Serbian Lyric Poetry

KRVAVA BAJKA


Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u jednom danu.

Iste su godine
svi bili rodjeni,
isti su im tekli skolski dani,
na iste svecanosti
zajedno su vodjeni,
od istih bolesti svi pelcovani,
i svi umrli u istom danu.

Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom Balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u jednom danu.

A pedeset i pet minuta
pre smrtnog trena
sedela je u djackoj klupi
ceta malena
i iste zadatke teske
resavala: koliko moze
putnik ako ide peske...
i tako redom.
Misli su im bile pune
istih brojki
i po sveskama u skolskoj torbi
besmislenih lezalo bezbroj
petica i dvojki.

Pregrst istih snova
i istih tajni
rodoljubivih i ljubavnih
stiskalo se u dnu dzepova.
I cinilo se svakom
da ce dugo,
da ce vrlo dugo
trcati ispod svoda plava
dok sve zadatke na svetu
ne posvrsava.

Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka
na brdovitom Balkanu,
umrla je mucenickom smrcu
ceta djaka
u istom danu.

Decaka redova celi
uzeli su se za ruke
i sa skolskog zadnjeg casa
na streljanje posli mirno
kao da smrt nije nista.
Drugova redovi celi
istog casa se uzneli
do vecnog boravista.



BLOODY FAIRY TALE

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on one single day.

They were all born
in the same year.
For all of them, the school days were the same:
They were all taken
to the same festivals with cheer,
they were all vaccinated
until the last name,
and they all died on the same day.

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on one single day.

And only fifty-five minutes
prior the death moment,
a small troop of fidgets
sat beside their school desks
solving the same hard math quest:
“If a traveler goes by foot,
how much time he needs to rest...”
and so on.

Their thoughts were filled
with same figures and tags
and there was a countless amount
of senseless As and Fs
in their notebooks and in their bags.
They were squeezing
a whole bunch of secrets that mattered--
either patriotic or a love letter--
on the bottom of their pockets.
And everyone of them supposed
that he would for a long time,
for a very, very long time
run under the blue sky--
until all math quests on the world
were done and gone by.

It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan
far, far away;
a troop of students
died martyred
on the same day.

Whole rows of boys
took each other’s hands
and leaving the last school class
went to the execution quietly,
as the death was nothing but a smile.
All friends in rows were,
at the same moment,
lifted up to the eternal domicile.




=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

(Serbian Cyrillic: Десанка Максимовић) (May 16, 1898 – February 11,
1993) was a Serbian poet, professor of literature, and a member of
Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts.

Biography
Desanka Maksimović was born on May 16, 1898 in Rabrovica, near Valjevo,
the oldest child of father Mihailo, a teacher, and mother Draginja.
Right after her birth, her father was transferred, and they moved to
Brankovina, where Desanka spent her childhood. She graduated from the
gymnasium in Valjevo and the Faculty of Philosophy at the Belgrade
University.
In August 1933 she married Sergij Slastikov, but they had no children of their own.
Desanka was a professor of Serbian language from 1923 until 1953 in
several schools. First, she was a teacher at the Obrenovac gymnasium,
then she moved to the Third Female Gymnasium in Belgrade. Eventually,
she was transferred to the teachers' school in Dubrovnik, where she
spent one year. After that, she worked in First female gymnasium in
Belgrade. One of her best students was Mira Alečković, who also became
a poet and a close friend of Desanka Maksimović.
When she heard of German soldiers shooting primary school children in
Kragujevac, she wrote "Krvava Bajka" (trans. "The Legend of Blood" or,
more literally "A Bloody Fairy Tale"), a poem that speaks of the terror
practiced by German army in World War II. The poem was not published
until after the war had ended.
She traveled across Yugoslavia, and befriended writers and poets such
as Miloš Crnjanski, Ivo Andrić, Gustav Krklec, Isidora Sekulić, and
Branko Ćopić.
Her poetry spoke about love and patriotism; it was enthusiastic and
youthful, yet serious and sensitive. It is said that the Serbian
language is best sung in the poems of Desanka Maksimović. Some of her
best poems include: "Anticipation" ("Предосећање"), "Tremble"
("Стрепња"), "Spring poem" ("Пролећна песма"), "Warning" ("Опомена"),
"In storm" ("На бури"), "I seek amnesty" ("Тражим помиловање"),
"Sheared meadow" ("Покошена ливада") etc.
Desanka won a number of literature awards among them Vuk Award, Njegoš
Award (1984) and AVNOJ Award. She was elected as honorary citizen of
Valjevo.
In 1985, the primary school in Brankovina, where she began her
education, was reconstructed. It was in this school that her father
worked as teacher. Local people called it "Desanka's school", and that
is now its official name.
While she was still alive, a statue of her was built in Valjevo, although she objected to it.
Because of the undying value of her poetry, Desanka Maksimović was
elected on December 17, 1959 as an associate member of the Serbian
Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU), and on December 16, 1965 she
became a regular member.
Desanka Maksimović died on February 11, 1993, in Belgrade, at the age of 95. She was buried in Brankovina, where she grew up.

