This World Is Your Brainchild (Unite Unite Europe)
You self-proclaimed mother of all the cultures and civilisations
You blue-eyes girl who does not remember the colour of the sky
Are you still swaying the continents in your cradle
With your spiritual tentacles
From Africa to Asia from Australia to America
Are you still taking on your morning boots
Your Nazisms Communisms
Your Democratic Simulacrae Civilisms
Your Natio-Philic and Open Society of your Voids
To run over the world once again
And spit into the face of Atlas
You neatly construed in a plundered haiku
Within a tanka syllable an open cave
Of Plato's anxiety
You performed at the botox party
Among the fields of deceptions
That you plough up and down your face
You fat burned
Casting fat of your own greed into a river oblivion
And the river doesn't want it
You minced at the bottom of all the values
Like GM meat glued to the bones of a hungry child
What's that watching you within a graffiti
On the wall of shame
Ti samozvana majko svih civilizacija i kultura
Djevojko plavih očiju što boju neba ne pamtiš
Ljuljaš li još kontinente u svojoj kolijevci
Sa pipcima od Afrike do Azije od Australije do Amerike
Obuvaš li jutrom još uvijek svoje ćizme
Svoje nacizme komunizme
Svoja demokratska simulakra civilizme
Svoja nacio-filstva otvoreno društvo svojih ponora
Još jednom da zgaziš svijet
I pljuneš u lice Atlasa
Uredno složena u poharani haiku
U slogu tanke razjapljena pećina
Platonovog nespokojstva
Ti odrađena na botoks zabavi
Niz njive siulakruma što ih po licu brazdaš
Ti masnoćom izgorena
Što masnoću sopstvene pohlepe
Bacaš u rijeku zaborava a ona je neće
Ti samljevena u dnu vrijednosti
Kao GM meso zalijeljeno za kosti gladnog djeteta
Šta te grafitom posmatra na zidu srama?
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona kucaju preko lanaca od straha
Kucaju tiho kucaju glasno
Ona kucaju preko života do praha
Kucaju neč ujno kucaju jasno
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona se proljeć em otvaraju ko cvijet
Cvjetaju tiho preko vode polja
Ona se ruše i grade ko svijet
Što spašen reč e tvoja sam volja
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona tiho gasnu ko svijeć e nad grobom
Sumrakom ranim na vjetru od riječ i
I tiho se bude pod skutom sa tobom
Melemom ljubavi srce da se liječ i
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Kucaju nevino u kolijevci od krvi
Smrti se ne daju a humkom zidana
Da svjetlost vide kad dan im prvi
Ozari srca rukom tvojom vidana
Ti imaš svoja srca Marijo
Ona kucaju preko lanaca od straha
Kucaju tiho kucaju glasno
Ona kucaju preko života do praha
Kucaju neč ujno kucaju jasno
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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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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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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The river-Rijeka
search the river upstream
search the river downstream
the river bed is looking for me
traži rijeku uzvodno
traži rijeku nizvodno
rijeka me koritom traži
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Markedness/Obiljezenost
who marked the beginning
in eyes marking the end
look at the face that changes
in uncertain stages of an eaten up Moon
each beam is a trace possible
marking its edges the flights and the falls
ko je obiljezio pocetak
u ocima sto biljeze kraj
pogledaj lice koje se mijenja
u nesigurnim fazama iyjedenog Mjeseca
svaka zraka je trag moguc
sto biljezi svoje ivice let i pad
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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My peace in restlessness-Moj mir u nemiru
mercy thirst
of an eye watching
the change of its passion
the pages are tearing the meaning apart
there's a verse pushed afar
in a grain of silence
it's being born the way I am
always young and silent
moj mir u nemiru
žedj za pomilovanjem
oka što smotri
mijenu svoje strasti
stranice trgaju smisao
u zrnu je cutnje skrajnut jedan stih
radja se k'o i ja
uvijek mlad i tih
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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U what
United Nations successfully nationize their unions.
Ujedinjene Nacije uspjesno nacionisu svoje unije.
©Miroslava Odalovic
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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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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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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Haiku, stay with me..
Haiku, I feel so lonely..
Haiku, you and me.
haiku by Spiritual Seeker
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This World Is Not Conclusion, By Emily Dickinson
This world is not a matter
A dead transition from an earth into a breath
From a breath into an earth
This world unmeasured by an eye
Is neither a view through a magnifying glass
Nor winking at sense
This world is not a game
Of a small and big intelligence
This world a strange link
Despite the chains
Won't go into a circle
Ovaj svijet nije tvar
Mrtvi prelazak iz zemlje u dah
Iz daha u zenlju
Ovaj svijet okom nesagledan
Nije pogled kroz uvecano staklo
Ni namigivanje smislu
Ovaj svijet nije igra
Male i velike pameti
Ovaj svijet karika cudna
Lancima u inat
Nece u krug
1996.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Water or wine?
