Serbian Lyric Poetry

[Radojica]

Jovan Dučić (Serbian Cyrillic: Јован Дучић) (1871-1943)

was a famous Bosnian Serb poet, writer and diplomat. The exact date of Dučić's date of birth is still undetermined; it is variously said to have been on February 17 (or February 5 according to the Julian calendar) of 1871, 1872, or 1874, with the latter date most often given. He died on April 7, 1943.

He was born in Trebinje in Bosnia-Herzegovina, where he attended primary school. He moved on to a high school in Mostar and trained to become a teacher in Sombor. He worked as a teacher in several towns before returning to Mostar, where he founded (with Aleksa Šantić) a literary magazine Zora ("Dawn").

Dučić's openly expressed Serbian patriotism caused difficulties with the authorities - at that time Bosnia-Herzegovina was de facto incorporated into the Austro-Hungarian Empire - and he moved abroad to pursue higher studies, mostly in Geneva and Paris. He was awarded a law degree by the University of Geneva and, following his return from abroad, entered the Serbian diplomatic service in 1907. Although he had previously expressed opposition to the idea of creating Yugoslavia, he became the new country's first ambassador to Romania (in 1937). He had a distinguished diplomatic career in this capacity, serving in Istanbul, Sofia, Rome, Athens, Cairo, Madrid and Lisbon. Dučić spoke several foreign languages and he is remembered as a distinguished diplomat. His Acta Diplomatica (Diplomatic Letters) was published posthumously in the United States (in 1952) and in former Yugoslavia (in 1991).

It was, however, as a poet that Dučić gained his greatest distinctions. He published his first book of poetry in Mostar in 1901 and his second in Belgrade, 1912. He wrote prose as well: several essays and studies about writers, Blago cara Radovana (Tsar Radovan's treasure) and poetry letters from Switzerland, Greece, Spain and other countries.

Like Šantić, Dučić's work was initially heavily influenced by that of Vojislav Ilić, the leading Serbian poet of the late 19th century. His travels abroad helped him to develop his own individual style, in which the Symbolist movement was perhaps the greatest single influence. In his poetry he explored quite new territory that was previously unknown in Serbian poetry. He restricted himself to only two verse styles, the symmetrical dodecasyllable (the Alexandrine) and hendecasyllable - both French in origin - in order to focus on the symbolic meaning of his work. He expressed a double fear, of vulgarity of thought, and vulgarity of expression. He saw the poet as an "office worker and educated craftsman in the hard work of rhyme and rhythm".

Dučić went into exile in the United States in 1941 following the German invasion and occupation of Yugoslavia, where he joined his relative Mihajlo (Michael) in Gary, Indiana. From then until his death two years later, he led the Serbian National Defense Council of America, an Illinois-based organization (founded by Mihailo Pupin in 1914) which represented the Serbian diaspora in the US. During these two years, he wrote many poems, historical books and newspaper articles espousing Serbian nationalist causes and protesting the mass murder of Serbs by the pro-Nazi Ustaše regime of Croatia. During this time he attracted some criticism from other Yugoslav exiles for his espousal of Greater Serbian ideas, a position which also attracted the attention of the US Government's Office of Strategic Services (the forerunner of the CIA).

He died on April 7, 1943 and was buried in the Serbian Orthodox monastery of Saint Sava in Libertyville, Illinois. He expressed a wish in his will to be buried in his home town of Trebinje, a goal which was finally realized when he was reburied there on October 22, 2000 in the newly built Gračanica church.

Oči



Beskonačne tvoje oči, mlada ženo,
Dve duge večeri u pustinji mora;
Dve sumorne bajke što uznemireno
Imaju šum slutnje u granama bora,

Dve mirne galije s crnim zastavama;
Dve žene u crnom, na molitvi neme;
Dve ponoćne reke kroz kraje od kama;
Dva glasnika bola koji kroz noć streme.

Oči moje žene, mračni triumf ploti,
Koje večnom tugom opijene behu,
Svoj su prostor našle u njenoj čistoti,
A svoj car nebeski u njenom grehu.

Od suza prosutih u velika bdenja,
Te beskrajne oči sijaju se s toga,
Dalekim i čudnim sjajem ushićenja,
Kao neke oči što videše Boga.

Čuvaju na svojoj beskonačnoj mreži
Sve tamne ekstaze snova koje sanja,
Oči nepregledne, na čijem dnu leži
Velika i mračna slabost očajanja.