PREDOSECANJE


Poznala sam te kad sneg se topi
topi, i duva vetar mlak
blizina proleća dušu mi opi,
opi, pa žudno udisah zrak.

S nežnošću gledah stopa ti trag,
trag po snegu belom,
i znadoh da ćeš biti mi drag
drag u životu celom.

Poznala sam te u zvonak dan
dan pijan, svež i mek.
činja mi se već davno znan,
znan kad te poznadoh tek.

S nežnošću gledah stopa ti trag
trag na snegu belom
i znadoh da ćeš biti mi drag
drag u životu celom.

Poznala sam te kad kopni led
led, dok se budi proletnji dah kad
dan je čas rumen, čas setan,
bled, kad sretno se i tužno u isti mah.

S nežnošću gledah stopa ti trag,
trag po snegu belom
i znadoh da ćeš biti mi drag,
drag u životu celom.




PREMONITION


I recognized you when snow was melting
melting, and a soft wind blowing
closeness of spring intoxicating my soul
intoxicating, so I cravingly inhale the air.

With gentleness I watched your footsteps trace
trace on white snow
and I knew that you would be dear to me
dear throughout my life.

I recognized you on a reverberant day
a drunk, fresh and soft day
I had a feeling I’d always known you
known though I just recognized you.

With gentleness I watched your footsteps trace
trace on white snow
and I knew that you would be dear to me
dear throughout my life.

I recognized you when ice was melting
ice, when spring breath is melting when
day is one moment rosy, one moment wistful
pale, when happiness and sadness collide.

With gentleness I watched your footsteps trace
trace on white snow
and I knew that you would be dear to me
dear throughout my life.




..

STREPNJA


Ne, nemoj mi prici! Hocu izdaleka
da volim i zelim oka tvoja dva.
Jer sreca je lepa samo dok se ceka,
dok od sebe samo nagovestaj da.

Ne, nemoj mi prici! Ima vise drazi
ova slatka strepnja, cekanje i stra'.
Sve je mnogo lepse donde dok se trazi,
o cemu se samo tek po slutnji zna.

Ne, nemoj mi prici! Zasto to, i cemu?
Izdaleka samo sve k'o zvezda sja;
izdaleka samo divimo se svemu.
Ne, nek' mi ne pridju oka tvoja dva.



APPREHENSION


No… don’t come to me! I want to adore
and love your two eyes from far, far away.
For, happiness’s beau just while waiting for
when only allusion comes out of its way.

No… don’t come to me! There is more allure
in waiting with sweet apprehension, fear.
Just while seeking out everything is pure;
It’s nicer when just foreboding is near.

No… don’t come to me! Why that, and what for?
Only from afar all stars spark and glee;
Only from afar we admire all.
No… let not your eyes come closer to me.


..

PROLECNA PESMA


Osecam veceras, dok posmatram laste,
i pupoljke rane,
kako srce moje polagano raste,
k'o vidik u lepe, nasmejane dane.

Kako s mladim biljem postaje sve vece,
i lako k'o krilo,
i kako mu celo jedno nebo srece,
i pakao bola ne bi dosta bilo.

Kako cezne za svim sto bi zivot mog'o
lepog da mu dade,
i da mu nicega ne bi bilo mnogo,
tako su mu velike ceznje mu i nade.

