Poetry
25. 12. 2019
Mirko Magarasevic

Here we are on the open sea

In a ritual as the bard spoke
The mirror of the sea in the eye of basalt
Luxurious beauty amongst the clouds
Takes off her clothes lit by the Sun
Gives back the cut with the eyes as sharp as obsidian
In the middle of the sea raised calmed
After all coastal sowings
After the harvests of love
After all challenges and enlightenments
The measure of the sea and the legends.

The Question of Guilt

The time came for ancient books to be paged with bloody stories
about the Achaeans who devastated Troy and smashed all the Tro-
jans
and were celebrated after that. But nobody talks about Troy any more.

Many Greek heroes were buried by ritual.
But what shall we do with the smashed Trojans?
What shall we do to make their souls rest in peace?
How shall we save our generations from the curse?

That was the question of a Greek hero while
washing his arms in blood to elbows
As if he boded and knew in advance
What was their doom on the open sea and back at home.

Nobody answered to this burial question
Being bewitched in plunder
No one but Casandra, nobody boded, nobody knew
That with this murderous sin his own punishment evoked.

Even today thirty centuries after
New murderers believe they credit have
And easily take off the chains of guilt –
By memoirs, statements, all these chatters of fall!

As if the thousands of those yesterday smashed
Are the same miserable shadows into oblivion pushed.

How Achilles Falls in Love
With Beautiful Penthesilea

Crossed swords rattling
And the battle took as a much time
As the invincible Achilles can see
How to apply all the skills
Just to be adored by the Greeks
To win one more time!

Omnipotence of an invulnerable warrior
Decides the victory over the virgin.
But at first, her warrior’s armour
All that haze and the skill
Makes Achilles a fool around
Who can’t see to whom death will bring.

When he fiercely assaults with sword
And all of a sudden the beauty slips in her hips,
So brim of her shield lower slips
And her uncovered neck became the target
For Achilles’ sword which cut down
This virginal life to the end!

Barely at that moment so amazed
With her brilliant face Achilles saw what he had done
And all of a sudden he is in love with her whom he killed
Now in front of his feet in death-rattle she falls down.
And Thersites watches Achilles from aside,
Curves his lips and to Achilles mocks.

Hector’s Dream

If there wasn’t such a bitter impelled fight
I’d walk jumping along floral Hisarlik
Instead with sword and bronze shield;
I’d walk the grass in a sandal light
Holding my little daughter by the hand,
Not to explain her the glory of the war,
Dazzling foam of prey, glance of plume helmet,
But to watch all colours of flower-bouquets instead,
Swallows and other birds to watch,
To open her through the green horizon
Wide enchantments by all the beauties of the world!

Mermaids’ Lure

Heroes’ thoughts breaking
By the strings of their voices
Everybody’s drunk, bewitched at once
Cut into the pieces by the sharp rocks.
Their throats spread trotting in heroes’ heads
They bubbled foam under the tongue
Their alluring song trembling voices made.

With screaming call-wave
They slink under the skin at once
With their whisper bones’ marrows boiled,
Their song dissolved the muscle tendons
Energy spent in never ending ecstasy
They stirred again unreachable foam
Lusts in whirlpool caught by a dream.

Translated by Ivana Milankov & M. Magarasevic

Poetry
25. 12. 2019
Jelica Šaula

Competition

I could feel that fast jump
like my soul had some spell
to reach that highest part of a stone
above fast river, above forest,
taking one enormous leap –
OH, WELL!

Shining Moon would come out soon.
I’ll be there on mountain’s top
reaching for that Moon’s shine up
with whole world asleep.
Who could deny the power
of such a leap?

If the whole world would
go mad right this instant –
who could make it strait again?
The Moon shine keeps persistent
thinking – it had a victory over the Sun.

Yet with strength of my soul’s spell
the Moon will be just like night’s snail
forever prisoner of night’s shell.
And very fast this all will get done.
Oh, look at me – big shiny ray of
a victorious steady winner “blinding”
the golden Sun!

Separating

We people in quiet
last travel of life
like faint sound
dry fallen leaves
all over the world
– but where the brains went?
It was quiet, so quiet
last travel – disappearing
watched from side –
insignificant.
Was it someone else’s
or was it my own hearing
my last pulse
diminishing?
Or was it the light
wind passing?
Where were sweet
dreams of mine
who moved in
inside my soul’s state?
My heart’s and
spirit’s dreams
who occupied,
have made home inside?
Oh, really who
dared, who had the guts
to make the mighty spirit
mad?

Enlighted darkness

Breath by breath up to arising forehead
Night after night, dark attracts
Rebelling time repeating itself while
Wind caught between clouds, in numbness
From there resurrected flocks – some
Of lost birds instantly flock still flew.

Oh, you gentle forehead tell us what happened
Were many downs resembling darkness
Inside deserted nights mislead happened
When lost ones end up in the Universe
Together with flock of some lost birds
Estranged, unknown to the stars.
From Earth’s smartness to heaven’s openness
Going many directions – fall into vegetations
To bitter Earth unto grass all wet
At some early hour deepening one’s head to
Persuade heart to be peacemaker of breath.
Wind was wind as before, the Universe’s windy pore.

… And now let words of song lead birds flock
Sent again into the Universe to hug of heaven
– heads of light, that enormous bright of
Flowers sprouting from “nothingness” and
All what we got now becoming new light,
Inside dark nights the Sun golden rays sprout.

Further, what brain was left let brain solve
What vegetation have consumed from other side.
Many times from sky and down on Earth again
Uplifted lighted treads done with ease
Not knowing why or where before was gone,
Except how it have tasted “nectar – lights”
drink easily done.

