NOTES ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
He won Risto Ratković prize for young poets (Montenegro 2005.), for his book I MAY BE SLEEPING.
His poems were translated in Polish and published in Fragile magazine (Krakow, 2009.), as well as in e-edition of the magazine.
In 2012. his poems were published in International online magazine OMEN, (issue #10).
The interview with the author can be read on www.bridgestoserbia.com.
E-mail:
Translated from the Serbian
by Novica Petrović
*
***
**
on
the night between April 27th and 28th 2001
2.00
Breadcrumbs
Jump
like grasshoppers
Before
the rain
And
my goblet spills over
Onto
the table
Which
has stood firmly for years
Bearing
the burden of food of generations.
2.07
All
about the house I leave a trace
Of
poor-quality paper
Whose
words
Have
stuck to my fingers.
Now
you can follow the trace
Of
words,
String
sentences together.
2.15
Entire
districts are evacuated
On
account of talk,
The
lunatic asylum van’s horn blares.
They
beg me to come out
When
I explain to them that nothing is
100%
certain.
Tired,
I go to sleep,
Setting
the alarm clock to ring
In
two hours on the dot, I get up,
Get
dressed,
In
the paper I read
That
they are on the trail of the elixir of youth.
2.25
“Everything
must
come
to an end.”
Serbian proverb
Communism
collapsed
Like
badly played notes.
Nobody
had a musical ear
And
out of love for his/her own voice
Everyone
wanted to silence
The
others.
2.30
I
am no longer 5 years old
Or
10
Or
15.
Mozart
began at the age of 5
As
did Martina Hingis.
For
my fifth birthday I got
An
accordion.
When
I learned the multiplication table
I
got a hunting knife
With
which I slaughtered the accordion later.
Much
later, I played
To
those younger than me
That
the multiplication table
Is
the basis of multiplication.
2.39
I
chased people away with garlic
I
was powerless before witches.
They
came
During
my rests
And
took over my preoccupations.
They
walked away with vampires
Anaemic
fools.
2.46
I
secure awakenings
By
jumping off buildings.
I
never keep a wire net on the window
Mosquitoes,
too, are living creatures
They, too, fall for blood.
To Đođo,
Assuming
That our rabbit lives
Crossed once.
A finger’s breadth wide, a draft blows.
That
day
When
I picked a grey rabbit
To
be my pet
And
then returned it
And
took a yellow one instead,
Did
I save one,
Dragging
it by the ears,
And
push the other one,
Betrayed,
To
its fate?
Did
Grandfather,
Breaking
its neck
With
a knife handle,
Know
That
the stew
Wouldn’t
have the time
To
get cold in his belly
That
he wouldn’t wear for long
The
coat made from the fur
Of
the rabbit
Still
jumping all over the fridge?
Only
I noticed
Even
though I was small
That
our neighbour
Hid
her gaze under her skirt
After browsing grass
She
took her grandson his lunch
And
pulled her ears
When
he looked at her with someone’s eyes.
To that boy
Whom I resemble somewhat
She
said, the one who fled afterwards
And
whose paws served for pounding
When
she was frightened – you’re a real rabbit
Which
made his ears turn red
And her teeth go bad.
Her
daughter fled that night
20
years before her birth
to
join Bunnies.
Under
the same roof, my grandfather’s,
Where
I decided the fate of rabbits
Where
the skin in the attic was dry
And
prepared to take in those
Who
stamped their feet when they were
Frightened.
Our
neighbour Vesna reminiscing about
the
ceremonial ending of our childhood.
And
it all happened so normally
a
girl came
took
a boy away
in
a blue car
not
saying good-bye for the first time
they
drove away.
Rain
started falling
and
washed traces of chalk from the street
(the
pigeons did not make the time)
pieces
of the puzzle were being fit together.
The
ball was thrown into a yard to cool down,
where
it accidentally found a rose thorn.
I
was sitting on the terrace
had
I fallen off it
I
wouldn’t have seen any of this.
I
dangled my legs
then
entered the house
through
the big door
without taking off my shoes.
An
empty space
Walked
upon
By
those whom I loved.
Clouds
scatter across puddles
Big
houses with safe dreams.
A
truck trailer
Flight
for young wasps.
Naked
trunks...