Osecam , da dosad sve je bilo sala,
moga srca vrela,
da jos nikom nisam ljubav svoju dala,
koliko bih mogla i koliko bih htela.

Da ima u meni cela nezna plima,
reci nereceni'
da bih srce mogla poklanjati svima,
i da opet mnogo ostane ga meni.



SPRING POEM


While watching all these early buds and swallows,
I can feel tonight
that my heart’s slowly growing over sorrows
as someone’s horizon on smiley days might;

That it’s getting bigger like all plants around
and as light as feather,
and that all happiness that’s above the ground
and a Hell of pain wouldn’t really matter:

It’s longing for all things that a life as such
could give nice to thy,
and completely nothing wouldn’t be too much
it’s eager desire and hopes are so high.

Everything that’s happened has been just a play
of my heart on fire;
my true love has never been given away
as much as I could and as I desire;

There are, in my deeps, gentle tides of words
never let outside;
I could give my heart to everyone on world,
yet, it would remain a lot of it inside.


..

OPOMENA

Cuj, recu cu ti svoju tajnu:
ne ostavljaj me nikad samu
kad neko svira.

Mogu mi se uciniti
duboke i meke
oci neke
sasvim obicne.

Moze mi se uciniti
da tonem u zvuke,
pa cu ruke
svakom pruziti.

Moze mi se uciniti
lepo i lako
voleti kratko
za jedan dan.

Ili mogu kom reci u tome
casu cudesno sjajnu
predragu mi tajnu
koliko te volim.

O, ne ostavljaj me nikad samu
kad neko svira.
Ucinice mi se negde u sumi
ponovo sve moje suze teku
kroz samonikle neke cesme.

Ucinice mi se crn leptir jedan
po teskoj vodi krilom sara
sto nekad neko reci mi ne sme.

Ucinice mi se negde kroz tamu
neko peva i gorkim cvetom
u neprebolnu ranu srca dira.
O, ne ostavljaj me nikad samu,
nikad samu,
kad neko svira.




WARNING

Listen, I'll tell you my secret:
Never leave me alone
when music plays.

It could seem to me
that some eyes gray
are so deep and soft,
the eyes that are actually plain.

It could seem to me
that I dive into the sound
and I could give my hands
to anyone around.

It could seem to me
so easy, so gay
to love someone
for only one day.

Or, I could tell someone
my dearest,
magically growing secret
how much I love you.

Oh, never leave me alone
when music plays.
It could seem to me that again,
somewhere in a forest,
my tears flow through a new well.

It could seem to me that a black butterfly
makes patterns on heavy water
those that no one feels free to tell.

It could seem to me that somewhere in the dark zone
someone sings and with a bitter flower
touches my heart where the incurable wound stays.
Oh, never leave me alone,
never alone,
when music plays.

..

Trazim Pomilovanje
ZA NAIVNE

Za one kojima se cini
da su jednaki
siromah i bogati,
slab i jaki,
nesudjen i onaj koji se sa robije vrati,
bezruki i covek s rukama obema,
miropomazni i odlucen od vere,
zvani
i onaj sto pred vratima ceka,
za njih, za sebe,
za svakoga coveka
trazim pomilovanje.

I seek amnesty
FOR THE NAIVE
For those who believe
that all are equal,
poor and rich,
weak and strong,
the untired and the untiring prisoner,
the armless and the man with both arms,
the absolved and the man who has lost his faith,
the invited
and the one who waits at the door,
for them, for myself,
for everyone,
I seek amnesty.


...

GOVOR

Smatram velikom slaboscu i stvarno bih bio
potisten kada bih sve ovo sto osecam,
morao da ti objasnjavam hudim jezikom
coveka: recima sumnjivim, rovitim, razjedenim
i nekorisnim.
Postoje svakodnevne, sasvim obicne stvari,
koje su mnogima tajna.

"Najcvrsca vrata su ona koja su sirom otvorena,
kaze jedan prastari zapis sa Tibeta.

Postoji govor koji ce neko otkriti sutra, a
mozda niko nece ni pokusavati da ga
otkrije. Ali ti ga vec sada moras obuhvatiti
mislima.
Jer to je jezik znacenja, a ne dijalekt naziva.

