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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quite Subsidiary / Sasvim Pritocno
diary pages i never wrote
due to some unknown individual intuition
a friend once explained to me
which i never really understood
they keep oozing in front of my eyes
a trailer from a movie long forgot
a midsummer's heat
pronounced at the tip of my tongue
that does not remember the language
but is ready to outriver the numbers
sliding down the covers
there's a painting perhaps
that i've never been up to
and i will never paint
a draft made of eyes and ears void
staring right at me from the broken sky
that knows each piece of its shatteredness
foretold by the mirror
i normally use to put lipstick only
or merely draft my eyes so as not to forget them
by the end of the day
and each time my fingers prolong into keyboards
there's a music played unheard humming oou of debris
the world would say it's time for itself to die
in the meaning of each word that's uttered about it
stubbornly defending its unutteredness
that always shakes me into an earthquake speech
and just like an earthquake i cannot stand still
there are too many cracks i made and need to fill
sascim pritocno
stranice dnevnika koje nikad nisam ispisala
zahvaljujuci jednoj individualnoj intuiciji
koju mi je prijatelj jednom objasnio
a nikad je nisam razumjela
cure mi pred ocima
trejler iz filma davno zaboravljenog
Jovanjdanja vrelina
izgovorena na vrhu jezika
koja je zaboravila jezik
ali je spremna da nadrijeci brojeve
što klize niz korice
postoji moždajedna slika
kojoj nikad nisam bila dorasla
koju nikad necu naslikati
slika napravljena od ociju i ušiju jaza
koja me posmatra pravo iz slomljenog neba
koje poznaje svaki komadic svoje polomljenosti
obrecene ogledalom
što ga obicno koristim samo da bih stavila ruž
ili skicirala svoje oci
da ih ne zaboravim do kraja dana
i svaki put kad mi se prsti izduže u klavijature
stvara se necujna muzika što pjevuši iz srce
svijet bi rekao da mu je vrijeme da umre
u znacenju svake rijeci koja je o njemu izrecena
uporno braneci svoju neizrecivost
koja me uvijek protrese u govor zemljotresa
i baš kao zemljotres ne mogu da stojim mirno
ima previše pukotina koje sam stvorila
a moram da ih popunim
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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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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Fotografija
fotografija
boze,
sta da napisem o tome.
to volim da radim,
ponekad od toga zivim.
kad u to gledam:
ponekad sam tuzan,
ponekad sam srecan.
drago lice
vidim kao da je tu.
ruzno,
okrenem, izbrisem
i kao da nije bilo tu.
to je magija
koja vjecno traje.
boze,
samo je vazno da znam
sta ne mogu slikati.
BEOGRAD,
19.08.2011
5.35 PM
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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I build within the houses I will never live in (Nafaka)
the beds I sleep in I have never made
rains I drink I will never fall with
and the rains I fall in I never drank
the wind I breathe embracing the sides of the worls
what I want I can say no more
open for everything
for happiness and sorrow
good and evil
a cloud and a sun
even though
what I say can embrace me no more
u kucama gradim koje stanovala nisam
u krevetu spavam koji pospremila nisam
kise pijem s kojima pasti nikad necu
s kisama padam koje nikad popila nisam
s vjetrom disem koji strane svijeta grli
sve sto hocu vise ne mogu da kazem
otvorena za sve
za srecu i patnje
za dobro i zlo
oblake i sunca
iako
sve sto hocu vise ne moze da me zagrli
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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The Misty Hidden Of Mine/Moje Magleno Skriveno
In the daybreak song
Will take the forests into an embrace
My never hoped for
Heartbeat cut off the heart
Will spill the walls into a midnight sound
Mine within the chains treasure in my hands
