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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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Quote Me Not/Ne Citiraj Me
The tree I am
Sideroad’s heart
My words in leaves
They touch the ground
The river I am
A beat in veins
My words in a drop
A swallowed water
The cloud I am
A written sky
Quote me not
The night is eavesdropping
Ja sam drvo
Srce krajputaša
Moje riječ i u lišć u
Dotič u tlo
Ja sam rijeka
U venama dodir
Moje riječ i u kapi
Progutana voda
Ja sam oblak
Ispisano nebo
Ne citiraj me
Prisluškuje noć
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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How to interpret games/Kako protumaciti igre
For the beginning it would be helpful to remember your childhood. The game is one of the hardest concepts and it requires the classification through the use of a chronological criterion. The games of childhood are a path towards theorizing the world. They sometimes imitate life without an authentic understanding of it, even without the need or wish to understand.
Playing tag for instance is a way to reach the other person using the advantages of the touch therapy.
Ring a ring a roses belongs to the same category except for the fact that this is the game in which you need to turn around a lot. Some people turn so a lot that they get into a trance which only the hide and seek can wafe them from. Speaking of hide and seek you can play it only if you have no problem with your eyesight and if you know how to count at least to…ten. You also need an elementary knowledge of your environment so that the others don't have to look for you in various corners where you can be detained with or without kneeling on corn. (Kneeling on corn is the game of the transition period)
The game of growing up is red gloves. Sometimes the gloves are so red that you may end up being blood transfused. The most interesting thing is that even if you know who hit you the pain does not decrease. Time, the most important factor in the development of games, can be helpful in increasing the pain tolerance degree. A comforting fact is that the only constant thing in the whole game is the colour of the gloves.
The game of the mature period is mother and father. Genetics plays the crucial role here. A continual jigsaw between dna and rna counting of chromosomes like marbles will distract your attention from the essence of this game.
The game of getting old is silent swinging alongside brain cells dying out. In this period you have already managed to cope with all the aforementioned games and now you can finally take your time.
The game of dying is a fairy tale being red before a good night's sleep and a dream in which you're swayed by someone's warm and calm voice. For in the end all you are craving is silence.
Za pocetak bi bilo dobro da se sjetite djetinjstva. To uvijek pomaze. Ovo je inace jedan od najtezih pojmova i zahtjeva klasifikovanje istog koristeci hronoloski kriterijum. Igre djetinjstva put su ka sagledavanju svijeta. One imitiraju zivot bez istinskog razumijevanja istog, a i bez potrebe i zelje za razumijevanjem. Suga je nacin da stignete do drugog koristeci prednosti touch terapije.
U istu kategoriju spada i ringe ringe raja s tim sto vam odzvoni jos prije nego sto ostarite jer je to igra u kojoj puno morate da se vrtite. Neki od nje prosto padaju u trans iz koga ih moze probuditi samo igra zmurke. Zmurke mozete da se igrate samo ukoliko nemate poteskoca sa vidom i ukoliko znate da brojite... makar do deset. Potrebno je i elementarno poznavanje okoline da ne bi na kraju morali i vas da traze po raznim coskovima u koje vas za kaznu stavljaju sa ili bez klecanja na kukuruzu.
(Klecanje na kukuruzu je igra prelaznog perioda) Potrebno je takodje da se unaprijed pomirite sa cinjenicom da nemate pojma koga u stvari trazite. Nije vazno. Cilj uvijek mozete da izmislite. Jer uvijek ce do kraja ostati nerazjasnjeno da li je krajnja svrha igranja postizanje uspjeha ili je igra samoj sebi cilj.
Igra odrastanja je igra crvenih rukavica. Nekad toliko crvenih da zavrsite na transfuziji krvi. Najzanimljivije je to sto i ako pogodite ko vas je zviznuo to ne umanjuje bol. Vrijeme koje je najvazniji faktor u razvoju igara moze vam biti od pomoci da povisite stepen tolerancije na bol. Utjesno je sto u svakom trenutku znate kada i gdje su vas udarili kao i to da je jedina postojana stvar u cijeloj igri boja rukavica.
Igra zrelog doba je igra mame i tate. Genetika je ovdje od presudnog znacaja. Kontinuirano klackanje izmedju RNK i DNK, prebrojavanje hromozoma kao klikera odvratice vam paznju sa sustine igre.
Igra starenja je tiho ljuljanje od kojeg odumiru mozdane vijuge. U ovom periodu vec ste savladili sve prethodno navedene igre i sada mozete da se mirno prepustite uzivanju.
Igra umiranja je citanje bajke pred spavanje i san u koji vas uljuljkuje neciji topao i smiren glas. Jer na kraju svega vapite samo za tisinom.