Postoje kulture gestova, disanja ili vida.
Postoji vreme vremena i prostiranje prostora.
Postoji lepota lepote. Postoji istina istine,
stvarnost stvarnog, volja volje i moc moci.
Postoji kretanje kretanja, razmisljanje razmisljanja,
... postoji i ljubav ljubavi, sine moj.

Sve se redje usudjujem da izgovaram reci, jer
uvek znace drugo nego sto ja to zelim.
Sve dalje su od govora i tesko ih razabirem
u sumovima beskraja.

Tkivo tetovira na tkivo otiske nasleda. Takvo
je moje cutanje s tobom ove noci. Opnu po
opnu, ljisku po ljusku, sluz po sluz, zamor
medju nama civilizacije protozoa, epohe
virusa, celije stena i vazduha, i ustavljena
koza vode i vecnosti.
To je kao da se sporazumevamo u svim
vremenima, sada iz ovog trenutka, u kojem
smo se zadesili.

Pisem umesto tebe Snezani i Alisi. Saljem
telegrame Pinokiju i Malom Princu. Javljam
se bar jednom dnevno telefonom
Galebu Dzonatanu Livingstonu i Pepeljugi.
Ali ni reci odgovora. Znaci da misle
na nas.
Ko zna glasove misli, retko kada se oglasi
glasom govora.
Ljudi se postuju recima, a vole cutanjem.




THE TALK

I consider it a big weakness and I would really be
depressed if
I would have to explain to you, in plain language,
with words suspicious, raw, eaten up and useless
all this that I feel.
There are everyday, completely ordinary things,
that are a secret to many people.

“The strongest door is the one that is wide open,
according to an ancient Tibetan script.

There is a talk that someone will discover tomorrow, but
maybe nobody will even try to discover it.
But you must try already to embrace it with thoughts.
Because that is the language of meanings, and not dialect of names.

There are cultures of gestures, breathing and sight.
There is time of times and area of areas.
There is beauty of beauty. There is truth about truth,
reality of real, will of will and power of power.
There is movement of movement, thinking of thinking,
… there is also love of love, my son.

I dare to use words less and less often, because
they always have a different meaning to what I want them to mean.
They are further and further from the talk and I find it hard to understand them
in the noises of infinity.

Tissue gets tattooed by tissue with heritage marks. That is
what my silence with you is like tonight. Layer by
layer, shell by shell, mucus by mucus, fatigue
among us, civilizations of protozoans, eras of
viruses, cells of stones and air, and skin stuffed
with water and eternity.
It’s as if we were communicating in all
times, now in this moment, in which
we’ve found each other.

Instead of writing to you, I am writing to Snow White and Alice.
I’m sending telegrams to Pinocchio and The Little Prince.
I call Jonathan Livingston seagull and Cinderella on the phone
at least once a day. But there’s no answer.
Means that they think of us.
Those who know the signs of thoughts, rarely
use spoken language.
People respect each other with words, but love each other by silence.


,,,

BESMRTNA PESMA

Ako ti jave: umro sam
a bio sam ti drag,
mozda će i u tebi
odjednom nešto posiveti.

Na trepavicama magla.
Na usni pepeljast trag.
Da li si ikad razmišljao
o tome šta znači živeti?

Ko sneg u toplom dlanu
u tebi detinjstvo kopni.
Brige...
Zar ima briga?
Tuge...
Zar ima tuga?

Po merdevinama mašte
u mladost hrabro se popni.
Tamo te čeka ona
lepa, al lukava duga.

I živi!
Sasvim živi!
Ne grickaj kao miš dane.
Široko žvaći vazduh.
Prestiži vetar i ptice.

Jer svaka večnost je kratka.

Odjednom nasmejani
u ogledalu nekom
dobiju zborano lice.

Odjednom: na ponekom uglu
vreba poneka suza.
Nevolje na prstima stignu.
Godine postanu sivlje.

Odjednom svet, dok hodaš
sve više ti je uzan
i osmeh sve tiši
i tiši
i nekako iskrivljen.

Zato živi, al sasvim!

I ja sam živeo tako.
Za pola veka samo
stoleća sam obišao.

Priznajem: pomalo luckast.
Ponekad naopak.
Al nikad nisam stajao.
Večno sam išao.
Išao...