Will toll cursed from the towers
Sadly the song of awakening
Into the deafness
Mine into nothing flooded water
A current beginning into an endless
Will cut the seams and sew
A new array for the soul's nakedness
Mine on my palm colourful lonely butterfly
Moving the wings like eaves in the tempest
Maddened by the possibility of flight
My never enough overcome dawn
In an empty bad
Where I am enfolded up to the point of no recognition
Mine sharpened pencils
Regularly waiting for the words
Will be broken halved in them
Mine from fatigue cracked mirror
That each morning I feed with a smile
Twinkling yearning for the truth
Mine long time ago lost waiting
On the benches below the trees
Despair chained
Prever quoted ages of circles
On my skins
Digging the death memory
Mine after forty days black nails uncut
digging the memory of death
Mine encircled in the dewdrops of crying eyelashes
Which silently I close
With the soul limited sight
Mine sealed lips
Quivering of love
To you I will surrender God
To judge and please forgive
Moje magleno skriveno
Pjesmom praskozorja
Odvešć e šume u zagrljaj
Moje nenadano od srca
Otkinuto kucanje
Pretoč ić e zidove u otkucaj ponoć i
Moje u rukama zatoč eno blago
Prokleto zvonić e sa zvonika
Tužno pjesmu buđ enja
U nedosluhu
Moja u ništa otplavljena voda
Poč etkom oticanja u beskraj
Odagnać e rubove i sašiti
Nove odore za nagost duše
Moj na dlanu šareni usamljeni leptir
Klepeć e ko streha na buri
Sluđ en moguć nošć u leta
Moje nikad prežaljeno svitanje
U postelji praznoj
U kojoj se umotavam do neraspoznavanja
Moje od umora napukmo ogledalo
Koje svakog jutra osmjehom hranim
Istine gladna iskrič avost
Moje naoštrene olovke
Koje uredno č ekaju riječ i
Pokidać e se u njima
Moje davno izgubljeno č ekanje
Po klupama ispod drveć a
Zarobljeni oč aj
Preverom citirana starost godova
Na mojoj koži
Moji poslije č etrdeset dana
Pocrnjeli nepodšišani nokti
Kojima kopam sjeć anje na smrt
Moje rosom plakanja omeđ ene trepavice
Koje tiho obaram sklapam
S pogledom omeđ enim dušom
Moje zapeč ać ene usne
Koje podrhtavaju od ljubavi
Tebi dać u Bože
Da sudiš i molim te oprostiš
©Miroslava Odalović ,2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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ja Sam Tek Danas Ovo Otvorila
, taman mi je pasalo vidjet ovu ljepotu i sklad nakon sivila kojim me ispunil kineski film kojeg sam gledala ovaj vikend 'Zvijezda koja nedostaje '...putovanje kroz unutrašnjost Kine koje mi je totalno ubilo volju da idem to ikad vidjeti...prašina, prljavština, bijeda....jedina živa boja u cijelom filmu su crveni šljemovi radnika u č elić ani: D...no, ono po ć emu ga želim pamtiti je..... 'Kinezi te prvo sruše a onda ti pomognu da ustaneš'
Kinezi jesu gadni, jako su krvoloč ni i život ne znač i puno. al imaju jaku reakciju na to, Lao-Tsea, slič no kak i Japanci imaju Zen kak reakciju na njihov gadni život. Japanci su kak Niemci, sam kaj su Niemci ostali bez te reakcije ljudskosti, bez profinjesti Zena.
Isto tak se i Kinezi gadno trude prevladati vse te pese koje tisuč lječ ima kolju i jedu, kroz sakralizaciju svieta oko sebe na vse te vsoje razne nač ine, i ta sakralizacija je jako jaka.
Mene v zadnjej vrieme drži Nick Drake, imam ta 4 cdeja od njega,3 albuma i 1 demoi i neizdano, i od gda sem nabavil ove kable sam gitara i glas, i malo gudala v pozadini...nevjerojatna svežina neposrednosti.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How to interpret a porcelain plate/Kako protumaciti porcelanski tanjir
This perfectly shaped porcelain plate is the result of human effort to put into a circle everything he can. So that he can undisturbed roar to the future centuries DO NOT TOUCH MY CIRCLES. It is carved in its own possibility of being shaped, absolutely aware of its fragility but does not give up. Absolutely capable of defending the borders of its own identity. This approach is a must if you want to understand a plate. You can also use it in the course of self knowledge.