Let me call you a situation
You came in to tell me
Things happen oh dear
As you were unbuttoning your coat
And taking off your boots
As we sat face to face
Tv screens turned off and on
In a dizzy roomful presence
Amidst the white noise of your closing eyes
Let me call you a situation
You came in to tell me
The subjects escaped your vision
In a politically incorrect manner
Via blasphemy and election pamphlets
Torn off the street posts
As we sat face to face
Tv screens alarms beeped the choices
Of ready made designs
Let me call you a situation
And cast you broad
The way you bargain pain
On the watchability scale
No, I cannot sit and forget
Even though there are some things
I do not remember you know
As we sat face to face
What were we drinking
While the streets were falling apart
Was it water or wine
©Miroslava Odalovic
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
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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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One day
Which opens thus
In a cliché of every day
Originating in a badly done homework
The writing of a day starts with sharpened pencils
In an attempt of an account stylistically tasteless
For a day could not break on through
To the parks and Sunday picnics
It frowned at the text with colourless faces
‘neath whose skin the whole drama of a day
Strikes open eyes with total indifference
To the stressful automobile rides
Through the city bridges
Hanged shortly before the elections
Under the text of pontoon despair
Over the river of unwritten anxiety
To the games in concrete stories
Tag hopscotch hide and seek
At the bottom of squatted childhoods
One day you will write
And nothing will say
Nothing will be able to utter
The closing of a day
Without a title or a ‘done on’ date
Nothing but a red ink
To correct your spelling mistakes
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A bullet proof thought/Misao otporna na metak
A bullet proof thought
Pushed away determines the edges of a goal
A life style built on the margins of its own lie
Hardly overcoming a life form
Like a deadly foe always ready to shoot
Sworn by dawn and its own branch of the sun
To settle it on a thin beam of breathing
You asked me where one should go
I the daughter of a sorry
I am carried towards her own edges
Where each goal is to disappear into the clouds
And sing new skies in an armful of white
I dwell within the kiss of the paths
In a street made up of one name only
Pushed down the number thirty five
On the threshold of all the houses a doormat of a dwelling
Knocking with its heart on its own door
And my eyes fall down my own windows
Down to a mad world
That's become less painful
Since the moment I stopped looking for
Miraculous meanings of words
Grown within time and layers of the uttered
Now I first give them to the birds
If they don't eat I don't eat eaither
That's where I'm going
What about you
Misao otporna na metak
Skrajnuta odreduje ivice cilja
Životni stil izgraden na marginama sopstvene laži
Tesko preboljeva životnu formu
Ko smrtnog neprijatelja uvijek spremnog na pucanj
Zakletog svitanjem sopstveni ogranak sunca
Da ugnijezdi na tankoj zraci disanja
Pitala si me kuda
Ja kci jednog žao mi je
Nošena na sopstvene rubove
Gdje svaki cilj je nestati oblakom
Narucjem bjeline ispjevati nova neba
Stanujem u poljupcu staza
U ulici sazdanog od samo jednog imena
Gurnutog s broja trideset i pet
Na pragu svih kuca otirac stanovanja
Što srcem kuca na sopstvena vrata
A oci mi padaju niz sopstvene prozore
Dolje na sludjeni svijet
Što postaje manje bolan otkad ne tražim
Cudotvorna znacenja rijeci
Uraslih u vrijeme i slojeve recenog
Sad ih prvo dam pticama
Ako ih ne jedu necu ni ja
Eto tuda idem
A ti
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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This is my silence with the taste of ‘never’
A single plunge from the tip of the tongue
Into the clouds anxiety sponges
Burdened with water and wells too mute
Of elements void of translation
A single flame from the tip of the fingers
That once touched the hard locked heart
Within the heights all skies to burn
In elements void of translation
A single stone cast into a cradle
Rocks an embryo crying for a womb
Like a childless lap still eager to fly
In elements void of translation
A single breath signed by an ocean wind
That namelessly carves the gates of open cages
Wrestling with the forbidden language
In elements void of translation
This is my silence with the taste of ‘never’
I give it solely unto you
Ovo je moja tišina sa ukusom 'nikad'
Jedno poniranje sa vrha jezika
U oblake sundere tjeskobe
Pod teretom vode i bunara suviše nijemih
Pod elementima lišenim prevoda
Jedan plamen sa vrhova prstiju
Što jednom je dotakao teško zakljucano srce
U visini da spali sva neba
U elementima lišenim prevoda
Jedan kamen bacen u kolijevku
Ljulja embrion što place za utrobom
Kao krilo bez djeteta što ipak žudi za letom
U elemntima lišenim prevoda
Jedan dah potpisanim okeanskim vjetrom
Što bezimeno urezuje kapije otvorenih kaveza
Rvajuci se sa zabranjenim jezikom
U elemntima lišenim prevoda
Ovo je moja tišina sa ukusom 'nikad'
Dajem je samo tebi
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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