Ispredi iz svoje aorte
pozlaćen konac trajanja
i zašij naprsla mesta
iz kojih drhte čuđenja.

I nikad ne zamišljaj život
kao uplašen oproštaj,
već kao stalni doček
i stalni početak buđenja.

2.
A onda, već jednom ozbiljno
razmisli šta znači i umreti
i gde to nestaje čovek.

Šta ga to zauvek ište.

Nemoj ići na groblja.
Ništa nećeš razumeti.
Groblja su najcrnji vašar
i tužno pozorište.

Igrajući se nemira
i svojih bezobličja,
zar nemaš ponekad potrebu
da malo krišom zađeš
u nove slojeve razuma?
U susedne budućnosti?

Objasniću ti to nekada
ako me tamo nađeš.

Znaš šta ću ti učiniti:
pokvariću ti igračku
koja se zove bol,
ako se budes odvažio.

Ne lažem te.
Ja izmišljam
ono što mora postojati,
samo ga nisi jos otkrio,
jer ga nisi ni tražio.

Upamti: stvarnost je stvarnija
ako joj dodaš nestvarnog.

Prepoznaćeš me po ćutanju.
Večni ne razgovaraju.

Da bi nadmudrio mudrost,
odneguj veštinu slušanja.

Veliki odgovori
sami sebe otvaraju.

Posle bezbroj rođenja
i nekih sitničavih smrti,
kad jednom budeš shvatio
da sve to što si disao
ne znači jedan život,
stvarno naiđi do mene
da te dotaknem svetlošću
i pretvorim u misao.

I najdalja budućnost
ima svoju budućnost,
koja u sebi čuje
svoje budućnosti glas.

I nema praznih svetova.

To, čega nismo svesni,
nije nepostojanje,
već postojanje bez nas.

3.
Ako ti jave: umro sam,
evo šta će to biti.

Hiljade šarenih riba
lepršaće mi kroz oko.
I zemlja će me skriti.
I korov će me skriti.

A ja ću za to vreme
leteti negde visoko.
Upamti: nema granica,
već samo trenutnih granica.

Jedriću nad tobom u svitanja
niz vetar klizav ko svila.
Razgrtaću ti obzorja,
obrise doba u povoju
i prizore budućnosti
lepotom nevidljivih krila.

I kao nečujno klatno
zaljuljano u beskraju,
visiću sam o sebi
kao o zlatnom remenu.

Prostor je brzina uma
što sama sebe odmotava.
Lebdeću u mestu, a stizaću
i nestajaću u vremenu.

Odmoriću se od sporednog
kao galaktička jata,
koja su srasla pulsiranjem
što im u nedrima traje.

Odmoriću se od sporednog
kao ogromne šume,
koje su srasle granama
u guste zagrljaje.

Odmoriću se od sporednog
kao ogromne ptice,
koje su srasle krilima
i celo nebo oplele.

Odmoriću se od sporednog
kao ogromne ljubavi,
koje su srasle usnama
još dok se nisu ni srele.

Zar misliš da moja ruka,
koleno,
ili glava,
mogu da postanu glina,
koren breze
i trava?

Da neka malecka tajna,
il neki treperav strah
mogu da postanu sutra
tišina,
tama
i prah?

Znas, ja sam stvarno sa zvezda.
Sav sam od svetlosti stvoren.

Nista se u meni neće
ugasiti ni skratiti.

Samo ću,
obično tako,
jedne slučajne zore
svom nekom dalekom suncu
zlatnih se očiju vratiti.

Kažnjavan za sve što pomislim,
a kamoli što počinim,
osumnjičen sam za nežnost
i proglašen sam krivim
što ljubav ne gasim mržnjama,
već novom, većom ljubavlju
i život ne gasim smrtima,
već nečim drukčije živim.

Poslednji rubovi beskraja
tek su pocetak beskrajnijeg.

Ko traje dalje od trajnijeg
ne zna za kratka znanja.

Nikad se nemoj mučiti
pitanjem: kako preživeti,
nego: kako ne umreti
posle svih umiranja.