The second step comprises the possibility to put something in a plate. Whatever you are preparing for your feast do not forget that you are the person who will have to eat everything that's there in the plate. Because when you start eating something you have to eat the whole meal. If you break this rule you will violate a harmonious definition of a meal. And then perhaps you will not get a desert. In many cases it makes no difference what's there in a plate. An important thing is that there is some content. The hungry know that best.
KAKO PROTUMACITI PORCELANSKI TANJIR
Ovaj savrseno oblikovan porcelanski tanjir rezultat je ljudskog pregnuca da sve sto moze sabije u krugove. I da nesmetano onako ljudski urla buducnim vremenima Ne dirajte moje krugove. On je izbrazdan sopstvenom mogucnoscu oblikovanja, u potpunosti svjestan svoje krhkosti i lomljivosti ali odoljeva. U potpunosti sposoban da brani granice svog identiteta. Ovakav pristup je neprikosnoven ukoliko zelite da shvatite tanjir. Mozete ga primjenjivati i prilikom samoupoznavanja.
Drugi korak sastoji se u tome da u tanjir nesto stavite. Stagod spremate za gozbu ne zaboravite da ste upravo vi osoba koja ce morati da pojede sve sto je stavila u tanjir. Jer kad nesto zajedete onda morate da jedete do kraja. Ukoliko prekrsite ovo pravilo narusicete skladnu definiciju obroka. I mozda necete dobiti dezert. U velikom broju slucajeva potpuno je nevazno sta sacinjava sadrzaj tanjira. Vazno je da ima sadzaja. Gladni to najbolje znaju.
A Little School of Interpretation- …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A Beat Of Sorrow That Thinks Of Beauty/Otkucaj Tuge Sto Ljepotu Mni
it takes a memory that runs over itself
to get to learn and endless southern rhythm
it takes a fire that burns itself down
to get to know an ocean wave
it takes tender enough strong enough fingers
to summerize anything into a touch
so that the heard amidst the things could recognise
a beat of sorrow that thinks of beauty
it takes much more and reaches much stronger
to ask for more to search and look
so as to eventually know
the one in the seed of wake planted
the being cut off from itself
into the cliffs of the world pushed forever
it takes a huge knowledge an endless one
of this world's drama
for just one beat of sorrow that thinks of beauty
otkucaj tuge što ljepotu mni
potrebno je sjećanje koje samo sebe gazi
da bi se spoznao beskrajni ritam juga
potrebna je vatra koja samu sebe spaljuje
da bi se spoznao okeanov talas
potrebni su dovoljno nježni i snažni prsti
da bi se išta saželo u dodir
da bi srce u srži svega moglo da prepozna
otkucaj tuge što ljepotu mni
potrebno je mnogo više mnogo snažnije
da se ište dalje da se traži
da bi se najzad saznalo
ono u sjemenu buđenja začeto
od sebe samog otkinuto biće
u urvine svijeta zauvijek bačeno
potrebno je jedno veliko beskrajno veliko
poznavanje drame ovog svijeta
za samo jedan otkucaj tuge što ljepotu mni
1990.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sideroad/Krajputasica
Darkness winged in forebodings paths
A lock of hair medallion hidden
Like the mole of the beginning
You were born for
You were lived away endlessly
In hidden pain you drummed
A star paved Sideroad made by raindrops
With raindrops into streams flown away away
Swelling in the duration strength
A little necklace of death
Around your neck
The circles of time you spinned
A lock of hair medallion hidden
Like the mole of the beginning
You were born for
In dusty steps you crafted noise
A rusty gates steal made
Opened despite the fear
The eyes always staring behind
Behind and behind
Unnoticed by endless mirrors
Misty clouds you lifted
Within a never ripe enough eyes
For the revelation
Tied within the revealed
In an invisible veil chain
What you’ve been lived away for
Endlessly
Self facing
In hidden pain you drummed
A lightful road made in darkness
Labyrinth of paths for whom the reward
For what, which efforts
Spasmodically embracing you held
Spasmodically embraced and nailed
The hope drunk from its own yearning