Eyes

Your eternal eyes,young woman,
two long nights in the desert of sea;
two dark scared fairy tales that have
a hint of doubt in the branches of pines.

Two silent ships with black flags
two women in black,quiet on their prayers.
two midnight rivers through sharp landscape
two messengers of pain that hunt by night.

Eyes of my woman,dark triumph of body
that were drunk with eternal sadness
found their space in her purity
and their heavenly kingdom in her sin.

From tears shed in huge vigil
those endless eyes shine just for that
with distant and strange shine of anxiety
like some eyes that have seen God himself.

On their endless net,they keep
all dark ectasies of dreams they have,
Unclearly seen eyes,on wich bottom lies
dark and big weakness of despair.

Pesma ženi



Ti si moj trenutak i moj sen
i sjajna moja reč u šumu
moj korak i bludnja
i samo si lepota koliko si tajna
i samo istina koliko si žudnja.
Ostaj nedostižna, nema i daleka
jer je san o sreći više nego sreća.
Budi bespovratna, kao mladost.
Neka tvoja sen i eho budu sve što seća.
Srce ima povest u suzi što leva,
u velikom bolu ljubav svoju metu.
Istina je samo što duša prosneva.
Poljubac je susret najlepši na svetu.
Od mog priviđenja ti si cela tkana,
tvoj plašt sunčani od mog sna ispreden.
Ti beše misao moja očarana,
simbol svih taština, porazan i leden.
A ti ne postojiš, nit' si postojala.
Rođena u mojoj tišini i čami,
na Suncu mog srca ti si samo sjala
jer sve što ljubimo - stvorili smo sami.

A SONG TO A WOMAN

You are my moment and my shadow
and my glorious word in a silent sound.
my step and my wantonness
you are beautiful just as much as you are a secret
and truth as much as you are lust.
Stay unreachable,silent and distant
because the dream of happiness is more than happiness.
The history of heart is in the tear that falls
and soaks its love in vicious pain.
The only truth is in the dreams of your soul.
A kiss is the most wonderful encounter.
You are made of my visions
and your sunny gown of my dreams embroidered.
You were my enchanted thought,
a symbol of all vanities,prone to defeat and cold.
But you do not exist,and you never did.
Born in my silence and loneliness,
you shone on the sun of my heart,
because everything we kiss-we made it ourselves.

Najtužnija pesma

Znam za neizmerne i bolne samoće,
Kad sat mre nečujno, kao cvet što vene,
I kad srce prazno prestaje da hoće
Ni vence pobede ni ljubavi žene.
Znam za neprohodne samoće bez daha,
Kad konci sa svačim padnu pokidani,
I u kojim srce zastane od straha;
Kad svemu oko nas izgledamo strani.
Kad nas oči stvari ravnodušno motre,
I duša pred sobom prestravljena stane;
I sopstvena povest kad se cela potre;
I kad je od leda suza koja kane.
Ni seme u brazdi, ni stopa na putu,
I kako je teška sena koju vučem!
Kanda tuđe srce bije u mom kutu?
Sve svetle palate života pod ključem!...
Vaj, koliko puta umiremo? Ko bi
Znao za sve tmine pod suncem! I zna li
Iko sva bespuća u sutonu dobi?...
I kako smo često oči zatvarali...


the saddest song

I've known countless and painful solitudes
when the clock dies without a sound like a flower does
and when the heart stops to desire
crowns of victories and women love.
I've known breathless and unpermeable solitudes
where strings of life are torn apart
and where heart stops in fear.
When everything we know doesn't know us.
When eyes of the things look at us carelessly
and the soul stops in front of itself in fear
and the whole our history wanishes in seconds
and the tear is cold as ice.
Not a crop in the field nor a foot on the road
and the shadow i carry is much too heavy.
Is it my heart that beats in my corner?
all the locked bright palaces of life.
Alas,how many times we die?Who would know all the
shadows under the Sun.Does anyone knows all the dead ends in the night.
and how often we closed our eyes...

"

Ljubavna pesma

Ti si moj trenutak i moj san
i sjajna moja rec u sumu
i samo si lepota koliko si tajna
i samo istina koliko si zudnja.

Ostaj nedostizna, nema i daleka
jer je san o sreci vise nego sreca.
Budi bespovratna, kao mladost.
Neka tvoja sen i eho budu sve sto seca.