Small
hairs on the cracked tongue of the desert.
A
safe phone number
Nothing
will happen on it.
Experiments...
The
smell of a freshly stolen beam.
And
nothing...
And
something
Worse
than nothing.
A
wasps’ nest soaked with rain...
The
truck has gone...
The
beams have dressed...
A
night of birds’ tongue.
A
pigeon fell down
Hit
by a board
The
elongated hand
With
which we built the house
So
that upon its boards
There
should be room for everyone
And
now
There’s
none even in the attic
For
the pigeon
Let
alone anyone else.
It
alighted upon the bedsheets
A
gentle flight
It
lay trying
Its
claws clenched, its neck twisted, its wing over
its
head,
So
as not to see the rescuer
From
whose final joint
It
took a few drops of water
And
then started vomiting.
I
shook my pyjamas
Not
a breath of wind
With
a forceful movement
It
was as if a child flew out of it.
The
pigeon was on the rubbish heap
When
I saw it next
Its
lean eye open
Emperor Asa, the king of heights.
Pigeons
in a point
pigeons
make time
we
lie in the grass
and
watch.
Then
this grass
actually
someone’s hair
and
the sun a fake
dares
not look in the eye.
Pigeons
in a point
a
choir of cats singing from the stomach
hawks
alight on the head
and
peck with all their might
the
rain starts
an
elephant turns up from somewhere
and
whispers
in
the voice of a shy divorcee:
Fool,
they’re not in a point
there
are bugs in your eyes.
I rub my eyes and walk away.
It
fluttered
Above
me
I
drove it away
Out
of fear.
I
covered it with a sheet.
When
I saw
I
couldn’t harm it
Yet
again...
I
closed my eyes, tired.
In
tiny hexagonal images
I
saw each part of myself:
Hitting
Babbling
Small
curses
Until
I turn into a crumb
And
am thrown into the grass.
They
say they saw me
Sting
an angel
Kill
a hornet.
I
secrete the healing poison of silence.
The
apple-tree blossomed
in
the clergyman’s yard.
I
opened the fridge more often
than
the window.
I
imagined
the
reddest apple
as
your fruit.
When
I saw your first boyfriend
your
apples had been knocked down.
My
framed space.
One
apple
one
fruit
one
me
looking
through the window.
Apples
green
and
ripe
seen
through
peeled
breezers
window
display pretty
marriageable
sour
and sweet
more
hairy down below
less
hairy down below.
One
which
has been entered by a worm
is
rotting
sweet
to the tooth
until
it dries
and
becomes the seed
of
a new tree
and
a boy.
Help
me get rid of the shell
And
not to carry the house on my back
Not
to remain hollow
Not
to be just an echo
Of
someone who used to live there.
I
drink espresso with
milk,
in
an old club
that
they have changed
to
make it look better.
I,
not feeling better
at all,
drink
coffee,
which
I don’t drink otherwise,
in
a club that has
never
meant anything
to me.
A
year ago my uncle
Zoran
Rebić died
it
seems to me that
no
one loved him enough
and
that he extinguished the fire with alcohol.
For,
during his lifetime
what
was enough
was
not at all clear enough.
10.04.2005
QUIETLY AND SECRETLY
If
we quietly
pass
each other by
there
was a moment
when
I loved you infinitely
and
now it’s quietly and secretly
I
feel that moment
and
nothing else
nothing
else.
If
I see you with a pram
and
kids and grandchildren
there
was a moment
a
memory of someone else
and
trembling and shivers down my spine
and
now someone quietly
and
secretly
offends
that
moment
of
something else
of
someone else.
And
so
quietly
and secretly
we’re
getting closer to the grave
you
used to hide…
I
found your plainness lovely
what
am I talking about?
The
hairs on your legs, gummed-up eyes, snot
and
the hatred towards me
it
was lovely to me.
Now,
quietly and secretly
I
pass you by
in
your prime
without
noticing you.
DON QUIXOTE
Lucky
you, Don Quixote
she’s
reading you now
studying
for the World Lit 1 or 2 exam.
She’s
reading you
and
cares more about you
than
about me
Quixote,
you sod.
