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Art

Everything that’s been said about art is not art.

Sve sto je receno o umjetnosti nije umjetnost.

©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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That's not it-To nije to

Excuse me sir
You look like someone I've met before
And I am sure it is like that
I'm sure everyone has met everyone before
In what's called preceding lives
Do you believe in that sir
I mean those karmas
Moving along cyclic zodiacs
Made of illiterate stars
Sounds quite familiar to me
A life through trials and errors
I think sir
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
(Do not worry you don't have to give me any
Of your monthly revenue
I am not that kind of a beggar)
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
And look at those divinely entangled lines
So cryptic
That are supposed to determine my fate
I think there's got to be some mistake there
That they are not there to determine me
But to tell me that this palm belongs to me only
That I am just like you sir
A creature born once a creature divine
Unrepeatable and free
For most when I outstretch the palm of my hand
To see my own geometry of the universe
Or to turn it into a fist
To strike the face of Fortune
Then I think sir
For sure we've all met before
In the faces of Adam and Eve
Hitting their foreheads against the ground
Once they vaguely hinted the Heaven is perhaps
Nothing but a wholeness of a soul in unity with its Creator
And Hell the lack of the same thing
Yes I am sure we've met before
In the face of Christ crucified on the cross
That redeemed us through his blood
For a dream in which an Idiot
Will not have to find a compartment
In which he would, with a roomful of thoughts
In his head just like me right now,
He would not have to repeat
That's not it that's not it until he cannot
Thinking perhaps about those marbles of lifeful life
Whose glimmer fades away once they break out on the surface
To dry in the fire of their own eyes
Thinking that's not it that's not it

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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

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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That Had Them/Sto Imalo Ih Je

...that they had
the nightmares that had them
and the time they had that had them
with a little practical first aid kit
in case the world ends the way it's been
at least yearly anounced
sometime from March to December
and almost imperceptibly that they had
the goals the dreams that had them
as well as the time that had them
they had? like a never made of always
most of all they knew
that they were known by things they never knew
with a will of a throne it red carpet like walked them
from dire to straights only blood
they had in the dropp recorded they were
in a biometrical test that had them
tested on the meaning of the cells immemorial
they had blood? like a clock an hour hidden by their brother
for being an eternal possession of naming
the names they had that had them
covenantly uttered amidts the language made of light
the light they had a sight amidst the blindness
that had them for being had amidst the darkness
twilightly with the hands unembraced sand and a candle of fear
what they shiverred with shivered them summoned by the wind to sway
for the wind it was the last singing that sang them
amidst singing the last swaying that swayed them sleepless
the dream they had? that had them dreamt fate vowed stricken
never awake for awake a new different possession had them
the gap overstepped by waiting the pit of knowledge eye apples
off the knowlede of good and evil they watched
that watched them without blinking carefully
the result of the reason tainted by memory
with too much possession at the eye bottom ti watch
the same old passion with which poetry
builds the world and destroys the worlds a stone to stone
omen and glimmer

...koji imali su
što imali su da imalo ih je
noćne more što imale si ih
i vrijeme imali što imalo ih je
sa malim praktičnim setom za hitnu pomoć
u slučaju da svijeta okonča kako se bar jednom godišnje
negdje od marta do decembra uvijek najavljuje
i sasvim neznatno što imali su
ciljeve snove što imali su ih
a i vrijeme što imalo ih je

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Last night

Last night I asked the drop
what nobody had dared to ask before
I said
come on, isn't it time you washed my face
isn't it time you stopped falling in tears
isn't it time for me to drink you
isn't it time for you to touch me
isn't it time for me to see the world within you
come on, what are you waiting for
why don't you finally fall down
that was the rage of a dead chicken

Sinoc sam rekla kaplji
sto joj niko ranije nije smio reci
rekla sam
hajde, nije li vrijeme da me umijes
nije li vrijeme da suzom prestanes
nije li vrijeme da te popijem
nije li vrijeme da dotaknes
nije li vrijeme da u tebi sagledam svijet
hajde sta cekas
zasto vec jednom prosto ne kanes
bio je to bijes mrtvog pileta

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

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Let's Go Home Honey / Hajdemo Kuci Duso

