Picaro turns her face towards the sun
…chameleon like chiseled in a rock rock chained pours the rainbow colours the silent sky reflections where to think is if I was a tree I would turn my leaves to you so that you can mirror yourself in the streams of written currents if I were a butterfly I would turn my wings to you so that you can wing yourself in warmth from the hands an embrace to you if I had hands I would repeat the digging up of the wells which your light has not as yet reached if I was the light I would be faster than a thought if I had a thought from you I would make it a gift to the face cut in years towards death if I had a face I would not be a picaro of self an unoverstepped hurdle at the threshold of an entrance…I’ve got nothing.
Pikaro okreć e lice ka suncu
...kameleonski uzidan u stijenu stijenom rpikovan preliva dugine boje tihe odraze neba gdje misliti je da sam drvo okrenula bih lice ka tebi da se ogledaš u potocima ispisanog toka da sam leptir okrenula bih krila ka tebi da se raskriliš toplinom od ruku zagrljaj da imam ruke ponovila bih kopanja bunara gdje svjetlost tvoja stigla nije da sam svjetlost bila bih brža od misli da imam misao od tebe poklonila bih je licu što mu godine urezuju smrt da imam lice ne bih bila pikaro sopstva nepreskoč ena prepreka na pragu ulaska...Nemam ništa.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
I've got/Ja imam
I've got time my friend
when everybody else thinks
I've got hours
think I've got minutes
think I've got seconds
think I've got clocks
think I've got watches
all I've got are
changes
I ja imam vrijeme prijatelju
kad svak drugi misli
da imam sate
imam minute
imam sekunde
satove zidne
satove zglobne
sve sto imam
su promjene
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When I was a tree
within the twiligth beside the willows
I stood the light
with the hope almost dying
under the fingertips
I marked by a sunbeam path
the circles of time around my neck
when I was a tree
deep down in the root
the strength of my growth was squatted
it weaved the web of a beginning
under a rough core the trunk
sucked in all the water of a dawn
within the bare boughs there nested
a prayer of mine for the end
the leaves like mirrors reflected the sky
when I was a tree
I stood motionless
and all the movements were there within
the flight of a bird around my treetop
an aureole of the sun high up
the piercing of the wind through the boughs
all the penetrations deep into the ground
when I was a tree
within the twilight beside the willows
all I stood was the light
and I knew
I cannot sing a tree unless I am a tree
and there is no tree unless I sing it
kad sam bila drvo
u primraku pokraj breza
stajala sam svjetlost
pod dodirom obamrla nada
putanjom sunca bilježila
godove vremena na mom vratu
kad sam bila drvo
duboku u korijenju
sklupčana snaga rasta
plela je mrežu početka
pod hrapavom korom stablo
žilama upilu svu vodu svitanja
u golom granju gnijezdila se
molitva moja za kraj
a lišće kao ogledala
presijava nebo
kad sam bila drvo
stajala sam nepomično
a sva su kretanja bila u meni
let ptice oko moje krošnje
oreol sunca visoko iznad
probijanje vjetra kroz granje
sva poniranja duboko u zemlju
kad sam bila drvo
u sumraku pored breza
stajala sam samo svjetlost
i znala
ne mogu pjevati drvo ako nisam drvo
i nema drveta osim ako ga ne ispjevam
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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When I Was A Tree / Kad Sam Bila Drvo
Dusk beside the willows
I was standing in the light
A sunward hope wrote
Circles of time around my neck
When I was a tree
A deeply rooted curled hope of growth
Knitted a net of the beginning
There was a trunk under a rough core
The hairs drank the water of dawn
Bare boughs nested a prayer
When I was a tree
I was standing still
And all the movements
Were within me
A birds flight around my treetop
An aureole of the sun beyond
Two things I found out
I cannot sing a tree unless I’m a tree
And
There’s no tree unless I sing it
Kad sam bila drvo
Primrak pokraj breza
Stajala sam svjetlost
Pod dodirom obamrla nada
Putanjom sunca biljezila
Godove vremena na mom vratu
Kad sam bila drvo
Duboko u korjenu
Sklupcana snaga rasta
Plela je mrezu pocetka
Pod hrapavom korom stablo
Zilama upilo svu vodu svitanja
U golom granju gnijezdila se molitva
Kad sam bila drvo
Stajala sam nepomicno
A sva su kretanja bila u meni
Let ptice oko moje krosnje
Oreol sunca visoko iznad
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sorry sorry
no road for this map
no train for this ticket
I've got nothing
sorry sorry
the colours for this dawn I still haven't found
the libreto for this twilight I still haven't written