She
reads you all night
you
lucky sod
she
disconnects her phone
to
be alone with you
and
I keep calling her
to
look at Brana Petrović,
but
no,
she
says she’s preparing your exam:
-
But you’ll never need any of that
-
But some of it stays in your cerebellum
Quixote,
you crazy sod,
do
you know whose brain you’ll stay in?
THE YARD POEM
We
chased Živanka’s rooster around
all
morning
for
our hens are no sluts
to
be trodden by just any rooster
we
even used a broom
but
he kept coming back
who
says poultry love
is
less bright
than
us
starfish
or slugs.
WITH MYSELF
I
try to make peace with myself
no
such luck,
no
use,
I
don’t go easy on myself
I
don’t go easy,
and
a voice inside me goes,
soft
and sleazy,
and
then bursts out
don’t
go easy on yourself,
don’t
go easy!
TO YOU,
I
haven’t signed a single poem
the
night’s too dark
if
I live to see the morning
you’ll
remain alone
unprepared
for me and my nonsensicality.
THAT BRINGS LUCK
When
you stuff love
in
a bag
and
then throw, kick, hit
the
bag
and
it hurts, hurts,
that
brings luck.
When
you erase
your
list of friends
and
see that you are broke
that
there’s no one left to squander you
and
the bag is desolate and empty
that
brings luck.
When
you shake off the leash
and
get rid of your mother and father,
relatives,
well-wishers, aunts,
and
go to sleep
in
mud and silt
seeking
fortune,
that,
too, brings luck.
When
you finally see
that
you are alone under a cloud
and
that everything around you is grey, lukewarm
that
you sought love
and
got the greatest hatred of all
Baudelaire,
Crnjanski and Poe
lived
that way
you,
too,
sought
fortune amidst junk
it’s
anything but luck
that
brings luck.
Thousands
of writers speak through
my
pen
thousands
of writers and letters
I
would gladly line up
and
shoot
to
no avail since their fate
is
written in books.
PRAYER POEM
She
had to go to her boyfriend
О
Lord
So
what, so what
What
I’d gladly do to them...
Forgive
me, Lord.
She
says he called at an awkward moment
I
say how true
And
think of what I’d like to do to that son of a bitch...
Forgive
me, Lord.
And
she won’t have time for me
Neither
tomorrow nor the day after,
Who
know when she will
Presumably
when she passes all the World Lit exams
I
don’t know what I’ll do
And
I change masks
And
put on masks
And
change city girls
Thinking
of her
If
you could...
O
Lord,
Forgive
me, Lord.
I
walk about the house
thinking
in
three hours she became
the
centre of my world
three
hours of conversation
on
Tuesday, April 5th, 2005
around
5 p.m.
on
a raft near “The Danube Flower”.
A LITTLE DIARY
I
have no strength
I
am afraid of failure
I
have no more friends
you
have all that
and
are younger to boot
you
look at me
from
some other world.
After
each conversation we have
I
write 20 poems
if
we talk on the phone twice
that’s
a collection of poetry
when
we don’t ring each other
I
don’t write
I
think a little
practise
breathing a little
lest
I should forget.
WHITE NIGHT
A
little something
hurts
but
it’s nothing.
Prison
walls
love
me,
as
do whispers,
autumn
watermelons,
cemeteries,
slaves’
looks,
mammals,
bugs,
gallows,
bayonet
tips.
White
night
loves
me,
long
live ’45.
A
goodnight rag
that
I sucked
as
a little boy,
decomposed
into nothingness,
has
survived.
And
I don’t know
how
to defend myself
from
their love.
A CHANGE OF WORLDS
Once
Socrates
spoiled
the young
and
now they are spoiled
by folk singers
only
they are not
troubadours,
minnesingers, dancers
but
ploughmen,
diggers,
failed
hoe-wielders,
doleful
plough-holders.
Girls
(who
have left the cooperative)
only
they are not hetaerae
to
whom we should dedicate
verse metres
to
them it means nothing
nor
do stadiums or theatres
they
are not prostitutes either
for
prostitution is ideology
love
has become passé
the
rest is demagoguery.
States
yes,
there are small ones
but
those are not
polis-states
or
democracy
you
don’t drink hemlock
after the death sentence
you
drink poison first
and
then they try you.