She was sitting at a corner
A certain corner of a street made of cardboard
With a cardboard in a cardboard
A dinar fake of gold shining
Her fingers stretching accordion
Like sticky dough that won't go off the hands
She was playing playing so awfully
Her voice cold broken broken fingers blue
Stretching spiders down the scale D-minor
Of a morning full being sung for a dinar
For a dinar a happiness for two dinars the two
She was screaming barefoot each black under her nails
Each black on her tiny teeth
Each black in her hair
Each black in her eyes
She was playing
She was playing for the people
Mottled coats passing by in their buttonedness
That address each other with you
With what's new and how are you
With what are you doing with nothing
With each conquered form of com munication
She was playing playing endlessly
Poor sounds off the broken voice
Pinned wire vocal cords she did not know
She did not recognise the coat
A certain unbuttoned coat two pockets
Two sleeves and a collar
She did not know she did not recognise
Across the zebra crossing towards the prison
Towards the cage where she was playing
She did not recognise
A silently approaching Death that will
As lightly as a feather of a dove or a sparrow's nest
Lift her up from the pavement
To hug her silently tenderly singing
It's over now you little girl
Let's go home, honey

Ona je sjedala u jednom uglu
U jednom uglu ulice od kartona sa kartonom
U kartonu dinar od lažnog zlata presijava
Njene prste što razvlace harmoniku
Ko ljepljivo tijesto što s ruku nece da se smakne
Ona je svirala svirala užasno loše
I glas joj pukao od hladnoce od prstiju plavih
Što razvlace pauke duž ljestvice D-mol
Pune jutarnje otpjevanosti za dinar
Za dinar za srecu za dva dinara dvije
Urlala bosa svako crno ispod nokata

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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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

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Come in and meet my friend-Udi i upoznaj mog prijatelja

come in and meet my friend

he's got eyes of different colours
one eye is blue the other is like honey

he's got a scar somewhere beneath his heart
and the wound under the heart a bitter snake of a dream

he's got a coat and a hat on his head
the coat with two facets and the hat full of thoughts

come in and meet my friend

he knows the names of the rivers and the limits of the globe
and the salt stolen from the bottom of the sea

he knows the ribs of rocks and the whisper from the cliff
and the words hiding under the whisper

he knows all the streets all the houses at twilight
their numbers and addresses through the mother's bloodline

come in and meet my friend

he rides his thoughts like bicycles
up the hills down the slopes by the rivers and lakes

he drives his thoughts like many coloured trains
their vibrant call is layered on the rails

he leads his thoughts like caravans
so that the hot deserts don't die without water

come in and meet my friend

he loves the tramps the clowns and acrobats
the circles of fire and the walk on the wire

he loves the travellers and their suitcases
filled with memories of a step to the goal

he loves the drunkards the beggars the lost and the forgotten
who give their handful of love to the mute world

come in and meet my friend

he thinks your thoughts when you're alone
so that everyone can be there within your solitude

he thinks the thoughts of the sky when all the suns fade out

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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It's written in here/Ovdje pise

It's written in here all that hurts
it's written in here all that laughs
it's written in here all that wants
it's written in here all that waits
it's written in here in every tear
it's written in here read beneath
or do not read at all

it's written in here butterflies in heart
it's written in here all dresses torn
it's written in here twilight and dawn
it's written in here clocks in the soul
it's written in here in every tear
it's written in here read beneath
or do not read at all

ovdje piše sve što boli
ovdje piše sve što se smije
ovdje piše sve što hoće
ovdje piše sve što čeka
ovdje piše u svakoj suzi
ovdje piše čitaj ispod
ili ne ćitaj uopšte

ovdje piše leptiri u srcu
ovdje piše rašivene halje
ovdje piše zore i sutoni
ovdje piše satovi u duši
ovdje piše u svakoj suzi
ovdje piše čitaj ispod
ili ne čitaj uopšte

2009.

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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How to interpret games/Kako protumaciti igre

For the beginning it would be helpful to remember your childhood. The game is one of the hardest concepts and it requires the classification through the use of a chronological criterion. The games of childhood are a path towards theorizing the world. They sometimes imitate life without an authentic understanding of it, even without the need or wish to understand.
Playing tag for instance is a way to reach the other person using the advantages of the touch therapy.
Ring a ring a roses belongs to the same category except for the fact that this is the game in which you need to turn around a lot. Some people turn so a lot that they get into a trance which only the hide and seek can wafe them from. Speaking of hide and seek you can play it only if you have no problem with your eyesight and if you know how to count at least to…ten. You also need an elementary knowledge of your environment so that the others don't have to look for you in various corners where you can be detained with or without kneeling on corn. (Kneeling on corn is the game of the transition period)
The game of growing up is red gloves. Sometimes the gloves are so red that you may end up being blood transfused. The most interesting thing is that even if you know who hit you the pain does not decrease. Time, the most important factor in the development of games, can be helpful in increasing the pain tolerance degree. A comforting fact is that the only constant thing in the whole game is the colour of the gloves.
The game of the mature period is mother and father. Genetics plays the crucial role here. A continual jigsaw between dna and rna counting of chromosomes like marbles will distract your attention from the essence of this game.
The game of getting old is silent swinging alongside brain cells dying out. In this period you have already managed to cope with all the aforementioned games and now you can finally take your time.
The game of dying is a fairy tale being red before a good night's sleep and a dream in which you're swayed by someone's warm and calm voice. For in the end all you are craving is silence.