A star made Sideroad
In raindrops held
The rain filled with the mind
Long time forgotten by the window pane
Glass smashed
The strength of entrance under the eaves
The trace of a swelling pourdown
A roaring downflight waterfall
In raindrops into streams flown away away
Pour down pour down pour down
Fill in the emptiness of the heart
The hands unembraced hanged around
Darkness winged forebodings paths
A necklace of death around your neck
The circles of time you spinned
A lock of hair medallion hidden
Like the mole of the beginning
You were born for
Putanjom slutnji raskriljen mrak
Medaljonom skriven uvojak kose
Ko beleg poč etka za šta rođ ena bi
Za šta odživljena u nedogled
Skrivenim bolom dobovala si
Krajputašice zvjezdana od kišnih kapu stvorena
Od kišnih kapi u potoke odlivena
Snagom trajanja nabujala
Lanč ić od smrti oko vrata
Godove vremena uvijala si
Medaljonom skriveni uvojak kose
Ko beleg poč etka za šta rođ ena bi
Stopama prašnjavim stvarala zvuk
Zarđ ale dvijeri od č elika
Uprkos strahu otvarala
Pogledom što uvijek zuri iza
Iza u nedogled beskrajnih ogledala neprimjeć ena
Oblake magle raskrivala
U nikada dovoljno sazrelim oč ima
Za otkrivenost
Otkrivenošć u vezana
Ko lancima vela nevidljim
Za šta odživljena u nedogled
Suoč enošć u
Skrivenim bolom dobovala si
Tminom sazdana svjetlopuni put
Lavirintom staza od koga nagrada
Za šta koja pregnuć a
Zagrljajem grč evito držala si
Zagrljajem grč evito stegnuta
Nado pijana od sopstvene č ežnje
Krajputašice zvjezdana
U kišnoj kapi držana
Umom ispunjena kišo
Odavno oknom zaboravljena
Staklom polomljena
Snagom ulaska pod strehama
Trag od nabujalog sipanja
Sipaj sipaj sipaj sipaj
Ispuni prazninu srca
Ruke nedogrljene obješene
Oko putanji slutnji raskriljenim mrakom
Lanč ić od smrti oko vrata
Godove vremena uvijala si
Medaljonom skriveni uvojak kose
Ko beleg poč etka za šta stvorena bi
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You are an inner sense/Ti si unutrasnje culo
You are an inner sense
that makes everything else disappear
the sign written upon my brow
cannot be placed under fingertips
the touches killed will grow again
in spring out of ground
the fruits of death picked up
dropp the living wounds into young graves
so the grains can cry out your name in tears
elevated by death into heaven
like these dresses of mine lifted by storm
thrown into the clouds
like these dresses of mine by thunder
piled up in rags I am piled into a song
like these dresses of mine burned by lightening
You are a inner sense
That makes everything else disappear
A diamond cutting my dreams
A saphire for the sky to paint
A ruby with which I open the blood
The gold in which I turn the sunflower
The silver in which I throw stars into the night
You are an inner sense
That makes everything else disappear
Ti si unutrasnje culo
Od koga nestaje sve
Na celu ispisan znak
Ne moze stati pod jagodice
Ubijeni dodiri izniknuce
S proljecem iz zemlje
Ubrani plodovi smrti
U mlade gromove zive rane spusti
Da prplace grumenje ime tvoje
Smrcu u nebesa noseno
Ko halje moje olujom
U oblake bacene
Ko halje moje gromom
U pjesmu zguzvana stacu ko krpa
Ko halje moje munjom sprzene
Ti si unutrasnje culo
Od koga nestaje sve
Dijamant kojim sjecem snove
Safir kojim bojim nebo
Rubin kojim otvaram krv
Zlato u kome okrecem suncokret
Srebro kojim zvijezde bacam u noc
Ti si unutrasnje culo
Od koga nestaje sve
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ja nisam gost
ja nisam gost ovom tihom času
kad kiša za mene gorku kapju sprema
ne priznajem pad ni kad postoji zagrljaj
što će me odnijeti rijekama do ušća
i neću kraj kad od ničeg nije
ja hoću tok kretanje smisla
da raširim sjene i kad znanja nema
s njima da se igram i tako pomjerim
grafitu granice zida
ja nisam gost već domaćin kraj dovratka
što pod strehom stanuje od samog početka
na trijemu gdje čeka na stubu oslonjen
i ćutke gleda u noć
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Det Står En Stuga Någonstans i Skogen
Det står en stuga någonstans i skogen
Vem fan valde att bo där?