STUPID PHONES
I’m
sitting
by
the phone
she’ll
say
and
then I’ll say
and
what if she
won’t
any more
she’s
not answering
it’s
rung three times already
I’ll
have to leave.
And
I do it again
it
rings and rings
and
rings
one
more
and
I give up,
it
rings,
just
once more
and
yet again,
stupid
phones,
something’s
wrong with the switchboard.
It’s
not easy
Our
switchboard
dates
from ’41.
I’ll
call her on Wednesday.
Digit
by digit, carefully
no
mistakes this time
I
call, she answers
at
once.
-
Honey, I called
once, to be quite frank,
and then 73 times more.
-
Who do you wish to speak to?
-
Irena Javorski.
-
Sorry, wrong number.
-
But that’s no reason for you
not to put me through.
Do you understand?
-
You’re a fool,
do you know that?
-
Sorry, I
keep thinking about her.
Slam,
toot-toot, toot-toot,
an
ambulance or a police
car
this
sound,
that’s
the moo
of
hungry grass
in
the mouth of an ox.
And
again, nothing,
she
doesn’t answer
the
cell phone
nothing,
and
then it switches off
“UNAVAILABLE
CALL
LATER”,
a
little later,
“CAL
LATER”.
I
mean,
if
she didn’t want
to
answer
she
wouldn’t say call
later.
All
day
I
didn’t call her
and
then another
that
some kind of a record
finally,
on
the third day
she
calls,
flustered
at first, and then
speaks
louder.
-
I have a boyfriend ,
not one
but a hundred
and more.
Oh,
she loves me,
how
careful she is not to hurt me.
-
And I love you, too!
You can’t hide from
happiness.
-
Leave me be, you idiot.
Another
switchboard glitch
I’ll
call her again
later.
I MAY BE SLEEPING
You
are no more
you
threw yourself under a train
jumped
out of the window
an
A-bomb fell
that
was you
splashed
with rain
you
slashed your head
off
someone else’s neck.
I’m
as explosive
as
wet dynamite
but
it’s best no one should try me
I
can still drive,
fly,
I
explode
when
least expected
I
wake the one
of
whom no one knows
where
he sleeps
to
play poker
I
lose
I
put it about that I let him cheat
that
makes him mad.
I
sleep
he
can’t sleep.
I
turned around
cricked
my neck
sprained
my leg
you
wouldn’t even call.
Broken
teeth
bloody
dog-like nose
are
not enough for me
you
are not enough for me
having
fallen to me like a pear
while
I was looking for blackberries.
I
expected
either
a funeral
or
to be called to your wedding
as
it turned out
while
I rushed
you
took your time
you
passed me by, life,
like
everyone else
just
like that.
FOR THE SOUL
To Zoran Davinić
We
sit
in
a sailing ship of a bar
my
late friend and I
my
friend and the late I
we
order a round of drinks
for
both our souls.
CAPITULATION
Today
I have capitulated against
Everybody
Friends,
enemies,
Clever
ones, fools,
Expectations,
Ancestors,
sons,
Loves,
books,
Today
I have capitulated
Against
writing,
Deadlines,
Time,
counting,
Roving,
being bored,
Sleeping,
Aspiring,
Waiting,
Lying,
Complaining,
To
myself, and to others of myself,
Of
others,
Of
these, of those,
Today
I have capitulated
Against
Fears,
crying,
Insecurity,
trembling,
Size,
And
its diminution.
Today
I have capitulated against
Ignorance,
knowledge,
Charges,
battles,
Removals,
folding,
Unfolding,
not folding,
Against
Parades,
masks,
Cleaners,
academicians,
Outlaws,
tailors,
Eccentrics,
Cheese
pies,
Cigarettes,
buffoons,
Toilets,
pedestrians,
And
queens.
Today
I have capitulated against
Instruments
at the Kolarac concert hall,
Pickaxes,
spades,
Aces,
trumpeters,
Dissidents,
priests, dancers,
Pančić’s
spruce,
The
apricot-tree from which a swing swung,
The
apricot-tree that is no more.
Today
I have capitulated
To
God and the rules of nature.
I
take myself off the wall
Like
a picture
Leaving
a white trace
Where my image was.
I
copied
sort
of overheated
sort
of placed a thought
on
the block
sighed
and laughed.
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