Za pocetak bi bilo dobro da se sjetite djetinjstva. To uvijek pomaze. Ovo je inace jedan od najtezih pojmova i zahtjeva klasifikovanje istog koristeci hronoloski kriterijum. Igre djetinjstva put su ka sagledavanju svijeta. One imitiraju zivot bez istinskog razumijevanja istog, a i bez potrebe i zelje za razumijevanjem. Suga je nacin da stignete do drugog koristeci prednosti touch terapije.

U istu kategoriju spada i ringe ringe raja s tim sto vam odzvoni jos prije nego sto ostarite jer je to igra u kojoj puno morate da se vrtite. Neki od nje prosto padaju u trans iz koga ih moze probuditi samo igra zmurke. Zmurke mozete da se igrate samo ukoliko nemate poteskoca sa vidom i ukoliko znate da brojite... makar do deset. Potrebno je i elementarno poznavanje okoline da ne bi na kraju morali i vas da traze po raznim coskovima u koje vas za kaznu stavljaju sa ili bez klecanja na kukuruzu.
(Klecanje na kukuruzu je igra prelaznog perioda) Potrebno je takodje da se unaprijed pomirite sa cinjenicom da nemate pojma koga u stvari trazite. Nije vazno. Cilj uvijek mozete da izmislite. Jer uvijek ce do kraja ostati nerazjasnjeno da li je krajnja svrha igranja postizanje uspjeha ili je igra samoj sebi cilj.
Igra odrastanja je igra crvenih rukavica. Nekad toliko crvenih da zavrsite na transfuziji krvi. Najzanimljivije je to sto i ako pogodite ko vas je zviznuo to ne umanjuje bol. Vrijeme koje je najvazniji faktor u razvoju igara moze vam biti od pomoci da povisite stepen tolerancije na bol. Utjesno je sto u svakom trenutku znate kada i gdje su vas udarili kao i to da je jedina postojana stvar u cijeloj igri boja rukavica.
Igra zrelog doba je igra mame i tate. Genetika je ovdje od presudnog znacaja. Kontinuirano klackanje izmedju RNK i DNK, prebrojavanje hromozoma kao klikera odvratice vam paznju sa sustine igre.
Igra starenja je tiho ljuljanje od kojeg odumiru mozdane vijuge. U ovom periodu vec ste savladili sve prethodno navedene igre i sada mozete da se mirno prepustite uzivanju.
Igra umiranja je citanje bajke pred spavanje i san u koji vas uljuljkuje neciji topao i smiren glas. Jer na kraju svega vapite samo za tisinom.

A Little School of Interpretation, …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Come beauty come/ Dodi ljepoto dodi

The moon hurtful beyond the earth
Biting the midnight hour
Spills the quivering made of light
To summon the whole into a song
Come beauty come
The night is never old

The sunlit glow beyond the earth
Burning the desert soil
Spills the quivering made of light
To summon the whole into a song
Come beauty come
The day is never old

The waters below the roar of the sky
Soothed in a dropp through the sea
Spills the quivering made of light
To summon the whole into a song
Come beauty come
The ocean is never old

The air the seal of breathing
Rising the circles through the wind
Spills the quivering made of light
To summon the whole into a song
Come beauty come
For life is never old

Mjesec bolan nad zemljom
Što grize ponocni sat
Prosipa drhtaj od svjetla
Dodi ljepoto dodji
Noc ne stari nikad

I suncev sjaj nad zemljom
Što morem se slegnu u kap
Prosipa drhtaj od svjetla
Da prizove sve u poj
Dodi ljepoto dodji
Dan ne stari nikad

Vode pod hukom neba
Što morem se slegnu u kap
Prospu drhtaj od svjetla
Da prozovu sve u poj
Dodi ljepoto dodji
Okean ne stari nikad