Srce ima povest u suzi sto leva,
u velikom bolu ljubav svoju metu.
Istina je samo sto dusa prosneva.
Poljubac je susret najlepsi na svetu.

Od mog prividjenja ti si cela tkana,
tvoj plast suncani od mog sna ispreden.
Ti bese misao moja ocarana,
simbol svih tastina, porazan i leden.

A ti ne postojis, nit' si postojala.
Rodjena u mojoj tisini i cami,
na Suncu mog srca ti si samo sjala
jer sve sto ljubimo - stvorili smo sami.


Love poem

You are my moment and my dream,
My glorious word within the sounds,
You are as beautiful as you are the secret,
You are the truth as much as the lust.

Stay unreachable, silent and far,
As for dream of happiness is more than happiness itself.
Be one time flame, as youth.
Let your shadow and echo be all to be remembered by.

Heart is writing its history on a falling tear,
On an immense pain that love marks its target.
The truth is only dreaming of the soul.
Kiss is the most beautiful meeting in the world.

You are the image of my apparition,
Your sunny décor knitted through my dream.
You were the fascination of my thought,
Symbol of all conceits, defeated and icy-cold.


But you don’t exist, neither you ever did.
Born within my silence and despair,
From the Sun of my heart you were shining
Because everything we worship – we have created ourselves."

[Guapo]

He must have been drunk when he wrote those poems.

[Radojica]

(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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[Guapo]

Are you drunk? I am.

[Radojica]

Miroslav "Mika" Antić (Serbian Cyrillic: Мирослав Мика Антић) (March 14, 1932 – June 24, 1986) was Serbian poet, journalist and painter. Antić was born in Mokrin, Vojvodina, Serbia (then Yugoslavia).
He wrote poems, articles, dramas, movie and TV scripts and documentaries. Mika also acted in several movies, and was an amateur painter. His best known poem is "Srem", in which he mourns for dead in World War II and describes the beauty of Srem using "bećarac" song form. He is well known as a bohemian.
Mika Antić is best known as a children and youth poet, a master of delicate and gentle sentiments.
His paintings are garnering greater attention and have been featured any several galleries recently. For example, they were shown at the Stremmel Gallery in Reno, Nevada in 2007. His art was also featured in an ad in Art News that same year.

PESMA ZA NAS DVOJE

Znam, mora biti da je tako:
nikad se nismo sreli nas dvoje,
mada se tražimo podjednako
zbog sreće njene
i sreće moje.

Po obrazima vetar me mlati.
Čupa drveću žutu kosu.
U koji deo grada da svratim?

Dan je niz mutne ulice prosut.
Vucaram okolo dva prazna oka,
gledam u lica prolaznika.
Koga da pitam,
smešan i mokar,
zašto je nisam sreo nikad?

Il' je već bilo?
Trebalo korak?
Možda je sasvim do mene došla,
Ai' ja,
u krcmu svratio,gorak
a ona
ne znajuci - prosla.

Ne znam.
Možda smo celu jesen obišli
u žudnji ludoj, podjednakoj,
a za korak se mimoišli?

Da. Mora biti da je tako.

A Poem For The Two Of Us

I know,
it must be like that:
the two of us have never met,
although we keep searching for each other
because of her happiness
and my happiness.

Drunk rain whips and strikes,
wind pulls willows’ hair out.
Where am I going?
Which town should I stop by?

The day is spilled over opaque fields.
I’m dragging around two empty eyes
staring into faces of passerbys.
Who should I ask, hungry and wet,
why have we never met?

Or it already happened?
Missed a step?
Maybe she came all the way next to me.
But me,
stopped by a pub, bitter,
and she
not knowing - passed by.

I don’t know.
We’ve been around the world
in passion, crazy
even,
and we missed each other for a step.

Yes, it must’ve been like that….

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.

Love is the only air
I’ve ever breathed
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.

Nikad nemoj da se vracas
kad vec jednom u svet krenes
Nemoj da mi nesto petljas
Nemoj da mi hoces-neces.

I ja bezim bez povratka.
Nikad necu unatrag.

Sta ti znaci staro sunce,
stare staze,
stari prag?

Tu je ono za cim moze da se pati
Tu je ono cemu mozes srce dati.
Al' ako se ikad vratis
moras znati
tu ces stati
I ostati.

Ocima se u svet trci
Glavom rije mlako vece
Od reke se dete uci
ka morima da potece.

Od zvezda se dete uci
da zapara nebo sjajem.
I od druma da se muci
i vijuga za beskrajem.