Moonlight fantasy

Night falls,
doorstep turns
into moonlight rug.

Open the door.
Step into silver
of midnight hour,
on wings of silence,
with aura of weightlessness
between dream and wake.
But don’t awake.

Glide ever so serene
toward stars and Moon.
Soul leading ahead
trough cosmic wasteland spread
(traveling 1. class)

You and Angel,
or some star,
gliding ahead.

Poetry
25. 12. 2019
Dubravka Matović

Cats Live to the Left

In the city you’ll understand
a cat’s walk on the rooftops.
With ease
from the chimney to the cherry tree.

Looking east
the left eye of my apartment
finds no sense in this.
Batman could do it
from the skyscraper over the parking lot
to the other skyscraper.
To the right eye it’s perfectly clear
how to get from the roof of the house
to the roof of the hut.

The left window
in constant hum.
The right one in countryside tranquility.
The left one – fumes from exhaust pipes,
the right one – smoke from the stove.

Looking from east to west
cats live to the left.

Transiency

I tied the tree
to the pole with scotch tape
I temporarily extended its life.

I can’t have breakfast.
I’m just tossing
“I could never do that”
aside.

Waterfall burbles along the boulevard.
How come it doesn’t deafen all the animals
flowing down to the highway?!

He’ll find a place to anchor his car.
He’ll go somewhere. He’ll do something. He’ll live.

An hour pouring into time.
Rush of everything through every possible exit.
Liberation is austerity.
If you don’t want to,
practice capitulation.

Anchor

When time catches me
standing at the traffic light
I have a thought about the world.
Lanterns are pretty in twilight.
Down at the end of the boulevard
a ship is anchored.
It’s not there.
Down there, before it, calm seas
colonized highway,
lights spreading out into the distance.

To be a swallow

In my eyes plane trees bloom,
Brodsky sailing in my purse,
scents flow through my nostrils.
All our people have gone somewhere
and here in the streets foreign languages celebrate May 1st,
which the Gypsies know very well:
they follow trams with trumpets
exchange joy for pocket change.

In the distance, while fountains hum
and flowers bloom in parks,
all my people in me are close,
as well as those that are not mine, but could have been.

Life guides me
past books, Gypsies and bugs,
it leads me to pass,
followed by the wind
and the scent of cotton candy.

Chestnuts bloom along the way,
outside of the city, grass lays down under the wind.
I am a kind-hearted driver
and I tread on the roads with tires.
With a look I build them monuments.
I see myself through the eyes of some future people
delighted by the freedom of our feelings
and the image of our world:

to follow the black locust scent,
of withered, cozy graveyards and gardens,
to walk down the road, passing by
stalls selling fruit,
to return, and leave again.
To be a swallow for a couple of days.

Translated by Vesna Stamenković

Poetry
25. 12. 2019
Dejan Djordjević

I awaken to love you

I awaken
To gaze into the blue
To spin in a dizzying circle
Where I lose myself
Perhaps?
I awaken
Because of promises
Which cannot be broken.
I awaken
Because of your footsteps
I hear them
I know you are coming
Because my palms
Are sweating
At the thought.
I awaken with a song, with your voice
Afraid that
I might put you to sleep
I awaken to love you.

Translated by Veronika Bauer

Be the bird

For Branko Miljkovic

With your own rocks and the black soil,
the pile will sing out before you.
Be the bird, and fly, all over the world.
There are many places, to ignite your fire.

Translated by Darko Kotevski

Should be believed

(From the collection I LOVE MARIA TOO)

I approach the wellspring,
I repent,
I say it outloud,
And leave the water to take it away.
I step out from the circle,
And I’m still inside of it.
They measured me up,
And marked me out like the land.
And the world will
One day disappear.

Translated by Darko Kotevski

Me, the poet and the hunter

Tomorrow burns in flames
In slippers we put the fire out:
Me, the poet and the hunter,
At service of humans and animals.
Fire is the essential part of life,
You could hear it after the disaster.
We had to go further:
To the forests,
To the clouds,
To the dream.

Translated by Darko Kotevski

Рубрике

ДОНАЦИЈЕ

Претплатите се и дарујте независни часописи Људи говоре, да бисмо трајали заједно

даље

Људи говоре је српски загранични часопис за књижевност и културу који излази у Торонту од 2008.године. Поред књижевности и уметности, бави се свим областима које чине културу српског народа.

У часопису је петнаестак рубрика и свака почиње са по једном репродукцијом слика уметника о коме се пише у том броју. Излази 4 пута годишње на 150 страна, а некада и као двоброј на 300 страна.

Циљ му је да повеже српске писце и читаоце ма где они живели. Његова основна уређивачка начела су: естетско, етичко и духовно јединство.

Уредништво

Мило Ломпар
главни и одговорни уредник
(Београд, Србија)

Радомир Батуран
уредник српске секције и дијаспоре
(Торонто, Канада)

Владимир Димитријевић
оперативни уредник за матичне земље
(Чачак, Србија)

Никол Марковић
уредник енглеске секције и секретар Уредништва
(Торонто, Канада)

Уредници рубрика

Александар Петровић
Београд, Србија

Небојша Радић
Кембриџ, Енглеска

Жељко Продановић
Окланд, Нови Зеланд

Џонатан Лок Харт
Торонто, Канада

Жељко Родић
Оквил, Канада

Милорад Преловић
Торонто, Канада

Никола Глигоревић
Торонто, Канада

Лектори

Душица Ивановић
Торонто

Сања Крстоношић
Торонто

Александра Крстовић
Торонто

Графички дизајн

Антоније Батуран
Лондон

Технички уредник

Радмило Вишњевац
Торонто

Издавач

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The Journal "People Say"

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