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Geometry of peace/Geometrija spokoja

Lost in the depths of our silence
There’s a single moment of peace
For which it is a gift to live

It’s turned into point at which
Beauty spelled universe laughs
It’s turned into a point at which
The spirit settles down
The one that governs the waters
Governs the soil and heavens
It’s turned into a monada
At one with the light
Uniquely addressed by love
A particle of life

It craves the lines of space
With which the universe draws
The features hinted at
And an inexpressibility unspotted by an eye
Framework canons harmony depicted
The freedom of mercy and want are faced

It craves the body chiseled in wisdom
Of an eye in love with its sight
The lips in love with their words
An ear in love with its song
The hand awestruck by touch
The feet awestruck by paths

It craves the body chiseled in the rhythm
The lungs breathing heartbeat
The blood streaming ebbs in each drop
And the cords of a universal voicing
Of the first ‘Here I am’ tenderly
Endlessly addressed with ‘Thou,
A perfectly painted icon of life eternal
Return into Me, into the Word.’

Geometrija spokoja

Izgubljen u našim dubinama ć utnje
Raduje se tren tihog spokoja
Za koji je blagodatno živjeti

On postaje tač ka u kojoj smije se
Ljepotom ozarena vasiona
On postaje tač ka u kojoj smiruje se
Duh što nad vodama kopnom nebesima vlada

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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It's all right/U redu je

Empty glass sandy girl
5 milligrams of brain on the rims
Drunk up to the last of the drops
Vacuum cleaned tubed
You played poet corner freaks
And the paling Moon perceived
Living ground fair fair
Fairground ride a ride
To hurt is not to feel

All by yourself
It's all right
The man behind the back
Is the memory of an in front
He taps your shoulder
He touches you closely
Too closely to run run run

With no bones to chew
Through the rains
The dogs are barking the title
Of this civil morality play
En garde
Touchee untouched
Get it out of your mind
Get rid of the songs
Get rid of the beat
The distuned abused muzak
In the heart of a shopping mall
Pervasively sick humming along

It's all right
The tradename behind your back
Is just a memory of an in front
And in particular whoever ever
Knew what's before the eyes
Paid ears to frantic calls
In no place to crawl like a human baby
Tasting the dust floor with a tiny finger
Dipped into an unknown full of wonder and trust
Lost when old grown
To the knowledge of good and evil
Through thick and thin
Goodness and sin

It's all right-move on
Just don't think and drive
Might be killed by too many traffic lights
Predominantly rainbow stuck

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A discovery/Otkrice

From behind all the twilights and evening shadows
Under all the covers
And you who do the night rims vigils
Under all sand clocks
And far from those who chase
The windmills of their won restlessness
From behind all the silences hidden within themselves
From behind all the words hidden within themselves
That we were silent with
I took out a flame a fire of the being

It's not the doors locked by the mind
It's not by the mind
Those are not the loves plundered by a heart
Those are not the creatures dried out by the heart
It's not the heart hunt but it's with the heart

It's you and I
And she and he
Those breathings there and these breathings here
That breathe in life everywhere and forever
And they are never now

Oh if we were now how could we be

Otkrice

Iza svih sutona i vecernjih sjenki
Ispod svih pokrivaca
I vas nocobdija okorjele noci
Ispod svih pješcanih satova
I dalje od onih što ganjaju
Vjetrenjace sopstvenih nemira
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih cutanja
Iza svih u sebi skrivenih rijeci kojima smo cutali
Izvukla sam plamen
Oganj samog bice

To nisu umom zakljucana vrata
To nije umom
To nisu srcem poharane ljubavi
To nisu srcem ispijena bica
To nije lov srca no srcem je

To smo ti i ja
I ona tamo i ova ovdje disanja
Što životom dišu svugdje i zauvijek

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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How to interpret a porcelain plate/Kako protumaciti porcelanski tanjir

This perfectly shaped porcelain plate is the result of human effort to put into a circle everything he can. So that he can undisturbed roar to the future centuries DO NOT TOUCH MY CIRCLES. It is carved in its own possibility of being shaped, absolutely aware of its fragility but does not give up. Absolutely capable of defending the borders of its own identity. This approach is a must if you want to understand a plate. You can also use it in the course of self knowledge.
The second step comprises the possibility to put something in a plate. Whatever you are preparing for your feast do not forget that you are the person who will have to eat everything that's there in the plate. Because when you start eating something you have to eat the whole meal. If you break this rule you will violate a harmonious definition of a meal. And then perhaps you will not get a desert. In many cases it makes no difference what's there in a plate. An important thing is that there is some content. The hungry know that best.