A Little School of Interpretation, …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The tree I am/ Ja sam drvo
The tree I am
Sideroad’s heart
My words in leaves
They touch the ground
The river I am
A beat in veins
My words in a drop
A swallowed water
The cloud I am
A written sky
Quote me not
The night is eavesdropping
Ja sam drvo
Srce krajputaša
Moje riječ i u lišć u
Dotič u tlo
Ja sam rijeka
U venama dodir
Moje riječ i u kapi
Progutana voda
Ja sam oblak
Ispisano nebo
Ne citiraj me
Prisluškuje noć
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Needs-Potreba
some people need a deep thought
with which to embrace the world
some people need a stone
as deceptive as a sculptor's shadow
some people need the water
with which to bathe the memory
there within against the depth of a secret
life has drowned
nekome je potrebna duboka misao
da njome zagrli svijet
drugima kamen varljiv ko vajareva sjena
trećima je potrebna voda
da njome okupaju sjećanje
u kom se spram dubine tajne
utopio život
1996.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There's an angel
dwelling under the desert skin
an underground oasis singing
the song of an unspoken sun
postoji andjeo sto stanuje
pod kozom pustinje
podzemna oaza sto pjeva
pjesmu nedorecenog sunca
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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4. Elements – Water
Water an elemental
Water a fundamental
Building block of life
Water of Life
Water of Death
Water in all religions
Water in all living things
Water in all countries
Water also used for barter
No life without water
No rife with water
No respect for water
Willful neglect of water
Water, for cooking
Water, for cleaning
Water, for drinking
Water, for living
Water, for dying
Water is the same
In all languages
Water is the same
To all living beings
poem by Anand Dixit
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Looking for Water
Still the leaves are spinning 'round
Take my hand as we go down, and down, and down
Looking for water
Well, our light's gone in a New York minute
Don't know about you, but my heart's not in it
(Looking, looking, looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking, looking, looking)
I can't breathe the air, can't raise a fact
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night, and I'm
(Looking for water)
Looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
Take my hand as we go down, and down
Leave it all behind, nothing could be found
(I'm, looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
(I, looking for water)
Looking everywhere
(Looking for water)
Looking here and there
(I'm looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I can't live in this cage, I can't eat this candy
The edge of the earth to the spin in my head
The look in your eyes and never means never
The dawn's early light, baby, dark is forever
(Looking, looking)
(Looking, looking)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
song performed by by David Bowie, music by David Bowie, lyrics by David Bowie from Reality
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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A marginal artist-Marginalni umjetnik
a being sentences to be a measure of a universe
is a marginal artist always on the edge
of a 'neath-beyond-abyss
bice osudjeno da bude mjera svemira
je marginalni umjetnik uvijek na ivici
pod-nad-zemnog ponora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A Being
a being sentenced to be a measure of the universe
is a marginal artist always at the edge
of a 'neath beyond abyss
biće osuđeno da bude mjera svemira
je marginalni unjetnik uvijek na ivici
pod nad zemnog ponora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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All The Colours Of The Blue-Sve Boje Plavog
I know the colour of the night
for I am the colour of the night
I dress it in whiteness
it dies out in a snowflake
I know the red of the twilight
for I die with every sunset
deliver it in my own blood
I know the colour of the dawn
for I rise with every sun
the black I dress it in
mourns an encaged butterfly
I know the colour of the smiling water
for I am the smiling water
hiding tears in each of the drops
And I know all the colours of the blue
for blue is mine
cloud sewn dawn
poznajem boju noći
jer ja sam boja noći
u bjelinu je oblačim
ona gine u pahulji snijega
poznajem boju zalaska
jer umirem sa svakim suncem
sopstenom krvlju ga rađam
poznajem boju izlaska
jer se budim sa svakom zorom
crnina kojom je oblačim
za zatočenim leptirom žali
poznajem boju nasmješene vode
jer ja sam nasmješena voda
u svakoj kapi skrivam suze
i poznajem sve boje plavog
jer plavo je moje
oblakom opšiveno svitanje
2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Splash!
Splashing water, Water get,
Shooting jets, Getting wet,
Crystal Clear, Cool Water,
Water, Water, Water matter,
Water's Life, Water let
Living life, Keep alive.
Water, water, we survive.
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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Imati Ili Biti?
odlič ni video. kaj velite dal vam je dobra ova kineska sakralna arhitektura? i ovi ninje koji se bore iznutra?
Jeste li gledali ovaj film? : cerek: Prekrasan je, ako niste, obavezno pogledajte. Ja sam ga dvaput gledala.
Što se tič e ploč a i ja volim č uti pucketanje, ali u ovom vremenu trke i frke jedva imam vremena i za kompjutersko slušanje muzike. Ne mogu da nađ em iglu za moj gramofon.: tuzni:
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Need Water
Scorching hot summer’s day
Devastation struck on our holiday.
Water, water running out
No more water left about.
Where is water?
What to do?
Stressing, thirsty, hungry too.
Need a shower!
Need a drink!
But there is no time to think.
Running, running to the store
“No more water” written on the door.
I need water, but there’s none,
Definitely not having fun.
Feeling dirty!
Feeling sick!
Needing something so basic.
Water, water I need you
Then I’ll be as good as new.
Water, water always there,
Once it’s gone we’re made aware
Wasting water is not right
Now it’s gone I’ve seen the light.
I need water to survive
I’m lucky to be alive!
poem by Salvatore Mazzeo
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