Dagarna fördrivs genom att vänta på besök
Och tala med träd
Men ingen någonsin kommer
Och träden svarar inte tillbaka.
Fåglarna skiter på ditt hus, gamle man,
Ingen vill ha dig här
Ingen vill ens se dig
För du är ful som fan
Starksprit, det är din inbillade vän
Men att supa tar dig inte härifrån
Är man dum och bor i den öde skogen
I en depressiv jävla koja…
För fan karl, ta ditt liv!
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anonymous despair/Anonimni ocaj
'why are you looking for a charisma within yourself, stuffed bird
the possiblity of enlightment divides you endlessly
from craving a mission
the smell of earth concentrated circles of stupidity and ignorance
like rings
the further I don not understand
it looks to me like a dead sentinel' (Johny Shtulich)
bare in each star
that sharpens the knives of fear down the silver
to pour down into emptiness the keys without an opening
always somehow into wrong keyholes
an anonymous despair staggers behind the fragrance of deer
freedom is a horrible thing when you've got nowhere to go with it- isn't it
you'd rather exchange it for a cigarette smoke
bitter rakia from the spring of each drink
or her hands that now embrace the air
now what- when there's no charisma that could feed you
when all the idols burned lie in the ashes of lies
when you know that the birds stuffed with the news of the end of the winter
cannot fly because of the eye frozen at the bottom of a trophy
now where -as you elbow your way and push through the sentences of a story
in which you did not want to be a narrator anyways
not even a side character-through the word needle ears
searching for a new hero that will not be yourself
'zašto tražiš harizmu u sebi punjena ptico
mogucnost prosvjecenosti razdvaja te do u beskraj
od žudnje za misijom
miris zemlje koncentricni krugovi gluposti i neznanja
kao prtenje
ono dalje ne razumijem
cini mi se da je mrtva straža' (Džoni Štulic)
ogoljen u svakom zvijezdi
što oštri noževe straha niz srebro
da sipa u prazno kljuceve bez otvaranja
uvijek nekako u pogrešne brave
anonimni ocaj posrce za mirisom košute
sloboda je strašna stvar kad nemaš kud s njom - zar ne
rado bi je zamjenio za dim cigarete
ljutu rakiju s vrela svakog pijanstva
ili njene ruke što sad grle vazduh
šta sad kad nema harizme koja bi te hranila
kad svi idoli spaljeni leže u pepelu laži
kad znaš da ptice punjene vijestima o kraju zime
ne mogu da lete sljed smrznutog oka u dnu trofeja
gdje sad dok se guraš dok se provlaciš kroz recenice jedne price
u kojoj ionako nisi htio da budeš pripovjedac
pa cak ni sporedni lik - krož rijeci iglene uši
u potrazi za novim junakom koji nece biti ti
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matrix/Matrica
I have a knowledge of order that will not deny me
In the shaking fences of Maria denials
Conceived in rebellion ending in mercy
Because nothing has stood on the night assembly line
To be merely a morning awakening and a step halted
In time accounts self subtracted
Hours dripping self added
In the moment endlessly divided
And the moment endlessly multiplied
I'm removing the layers - Zenon-like, unmovable ones
A frozenness forever thrown into the ashes
Is looking for its countenance in vain
Because I know time is just a mask of a woman