KAKO PROTUMACITI PORCELANSKI TANJIR
Ovaj savrseno oblikovan porcelanski tanjir rezultat je ljudskog pregnuca da sve sto moze sabije u krugove. I da nesmetano onako ljudski urla buducnim vremenima Ne dirajte moje krugove. On je izbrazdan sopstvenom mogucnoscu oblikovanja, u potpunosti svjestan svoje krhkosti i lomljivosti ali odoljeva. U potpunosti sposoban da brani granice svog identiteta. Ovakav pristup je neprikosnoven ukoliko zelite da shvatite tanjir. Mozete ga primjenjivati i prilikom samoupoznavanja.
Drugi korak sastoji se u tome da u tanjir nesto stavite. Stagod spremate za gozbu ne zaboravite da ste upravo vi osoba koja ce morati da pojede sve sto je stavila u tanjir. Jer kad nesto zajedete onda morate da jedete do kraja. Ukoliko prekrsite ovo pravilo narusicete skladnu definiciju obroka. I mozda necete dobiti dezert. U velikom broju slucajeva potpuno je nevazno sta sacinjava sadrzaj tanjira. Vazno je da ima sadzaja. Gladni to najbolje znaju.

A Little School of Interpretation- …in x lessons,2007.

©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Between the two lights/Izmedju dvije svjetlosti

I appreciate your instant reply
I judge-it's not correct

For the thing shivering in my heart
Will never know for the fall on the knees
Nor will the thing banging in my head
Ever find an echo on my tongue

I laugh because you know
I laugh because you don't know

The bridges are the hands in the air
Beyond the banks which have grown into a canyon
Like words in touch with the trembling

I laugh because you know
Because you know this is what you don't know
Stuck within a comparison
Between the two lights

Cijenim tvoj instant odgovor
Prosuđujem - nije tačan

Jer što mi kleca u srcu
Ne zna za pad na koljena
I što mi puca u glavi
Na jeziku nema eha

Ja se smijem jer ti znaš
Ja se smijem jer ti ne znaš

Mostovi su ruke u vazduhu
Nad obalama što su izrasle u tjesnac
Kao riječi u dosluhu sa strepnjom

Ja se smijem jer ti znaš
Jer ti znaš da to ne znaš
Zaglavljen u poredjenju
Izmedju dvije svjetlosti

©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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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

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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What a path cannot say (Nafaka)

Eternity will
All of us there
Take a long rest of all the thoughts

What treetops cry will settle in a breath
Pass away alongide myself
Everything there
Take a long rest of all the thoughts

sve sto staza srca ne moze da kaze
reci ce vjecnost
svi tamo
na veliki odmor svih misli

sve sto placu krosnje stace u dah
nestati zajedno samnom
sve tamo na veliki odmor
svih misli

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I build within the houses I will never live in (Nafaka)

the beds I sleep in I have never made
rains I drink I will never fall with
and the rains I fall in I never drank
the wind I breathe embracing the sides of the worls

what I want I can say no more
open for everything
for happiness and sorrow
good and evil
a cloud and a sun
even though
what I say can embrace me no more

u kucama gradim koje stanovala nisam
u krevetu spavam koji pospremila nisam
kise pijem s kojima pasti nikad necu
s kisama padam koje nikad popila nisam
s vjetrom disem koji strane svijeta grli

sve sto hocu vise ne mogu da kazem
otvorena za sve
za srecu i patnje
za dobro i zlo
oblake i sunca
iako
sve sto hocu vise ne moze da me zagrli

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Valvonauta

Mi affogherei
e anche se non mi viene
io senza lei
e anche se non c' miele
mi viene dolce
e penso sempre lo stesso
mi affogherei
Io senza lei
riesco appena a sentire
che non ci sei
e riesco appena a stupirmi
va tutto bene
e penso sempre lo stesso
mi affogherei...eei
Sto bene se non torni mai
Sto bene se non torni mai
Sto bene se non torni mai... mai
Mi affogherei
e anche se non conviene
io senza lei
e anche se non c' miele
mi viene dolce
e penso sempre lo stesso
mi affogherei...
Sto bene se non torni mai
Sto bene se non torni mai
Sto bene se non torni mai...mai

song performed by Verdena
Added by Lucian Velea
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