4.
Ako ti jave: umro sam,
ne brini. U svakom stoleću
neko me slučajno pobrka
sa umornima i starima.

Nigde toliko ljudi
kao u jednom čoveku.

Nigde toliko drukčijeg
kao u istim stvarima.

Pročeprkaš li prostore,
iskopaćeš me iz vetra.
Ima me u vodi.
U kamenju.
U svakom sutonu i zori.

Biti ljudski višestruk,
ne znači biti raščovečen.

Ja jesam deljiv sa svačim,
ali ne i razoriv.

A sva ta čudesna stanja
i obnavljanja mene
i nisu drugo do vrtlog
jednolik,
uporan,
dug.

Znaš šta su proročanstava?
Kalupi ranijih zbivanja
i zadihanost istog
što vija sebe ukrug.

Pa što bismo se opraštali?
Čega da nam je žao?
Ako ti jave: umro sam,
ti znaš - ja to ne umem.

Ljubav je jedini vazduh
koji sam udisao.
I osmeh jedini jezik
koji na svetu razumem.

Na ovu zemlju sam svratio
da ti namignem malo.
Da za mnom ostane nešto
kao lepršav trag.

Nemoj da budeš tužan.

Toliko mi je stalo
da ostanem u tebi
budalast,
čudno drag.

Noću kad gledaš u nebo,
i ti namigni meni.

To neka bude tajna.

Uprkos danima sivim,
kad vidiš neku kometu
da vidik zarumeni,
upamti: to ja još uvek
šašav letim i živim.



AN IMMORTAL POEM

I
If you hear: I died
and I was dear to your heart
Maybe something inside you
will also suddenly turn gray…
Have you ever at all thought
about the true meaning of life?

Like snow on your palm,
childhood melting away in you.
Worries…. Are there any worries?
Sorrows… Are there any sorrows?

On the ladder of imagination
boldly climb up to your youth.
That beautiful but enticing rainbow
is waiting for you over there.
And live your life.

Live it to the very last drop.
Don’t nibble days like a mouse.
Chew the air with all your teeth.
Run faster than the winds and the birds.
Overtake them all.

Because, in the end, nothing lasts for long.

Smiling faces,
in some mirrors,
all of a sudden become wrinkled.

Unexpected: at some corner,
a tear ambushes you.

Troubles come tiptoeing.
Years turn grayer.

All of a sudden, the world, while you’re walking
becomes more and more narrow
And your laughter quieter and quieter and somehow distorted

Therefore, live,
but completely!
…
II
Really, have you sometimes thought
about what does it mean to die?
And where in fact does a man disappear?

What is it that takes him away forever?

Don’t go to cemeteries.
You won’t understand a thing.
Cemeteries are the darkest fair
and an ugly theatre.

You are not meant for such theatres,
with no hope and fire,
the theatres of dried up tears,
where graveyard rules reign,
where there are no quarrels and songs,
and no applause.
And the end is known in advance.

When playing riots
and your formlessness,
don’t you ever wish to secretly reach
new dimensions of sense
in neighboring futures?

I’ll explain it to you one day.
If you find me there.

You know what I’ll do:
I’ll brake your toy,
the one called pain,
if you get up the courage.

I’m not lying to you - I invent
things that have to exist,
but you haven’t discovered them yet,
because you haven’t even looked for them.

Remember: reality is more real
if you add unreal to it.

You will know me by silence.
The eternals don’t talk.

To outwit the wisdom,
learn how to listen.

Great answers
show themselves to you.

After countless births
and some petty deaths,
when you realize one day
that all that breathing

doesn’t make a life,

Really, come to me,
to touch you with light
and turn you into thought.

Even the farthest future
has its future
that carries inside
the voice of its future

And there are no empty worlds.

The thing that we are not aware
of is not nonexistence
but existence without us.

III
If you hear: I died
here’s what it will really mean:

Thousands of colorful fish
will be fluttering through my eye.
And the ground will hide me.
And the weed will hide me.

And, in the meanwhile,
I’ll be flying high… High
Remember: there are no limits,
but only temporary limits.

I’ll be sailing above you at downs.
Downwind, slippery like silk.
I’ll be showing you horizons,
outlines of rising era
and future sights
with beauty of invisible wings.
…
I’ll be resting from unimportant,
like galactic flocks,
that have grown together by pulsation
ongoing in their souls.