With the face of the ploughed fields
And a pendulum X- ray discovered
Of her head grown within numbers
Because nothing can stand on a matrix
That reconciles statis and division ability
Without a thin layer of an apparent generation
Being thrown down the feet in the walk of her hours
Matrica
Ja poznajem poredak koji me nece poreci
U poljuljanim ogradama Marije poricanja
Pobunom zaceta milošcu zaceta
Jer još ništa nije stalo na pokretne trake noci
Da jutrom bi bilo tek budjenje i korak zaustavljen
U racunu vremena od sebe oduzetog
U kapljanju sati u sebi sabranom
U trenu beskrajno djeljivom
I trenu beskrajno umnoženom
Ja skidam slojeve zenonovski nepokretne
Ukocenost zauvijek bacena u pepeo
Uzalud traga za svojim likom
Jer znam vrijeme je maska žene
Sa licem uzoranih njiva
I klatnom otkrivenim na rendgen snimku
Njene glave urasle u brojeve
Jer na matrici koja miri statis i djeljivost
Ništa više ne može stati
A da se pri tom tanka skrama prividnog nastanka
Ne surva niz stope gazom njenih sati
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A bit of being cut off from a memory/Moj
Echoes closely down the hall like nothing
Thoughts ajar in a big silence
Like a door I must not go through
Unfulfilled thoughts
Left to beat in somebody else’s wells
The moments dragged into nowhere
Through a glass pane pacified in memory
A shivering hope will unveil the veil
Open the eyes
My shadow across the sky
Who knows how many times
Will beg for everything
That doesn’t want to give in
Like a wave drowned in the sea of waiting
Tearful song it will cry
In the foam out of the foam
My newly born dawn
Moj
Od sjeć anja otkinut trač ak trajanja
Što hodnicima blizu odzvanja ko ništa
U velikom ć utanju misli otškrinute
Ko vrata kroz koja ne smijem da prođ em
Ostać e nedomišljene da nekom drugom
Bunarima kucaju
Trenuci odvuč eni u nepovrat
Kroz okna od stakla umirena sjeć anjem
Nada što se batrga
Skinuć e velove otvoriti oč i
Moja sjena preko neba
Po ko zna koji put
Iskać e što se neć e dati
Morem išč ekivanja udavljeni talas
Proplakać e pjesmu
U pjeni iz pjene rođ ena
Moja nova zora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My/Moj
A bit of being cut off from a memory
Echoes closely down the hall like nothing
Thoughts ajar in a big silence
Like a door I must not go through
Unfulfilled thoughts
Left to beat in somebody else’s wells
The moments dragged into nowhere
Through a glass pane pacified in memory
A shivering hope will unveil the veil
Open the eyes
My shadow across the sky
Who knows how many times
Will beg for everything
That doesn’t want to give in
Like a wave drowned in the sea of waiting
Tearful song it will cry
In the foam out of the foam
My newly born dawn
Moj
Od sjeć anja otkinut trač ak trajanja
Što hodnicima blizu odzvanja ko ništa
U velikom ć utanju misli otškrinute
Ko vrata kroz koja ne smijem da prođ em
Ostać e nedomišljene da nekom drugom
Bunarima kucaju
Trenuci odvuč eni u nepovrat
Kroz okna od stakla umirena sjeć anjem
Nada što se batrga
Skinuć e velove otvoriti oč i
Moja sjena preko neba
Po ko zna koji put
Iskać e što se neć e dati
Morem išč ekivanja udavljeni talas
Proplakać e pjesmu
U pjeni iz pjene rođ ena
Moja nova zora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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