neither the most difficult sonnet in the world
for an angel asleep
nor a drama for a lonely sideroad tree
a fragile shelter
sorry sorry
no road for this map
no ticket for this train
I've got nothing
za ovaj put nemam mapu
za ovu kartu nemam voz
nemam ništa
sorry sorry
za ovo svitanje još nisam pronašla boje
za ovaj sumrak još nisam napisala libreto
ni najteži sonet na svijetu
za usapavanog anđela
ni dramu za usamljeno drvo krajputaša
sklonište krhko
sorry sorry
za ovaj put nemam mapu
za ovaj voz nemam kartu
nemam ništa
2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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She Wants A Sky/Ona Hoce Nebo
That sky where there is the sky
Unchained
Unlimited by the borders of the sky
She wants the face with a smile
And the hair unsigned by ash
And the bones that do not testify
The pain of an unslept night
Ona hoć e nebo
Ono nebo gdje ima neba
Raskovanog
Granicom neba nesputanog
Ona hoć e lice sa osmjehom
I kosu nepotpisanu pepelom
I kosti koje ne svjedoč e
O bolu neprospavane noć i
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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This is not my face/Ovo nije moje lice
This is not my face
This thing oozing out of your insipid reflection theories
When you're putting it into A is A A is B B is C
You know
C is maybe a newly born naked
Syllogism pointing at a tzar
So that you can ask him ask him
‘Tzar tzar oh master tell us what's the time'
And the tzar cannot hear you for he's got a goat's ears
This is not my face
This thing you're folding after you've ironed it
And placed it among the skirts trousers and shirts
You know
A shirt is perhaps a flag of my home
Put on a post to limit the borders of pain
So that you may ask it ask it
‘Does it hurt does it hurt tell us what's the time'
And the pain cannot hear you for its ears are cut
This is not my face
This thing you're turning to see it from each side
Whenever you turn it from A to B from B to C
You know
C is perhaps just a point without a face
Thrown into the universe
A monada looking for the Father
Why don't you take your reflections home
Ovo nije moje lice
To što curi iz bljutavih teorija odraza
Kada ga sklapate u A je A, A je B, B je C
Znate
C je možda ko od majke roden
Silogizam što upire prstom u cara
Pa ga pita pa ga pita
Care care o gospodare ko'ko ima sati
A car ne cuje jer ima kozje uši
Ovo nije moje lice
To što sklapate poslije peglanja
Medu suknje pantalone i košulje
Znate
Košulja je možda zastava moga doma
Na kolac nabijena da omedi bol
Da ga pitate da ga pitate
'Boli li boli li koliko je sati'
A bol ne cuje jer su mu odsjecene uši
Ovo nije moje lice
To što okrecete da se iz svih uglova vidi
Kadgod ga okrecete od A do B od B do C
Znate C je možda
Samo tacka bez lica
Bacena u svemir
Monada što traži Oca svog
Zašto ne nosite svoje odraze kuci
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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At the place where the darkness burnt out
the whip of your love
opened the wounds ripe for the blood
the bitterness of your lips
it opened the thought for a death
it's easier to die
that drawn the touch of your pain
into the fire of darkness
tamo gdje je izgoreo mrak
bič tvoje ljubavi
rane otvara za smrt
tvojih usana pelin
misao otvara za smrt
umrijeti je lakše
no dodir tvog bola
u požar tmine uroniti
2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Yes-I-that one/Da-ja-ta
My own foot a stone a trace
With life into death-life
Within eternal
A threshold overstepped
Yes-I-that one
My own illness and cure
Dusk whispered to dawn
And a beam of sunshine to morn
My own year a book a century
And an undreamt heaven to a cloud
Yes-I-that one
Unbearable unstoppable within
An embrace in You
Freedom facing
For One both
A water to the living spring
Da-ja-ta
Svoja stopa kamen trag
Životom u smrt život
Vječnim prekoračen prag
Da-ja-ta
Svoja boljka lijek
Zori sumrak šapnut
Jutru sunčec sjaj
Svoja godina knjiga i vijek
I oblaku nedosanjan raj
Da-ja-ta
Neizdrživa nezadrživa u sebi
Spram Tebe sloboda
Zagrljaj u Tebi
Za Jedno oboje
Živom izvoru voda
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Kenapa bilang cinta
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila hanya sekejap mata
Kenapa bilang suka
Bila cuma di bibir saja
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila untuk status semata
Kenapa bilang saying
Bila bukan aku yang dibayang
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila semuanya pura-pura
Kenapa bilang peduli
Bila sebenarnya tak ada di hati
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila kata-kata tak dimakna
Kenapa bilang takdir
Bila nantinya berakhir