I’ll be resting from unimportant,
like deep forests,
that have grown together by branches
into dense embraces.

I’ll be resting from unimportant
like big birds,
that have grown together by wings
and weaved a net in the entire sky.

I’ll be resting from unimportant
like great loves,
that had grown together by lips,
even before they met.

Do you really think that my hand,
knee,
or head,
could, tomorrow, turn into clay,
willow’s root
and grass?

Do you really think that a small secret,
or a silly fear,
could, tomorrow, turn into
silence,
darkness,
and dust?

You know I come from somewhere from the stars.
I’m all made out of light.

Nothing in me will
extinguish or shorten.

I will only,
as simple as that,
at one random dawn,
return to my distant Sun,
with gold in my eyes.

Because, I was meant for theatres
with plenty of heart and zeal,
theatres of laughter and tears,
where there is no order,
where there is quarreling,
and singing, and screaming, and applauses.

And the end is not known in advance.

Being punished for my every thought,
let alone my every deed,
I’m suspected of tenderness
And found guilty
for not extinguishing love with hatred
but with new, bigger love
and I don’t extinguish life with death,
but with something differently alive.

The last borders of infinity
are just the beginning of more endless.

He who lasts longer than more lasting
knows not for short term knowledge.

Never torture yourself
with the question: how to survive,
But: how not to die
after the final death.

IV
If you hear: I died
Don’t worry. In every century
somebody mistakes me for
the tired and old.

There’s nowhere as many people
as in one man.

There is nowhere as many differences
as in the same things.

If you scratch through the spaces,
you’ll dig me out of the wind.
I’m in the water,
in the stones,
in every dusk and dawn.

Being humanly versatile
doesn’t mean being dehumanized.

I am dividable by all sorts of things,
but not destructible as well.

And all those miraculous states
and renewal of myself
are nothing but a maelstrom
dull,
persistent,
long.

Do you know what are prophecies?
Molds of past occurrences
and their breathlessness
that chases itself around.

So why say goodbye?
What are we sorry for?
I have lived a magnificent life
because I really knew how to do it
If you hear: I died,
- don’t believe it.

Because it’s something
I don’t know how to do.

and laughter the only language in the world
that I understand.

I have just dropped by on this earth,
to give you a wink.
To leave something behind
like a fluttering trace.

Therefore, don’t be sad.

The only thing I care for is
to remain silly in your eyes
and strangely dear to your heart.

At night, when you look up to the sky,
you give me a wink too
let it be a secret.

CAROLIJA

Nekom zabranjuju zvezde,
nekom krila i laste,
ja ne zabranjujem nista
sme se sve sto se ne sme.

Samo jedno te molim,
pokusaj da ne rastes,
ni mrvu za inat
do kraja ove pesme.

U toj se pesmi zivi
slobodno i ludo,
mozes da izmisljas, mastas,
da radis sve naopako.

U njoj i najvece cudo,
prestaje da bude cudo,
jer sve sto pozelis kad zazmuris,
ostaje zauvek tako.

Isturi hrabro i divno,
prkose detinjaste,
i lazi sebe samog,
sme se sve sto se ne sme.

I sme se vise od svega!
Jedino nemoj da rastes,
za inat i tebi i meni,
do kraja ove pesme.

I svaki put kad te slome,
pa moras nov san da stvaras,
ne sanjaj ga u mraku,
dotrci blize zori,
na pragu ove pesme
tako se divno bori.

I kad namignes samo,
i osmehnes se polako
izboroj u sebi do deset,
i to u vecnost pretvori,
i sve sto zmureci mislis,
ostace zauvek tako!



MAGIC

To someone stars are forbidden.
To someone wings or swallows,
I don’t forbid anything
everything that is not allowed is allowed.

I have only one request,
try not to grow
not an inch, in spite of everyone,
until the end of this poem.

In the song you live
freely,nicely and crazy
You can invent fantasize,
Do everything backwards.

In it, even the biggest miracle,
stops being a miracle,
because everything you wish for
when you close your eyes
- remains forever like that.

Get those childish spites out
bravely and wonderfully,
and lie to yourself,
everything that is not allowed is allowed.

