detail from: KRK Art dizajn

“Cities and Chimeras”

Sesti Gabar[1]

We all have a place

Where we once were, but

Only to the souls of ancestors

In wars of the past

And family mourning.

Knjazevac

The old town seeks its poet,

He is trying to hear; his lips contorting,

His father, mother, and all brothers,

Who can no longer hear.

We are celebrating, celebrating, but

Nothing is heard from the noise.

The poet has returned,

To what if not to Katarina,

To bridges and every stone,

Prominent monuments of sins and tears.

We are celebrating, celebrating, but

Nothing is heard from the noise.

Behind him, everything echoes:

Wheat that has sprouted and

Foals cheerfully in the field.

A small brawl and dew on it.

Beams creak and the door of the family house.

Nothing is dead

In that wondrous morning.

Gone is that sorrow and anger,

The land has cooled under that peach tree.

Nis[2]

When in the white city,

The sick city from the plague,

You arrive as a stranger,

In a city that hasn't met you yet,

And neither have you known it.

On the square of tall buildings

And low foreheads,

On the square of hot cobblestones

And white teeth,

You'll share smiles with them

And the beauty of the city on the Nisava river,

But you will not share yourself,

Because nobody there wants to know you.

Belgrade[3]

Belgrade, good morning.

Who was lucky to wake up in Belgrade this morning

Can consider that for today

They've achieved enough in life.

Old Belgrade is heading to the New,

And the New to the Old,

As every morning.

Bridges are full of cars,

And both sides think it's better on the other side.

When they realize it's not,

They'll return from where they came.

Duško Radović

Zagreb

There, I went and

Left you there with them,

With people who scorned

My language and my eye,

Sorrow and song.

Smiljan

I come from another's death

In glory of the greatest among us

Although he was his whole life:

Nikola Tesla born in Smiljan

From father Milutin, a priest and servant

And illiterate mother Georgina

He's known to the world as a wanderer-explorer

A tangled lover faithful to the dove.

Dubrovnik

Several states claim you as their own,

Your sea is to the taste of illiterate women.

Stradun is adorned with sorrow and sad looks.

But you are beautiful as the day,

The sea waves deflect from you,

You sleep peacefully.

You captured all the beauty of your history,

And often you celebrate it:

Ilija Crijevic,

Đorđe Drzic,

Ivan Dzivo Gundulic,

Marin Drzic,

Stjepo Djurdjevic,

Dinko Ranjina.

Trebinje[4]

For days above Trebinje,

God and the Devil alternate,

Mind and heart,

In the hope of enticing

Random passersby.

On the Poet's Square,

Youth measured the city with their gazes,

The white mountainous pearl of Trebinje,

In desire.

Listening to their words to the Sun,

They spoke the most enchanting music,

For my 20th birthday.

Trebinje Again

Rain won't give me peace,

Again, the voice of the old town awakens me,

Than that voice rushes through my nose with the first sunrise,

It leads me past Osman-pasha's mosque, straight to the Poet's Square,

Where we lower our head next to Jovan,

Wine calls me in those taverns and

The sweetest smiles of someone’s else women and  children.

Hercegovo

I walked towards you and because

I wanted to meet myself, because

You are one only city

And one only song

And one single verse

And one single word,

You are the way.

One single way to meet myself,

To tell myself all my secrets,

To remember all the stories

As if they were

Here, not

Somewhere else.

Cetinje

When I emerged from the field below Lovcen,

A gray mist hid it from me,

Bent from sorrow and pain,

But tall and proud, a single poplar

Watched me.

That morning trembled,

I thought I could leave you,

You stood silently

In that cursed fog,

In my last gaze, you melted into it.

Mostar

Telal shouts from the city of Mostar,

So that the whole Mostar can hear him,

The whole Mostar, and the beautiful Ajla.

"Our old poet has died,

Alone and hungry from sorrow,

His mother lamenting."

Telal shouts from Mostar,

So loudly that the entire land trembles,

The whole Mostar, and the beautiful Ajla.

"His muse came to him in a dream last night,

Gave him a kiss,

To calm him and ease his pain."

Vienna (Bec)

Our shadows will walk through Vienna,

Wandering through the courtyard, frightening the lords.

1914 – 1918

Bratislava

I can't figure out

Who you really are.

Oh, you're Slovakia,

You're

Trnava, Nitra, Trencin, Bratislava.

But how am I to know who you really are

If I meet you somewhere on the streets of Bratislava?

How do I recognize you?

Your face imprinted in the valleys of the Váh

Is long lost history of the Slovak people,

The truth lies only in oral tradition

About the beauty of one being,

One small nation,

With a big heart.

Oh, and you are part of that people.

Cologne (Köln)

Many have praised you,

But I won't.

Many have embellished you,

But I won't.

Many have wished for you again,

But I won't.

You are like a new disease,

Bones and skin of old glory,

An empty corpse that devours itself and others,

A black hole that illuminates

Before sucking the life out of us.

Cologne (Köln)

In you, one can find traces

Of Gallic, Roman, Swabian,

Especially near the shore

Where now no one cares anymore.

You built the tallest and richest house

For God's son, so now

The song of angels is no longer heard, but

Strange chatter of silly and empty tourists.

You decided to demolish everything from museums,

Books were no longer important.

You turned the eagle's neck,

And raised a chocolate factory.

Novi Sad

Uncertainty greeted me at the station,

Doubt that I would receive your hands because

You don't belong to me alone,

That's your will.

Novi Sad,

Neoplanta,

Neusatz,

Újvidék.

On that day, I learned many names,

That's when I learned the name Milutin Matic,

And when I heard the sound of his gusle,

I grasped your heart.

---

[1] There on an unknown hill and

   In an unknown time, and for all of us,

   Lies a mausoleum  and dear country

[2] But you will return to it every time

   Because of the books and that small room

[3] I borrowed its beauty

   In it is the cure for life and

   I also borrowed this poem.

[4]

There, I saw for the first time how the Sun descends,

To warm and kiss its child on the forehead and eye.

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