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila tak cukup rasa
Kenapa bilang segalanya
Bila akhirnya tak bersisa
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila alasan lain tak berguna
Kenapa bilang bahagia
Bila terus tersiksa
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila selalu terpaksa
Kenapa bilang tak masalah
Bila berpisah karena berubah
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila besok lalu lupa
Kenapa bilang selalu ada
Bila sepi kian mendera
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila tak berusaha percaya
Kenapa bilang mencoba
Bila menghindari terluka
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila berharap sebaliknya
Kenapa bilang mengerti
Bila tak pernah tepati janji
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila kau tak setia
Kenapa bilang selamanya
Bila aku bukan satu-satunya
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila tak pelihara baranya
Kenapa bilang melindungi
Bila kau biarkan mati
Kenapa bilang cinta
Bila bermimpi pun tak boleh juga
Kenapa bilang rindu
Bila tak lebih dari merayu
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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When you turn the other page of a cheek/Kad okreces drugu stranicu obraza
When you turn the other page of a cheek
A slap of morn written abyss down your neck
A glove that you lift right from the floor
To throw it into the face of the tree swallowers
That keep growing faster than the boughs
Up to the sky lid in the cauldron of each word
Does it ever come to your mind
What it is there that bursts out in a dream
Do you then think of streets those winding snakes
With their tongue dipped into the poison paths
The buses that turn questionless to a wheel
Insanity spinning both Alladin and the lamp
A sign post in the dark
Do you then think of the houses windows and doors
And heart beats facing the gate of the entrance
As if it was the first time to come into a human
Not knowing whether the host was inside
Do you then think those thoughts from the threshold of pain
Making way to earth mother dust and death
To rest all your thoughts at the end of the road
When the earth bursts out and leaves you with no breath
Kad okreceš drugu stranicu obraza
šamar jutra ispisan brazdama do vrata
rukavicu koju podižeš sa poda
i bacaš u lice gutacima drveca
što rastu brže od granja
do poklopca neba u kotlu svake rijeci
pomisliš li nekad šta puca u snu
misliš li tad na ulice krivudave zmije
s jezikom umocenim u otrov puta
autobuse pretocene u tocak bez pitanja
što bezumno okrece Aladina i lampu
putokaz u mraku
misliš li tad na kuce prozore i vrata
na lupanje srca pred kapijom na ulaz
kao da prvi put ulaziš u covjeka
a ne znaš da li je domacin unutra
misliš li misli sa praga bola
što put krce zemlji majci od praha
da na kraju puta odmoriš sve misli
kada zemlja pukne i kad ostaneš bez daha
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Face Of Pain/Lice Bola
Your face made of а flower
Leaning on a fragile petal
It’s calling in a voice of solitude
The root thirst for shining
Your breathing in faded leaves
Trodden broken
Mere branches of breath
You’re floating with the clouds
Like a pain buried below deception
Your hands in twilight
A shattered embrace
A deflowered touch
Your cheek
A scar
Tvoje lice od cvijeta
Na krhku peteljku oslonjeno
Zove glasom osame
Korijen žedan sjaja
Tvoje disanje u svelom lišć u
Ogaženo lomljivo
Tek granč ica daha
Plutala si oblakom
Ko bol sahranjen pod obmanom
Tvoje ruke u sumraku
Slomljen zagrljaj
Obešč ašć eni dodir
Tvoj obraz
Ožiljak
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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Od Cežnje Nabrekla Dahom Ukleta
Sopstvenu sjenku gazim
Sašivenom haljom od hiljade ljeta
Zmijom ugrižena zemljama gazim
I tu sam sasvim gdje još me ima
Gdje rijeci mi još blagoslov mole
S krajickom proljeca u snu smrtnih zima
Zraci me misli griju i još vole
U vatri gašena na lomaci slutnji
Da rijecju još je obrecena nada
U stisku neba u dnu svih slutnji
Gdje bezdano liže plamen mog pada
Od cežnje nabrekla dahom ukletim
Svom miru za jedan plamen sam bliže
Tu sam da dišem još malo da letim
Jer rijec me vatre na oltar diže
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Critical lice are like body lice, which desert corpses to seek the living.
quote by Theophile Gautier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hair
The ritual evanesced when we observed it,
The ritual completed when our lice grew.
The head was full of lice, I hear them and saw each of them,
Restraining the children with feet, the arms also.
Inexorable lice swayed in the hair of our heads
Until the ritual was entire.
What is this ritual?