Opasno je kao zmija
opasno je kao metak
da u tebi vecno klija
i carlija tvoj pocetak.

Ti za koren
nisi stvoren
Ceo svet ti je otvoren.

Ako ti se nekud zuri,
stisni srce i zazmuri.
Al' kad podjes - nemoj stati
Mahni rukom.
I odjuri.
Ko zna kud ces.
Ko zna zasto.
Ko zna sta te tamo ceka.
Ove su zelje uvek belje
kad namignu iz daleka.

Opasno je kao munja
opasno je kao metak
da u tebi vecno kunja
i muci se tvoj pocetak.
Ti si uvek krilat bio
samo si zaboravio.

Zato leti.
Sanjaj.
Trci.
Stvaraj zoru kad je vece.
Nek' od tebe zivot uci
da se peni i da tece.
Budi takvo neko cudo
sto ne ume nista malo,
pa kad krenes - kreni ludo,
ustreptalo,
radoznalo.

Ko zna sta te tamo ceka
u maglama iz daleka.

Al' ako se i pozlatis,
il' sve tesko,
gorko platis,
uvek idi samo napred.

Nemoj nikad da se vratis.

The Nonreturnable Song

Once you step into the world
don’t ever look back.
Don’t mess around.
Don’t change your mind.
I am also running with no return.
I will never go back.
What does old sun mean,
old paths,
old doorsill?
That is what can make you grieve.
That is what you can give your heart to.
But if you ever go back
- you must know:
that is where you stop.
And stay.

…

It’s as dangerous as a snake,
as dangerous as a bullet,
when inside me forever buds
and tickles me, my new beginning.
And I wanna rush into the world.
I keep my heart still.
And close my eyes.
But once I set off - I wont stop,
because I only know to rush.
I don’t know where.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what’s hidden there.
I only know that I can’t
here, where - the moment I stretch my leg -
someone ties me,
bridles me
puts horse-shoes on me.

It’s as dangerous as lightning.
As dangerous as a bullet
when my beginning forever snoozes inside me
and tortures me.
That’s why I elope.
Run.
Search.
Create dawn when it’s night.
Let life learn from you
to speak softly and to flow.
You are such kind of miracle
that can’t do anything little,
so, when you start - start crazy,
impatiently,
curiously…
Who knows what awaits for you there
in those fogs, far away
but even if you turn to gold,
or you pay a high, bitter price for all of it
just always go forward.

never go back .

ODLUKA

Život je sve nešto iz početka.
Juče i prekjuče sutra ne vrede.
Nema na svetu dva ista petka,
dve iste nedelje,
dve iste srede.

Pa čemu onda razočaranja?
Ako je jedna ljubav - ćorak,
odmah se drukčije i lepše sanja.
I kad si najviše tužan i gorak
nekih se novih očiju setiš
i shvatiš da letiš... divnije letiš.

Ko je to video da dečak pati?
Da kunja kmezav i da plače?
Svaki put moraš iznova znati
da voliš bolje, da voliš jače.
Ne da se vadiš.
Ne da se tešiš.
Već da se istinski do neba smešiš.

Nema na svetu dve iste srede,
dva ista utorka,
dva ista petka.
Sve nove ljubavi drukčije vrede.
Živi se svaki put iz početka.
Živi se da se nikad ne pada.
Da budeš snažniji posle oluje.
I da se u tvom srcu već sada
sto zlatnih zvezda unapred čuje.

DECISION

Life is all something from the beginning.
Yesterday and the day before don’t count tomorrow.
There are no two the same Fridays in the world,
two the same Sundays,
two the same Wednesdays.

What are disappointments for then?
If one love is - blank,
dreams are immediately different and nicer.
And when you are the saddest and bitter
you think of some new eyes
and realize that you are flying… you’re more beautifully flying.

Who has ever seen a boy suffer?
snoozing cranky and crying?
Every time, you must know again
to love better, to love stronger.
Not to find excuses.
Not to console yourself.
But to truly all the way to the sky smile.

There are no two the same Wednesdays in the world,
two the same Tuesdays,
two the same Fridays.
All new loves count differently.
We live, every time, from the beginning.
We live never to fall.
To be stronger after a storm.
And right now already, in your heart
a hundred golden stars can be heard.

[Radojica]

Are you drunk? I am.

Nop. I decided to start writing poems and stories again, like I was doing before. I am doing some research so I made this thread as a reminder for some directions .