dance of your touch
Made it dance the dance of your breath
You made it dance
That's why
The eagle was flying
The sea was foaming
The ground was singing
Children were laughing
Fires were burning
Across the hearths
We made them dance
Ovako sam te stvorila
Uzeh tkanice crnog
I prosuh treptaje svog srca niz tvoje tijelo
Da stvorim najljepšu noc ovoga svijeta
Zavrtjeh je ukrug ukrug
Da pleše ples rijeke
Da pleše ples jutra
Da pleše ples veceri
Da pleše
Ovako si me stvorio
Uze tkanice crvenog
Prosu otkucaj svoje krvi niz moje tijelo
Da stvoriš najljepšu ljubav ovoga svijeta
Zavrtio je ukrug ukrug
Da pleše ples tvog sjemena
Da pleše ples tvog dodira
Da pleše ples tvog daha
Da pleše
I zato je
Orao letio
More se pjenilo
Zemlja je pjevala
Djeca se smijala
I vatre ognjištem gorjele
Oni su plesali zbog nas
2010. (We made them dance)
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A descendant of fire
what became first - fire or ash
'you'll melt like a candle in a little pool of wax
a face sealed by the spirit of wax
you'll burn like thoughts on a bonfire of words
for you are the fire that burns itself'
an arsonist said with wax in his eyes
'in a homeless whisper you're a broken flamelet
in the time of fire that swallows itself'
but a particle of ash is a fire descendant
and to burn is its wisdom
šta je prvo nastalo - vatra ili pepeo
'istopiceš se ko svijeca u barici voska
duhom voska zapecacen lik
goreceš ko misli na lomaci rijeci
jer ti si vatra koja samu sebe prži
rece mi palikuca sa voskom u ocima
'u bezdomnom šapatu spaljeni žižak
u vremenu vatre koja samu sebe guta'
ali cestica pepela potomak je vatre
i da gori njena je mudrost
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hod
Hodi tmina čari tmurne
Daha presječenog
Tu je jutrom zora gurne
Od sna nerečenog
Hodi podne nebu sunca
Noći gaze svijetom
Sve pepelno sebe bunca
Sebe zove prvim letom
Hodi čovjek šume guste
Zgazile ga vode
Gdje ga tope suze puste
Tu ga tuge hode
Hodi ptica sinja mora
Hodi nebo oblak tmast
Hodi tmasto do izvora
Da utopi hoda vlast
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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…da Tek Si Pjesnik
Spram riječi nag
Proljeća vjesnik
Spram stope trag
Zeleno sliven u jedan stih
Da jesen zna ljubav ti bih
Što grli grumen
Zemljani prah
Kroz sunčan rumen
Vrelog ljeta dah
Da diše promrzle usnule zime
I nikad ne takne od leda ti ime
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Everything Has Been Said Before/Sve Je Vec Ranije Receno
is like saying it's always the same snow snowing
whereas in reality each flake is unique
je kao da kazes da uvijek pada isti snijeg
dok je u stvarnosti svaka pahulja jedinstvena
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Svitanje vjencava bat sanjanih koraka
svitanje vjenčava bat sanjanih koraka
sa tminom što dobuje tiho kraj uha
ono stapa svjetlost i vrelinu mraka
i šapat tad postaje naušnica sluha
i ruke tad postaju šareni leptiri
sa bjeline jastuka tiho budjeni
prste pomijeraju duboki nemiri
svakom znani dati svakome suđeni
nekom se kapci teški otvaraju
zjena misli pogled samo nemir biva
a u dnu sveg vida tmine se odmaraju
i u dnu sveg nemira tišina sniva
1995-2012
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I'm April the seventh
it's April the seventh
and I'm April the seventh
with drops of rain beating my heart away
with drops of wine dried in my mouth
and tango I've just danced
it's April the seventh
and I'm April the seventh
sitting in the dark room
after a head over heal night
and the tango I've just danced
it's April the seventh
I'm April the seventh
Lazarus's Saturday and children's bells
all tinkling across my street
all tinkling across my heart
it's April the seventh
and I'm April the seventh
with a scarf around my neck
and high heels on my feet
and the tango I've just danced
it's April the seventh
and I'm April the seventh
with a book I'm about to read
a cigarette I am about to smoke
and the tango I've just danced
it's April the seventh
I'm April the seventh
Lazarus's Saturday and children's bells
all tinkling across my street
all tinkling across my heart
it's April the seventh
and I'm April the seventh
with a kiss left on my left hand
feet shuffling all along the floor
and the tango I've just danced
all tinkling across my heart
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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