The ritual is of the dressing of hair,
Or the cutting of hair by the hairdresser.
poem by Naveed Akram
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And that the thought was just another day/I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan
And that the thought was just another day
No one has said as yet
An unsaid one that cracks with the boughs
Still being dawned for a day to be
I knew for
The outbreak slippery among the fingers
Pours down the beads of sunbeams through the clouds
No one has said as yet
The sides of the world folded on a sheet of paper
An origami of unspreadedness
Unwritten hours sealed in emptiness
On the first geometry class where we will learn
We're perhaps a square with headless points
Marked ABCD
In an alphabet of beheaded words
No one has said as yet no one has dared
The distant counting of Euclid's vows
Xenon's accounts and Pythagoras' secrets
Hung around the neck of a bird
That due to gold of knowledge cannot fly
No one has shaped as yet
A mathematical axiom at the top part of an operational table
Edged by formulae algorhithms
By which Reason the mother of order
Protectively hides the chaos of the possible
We'll be silent about the tents
Under which we've hidden security particles
Precious dust of knowledge in the urn light we'll store
We'll be silent about the warm blankets of thoughts
Covering dreams in an early morning
The marbles of small deceptions the spherical many colouring
We could be stolen them all
And to stand like nothing facing the loveless world
Only Love can do
Who we've never been enough
I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan
Niko rekao nije
Nedorečen što s granjem puca
A za riječ osvanut znala sam jer
Svanuće klizavo medj prstima
Brojanice sunčevih zraka kroz oblake sipa
Niko nije rekao
Na listu papira presavijene stranice svijta
Origami neotklopljenosti
Neispisivanjem sati zapečaćen u prazno
Na prvom času geometrije gdje saznaćemo
Da možda smo samo naučen kvadrat obezglavljenih tjemena
Obilježenih ABVG
Azbukom odrubljene riječi
Niko nije rekao niko nije smio
Daleka prebrojavanja Euklidovih zavjeta
Zenonovih računa Pitagorinih tajni
O vrat ptice obješenih
Što od zlata znanja otežala ne može da leti
Niko nije oblikovao
Matematički aksiom na vrhu operacionog stola
Oivičen formulama algoritmima
Kojim Razum majka reda vješto prikriva
Haos mogućeg
Prećutaćemo šatore pod kojim
Skrili smo truni sigurnosti
Dragocjeni prah saznanja u urnu laku pohraniti
Prećutaćemo toplu ćebad misli
U rano jutro snom pokriveni
Klikere sitnih obmana male šarene sferičnosti
Sve bi mogli nam ukrasti
A stajati k'o ništa spram svijeta bez ljubavi
Može samo Ljubav
Koja nikad dovoljno nismo
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Nothing (Nafaka)
In which the fullness of being stands
I settle illusions withing
For the sake of evil omens
Not to bloom in spring
Nothing in which I push the questions
In which I settle the answers
For the sake of sense
Not to die out by autumn
Nothing
In which I pour the whiteness
In which I settle the freezing
For the waiting not to melt down at winter
Nothing
In which the sunshine bathes
In which I settle the light
Not to burn myself in summer heat
NISTA u koje staje punoca bica
u njoj nastanjujem privid
uroka radi da se ne prozli
proljecem
nista u koje sazimam pitanja
u njima nastanjujem odgovor
smisla radi da s jeseni
ne uvene
nista u koje sipam bjelinu
u njoj nastanjujem promrzlost
u zimama cekanja da se ne istopi
pahulja
nista u kojem se preliva sunce
u njemu nastanjujem svjetlost
vrelinom ljeta da se ne sprzim
JA
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Mad Maria
Mad Maria in the Square
Sits upon a wicker chair.
When the keeper asks the price
Mad Maria counts her lice.
No pesito can she pay,
So he shrugs and goes away;
Hopes she'll pay him with her prayers,
Shabby keeper of the chairs.
Mad Maria counts her lice,
Cracks them once and cracks them twice,
Combs them from her sunny hair;
People stop to turn and stare.
Innocent in thought and deed
Mad Maria pays no heed,
And the Cross upon her breast
Proves her blessed of the blest.
So she sings her little song,
Happy as the day is long,
hunting in her camisole
Shy partakers of her dole;
thinking: Heaven please forgive -
Even lice have leave to live;
(But sweet Reader, do not blame,
For she kills them just the same.)
Mad Maria goes unchid,
Mildest maid in all Madrid;
While around in serried ranks
Rear the bold facades of Banks;
But when wrath of Heaven smites
Hosts of Mammon's parasites,
Mad Maria will not fall,
Being oh so very small.
Pariahs to God belong,
to be weak is to be strong;
Fools are richer than the wise,
And who see with shining eyes
Angels in the sordid street
Deem their happiness complete. . . .
Mad Maria counts her beads,
Cracks her lice and - Heaven heeds.
poem by Robert William Service
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