And more than everything is allowed!
My only one: don’t grow
in spite of you and me
until the end of this song.

And every time they brake you,
so you have to create a new dream,
don’t dream it in the dark,
run faster to the dawn,
at doorstep of this song
so wonderfully fight.

And when you only blink,
and smile slowly
Count till ten,
and turn that into eternity
and everything that you think of with your eyes closed,
will stay like that always.

..

BALKANAC


Ne stidim se sto sam
kako vi velite
varvarin sa Balkana
tla prljavstine i bure.
Cucete sad
i kod nas ima neke
vama nepoznate kulture.

Vi prvo ispitujete i sumnjate
daleki ste i od rodjenih sinova,
za trpezu svoju ne posadite
svakog tudjina.
Vi mozete da pijete
a da svakom ne pruzite
case vina.

A kod nas su jos obicaji grubi
mi pustamo svakog pod svoje sleme,
kod nas se jos i s namernikom ljubi,
kod nas se podvizi zbog gostoljublja cine,
kod nas svaki covjek ima
citavo pleme
prijatelja i rodbine.

Vi, doista, imate
nekoliko miliona Hristovih kipova
na svakog covjeka po jednoga
imaju ga drumovi i polja, apsane i skole,
a kod nas, kad ljudi veruju u Boga
u sebi ga nose
i tiho mu se
skoro u snu, mole.

Vi, istina, za svaki kut zivota
imate sprava i masina,
sve ste sracunali i sve znate
izumi vasi su za divljenje,
a mi jos imamo starinske alate,
ali sve je kod nas jos zdravo
i prirodno ko glina
i umiranje, i radjanje, i zivljenje.

Vi imate citave zbirke
pravila i nauka o slobodi
o svemu se kod vas pise i pripoveda
ali mi po nepisanim zakonima
slobodno zivimo
i nekog prirodnog drzimo se reda
slicno ognju, vetru i vodi.

Kod vas je zbilja sve tacno propisano
kako se jede, govori i oblaci,
a mi kad govorimo, vicemo
i masemo rukama
i corbu glasno srcemo
i u rukavicama smo
obucu nosimo od svinjske koze,
puno je kod nas seljackih navika i stvari
i kraljevski preci nasi
doista su bili govedari.

Narod nas, zbilja, u gnevu moze da kolje
rusi i pali,
ali mi nismo oni sto smisleno tlace
mi ne smatramo da je svet
celi nase polje
mi ne bismo podneli
ni urodjenik prasumski da zbog nas place.

Dusa je nasa prostrana
iako smo brojem mali.



THE BALKANITE

I am not ashamed to be -
as you say -
a barbarian from the Balkans,
that zone of filth and turmoil.
You will hear now
that even among us
there is some culture, unknown to you.

You first inquire and suspect
you are distant from your own sons,
at your table you do not allow
just any stranger.
You can drink
without offering anyone
a glass of wine.

But with us our customs are crude,
we allow all beneath our roof,
we still greet those we encounter by chance with
a kiss,
we carry out feats in the name of hospitality,
among us each man has
a whole tribe
of friends and family.

You, granted, have
several million statues of Christ
one per person
along roads and fields, in jails and schools,
but with us, when people believe in God
they carry Him within themselves
and silently
almost in their sleep,
they pray to him.

You, it is true, have for each corner of life
a gadget or machine,
you have calculated all and know all
your inventions are awe-inspiring,
while we still use old-fashioned tools
and all around is still healthy
as natural as clay
even death, even birth, even life.

You have entire collections
of laws and knowledge about freedom
you write and speak of everything
but we without word or symbol
live freely
and adhere to some natural order
similar to fire, wind, or water.

With you everything is prescribed accurately,
that's a fact,
when to eat, speak and dress
but, when we speak, we yell
and wave our hands
and slurp our soup
and don't remove our gloves
and wear pigskin shoes,
we have a lot of peasantly habits and things
and our kingly ancestors
were, indeed, cattle herders.

Our people, honestly, can, when enraged
kill, destroy and burn
But we are not the ones that calculate and suppress
We don't consider the whole world
our field
We would not endure that even
some jungle unfortunate weep because of us.

Our soul is spacious
even though we are small.