This World Is Your Brainchild (Unite Unite Europe)
You self-proclaimed mother of all the cultures and civilisations
You blue-eyes girl who does not remember the colour of the sky
Are you still swaying the continents in your cradle
With your spiritual tentacles
From Africa to Asia from Australia to America
Are you still taking on your morning boots
Your Nazisms Communisms
Your Democratic Simulacrae Civilisms
Your Natio-Philic and Open Society of your Voids
To run over the world once again
And spit into the face of Atlas
You neatly construed in a plundered haiku
Within a tanka syllable an open cave
Of Plato's anxiety
You performed at the botox party
Among the fields of deceptions
That you plough up and down your face
You fat burned
Casting fat of your own greed into a river oblivion
And the river doesn't want it
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The last I say and that's a promise
To
A lady vase with a handle resting on a hip
Another one plucking a dried out flower out
With round sad tits clever and sad enough
To look know what lies below
Pull it out as strongly as you can
Won't even remember when the end has started
Pull it out as strongly as you can
The waterless rotten root
Even if it sadly hurts
To
An x rayed lady clock choked by the hours
With cat's eyes glowing in dark faceless dims
Ears pierced tail tense waiting
For the one singing ‘you know I'm no good'
Double facing the sounds
To
A teenage violent reckless spoilt sad
Always in some stage of development
No one ever knew how to take
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Entertain Me, Death / Zabavi Me, Smrti
‘Entertain me’ he shatteredly said,
‘I am a tired king dying
Just a heartbeat away from nothing
Bring me the fool the death to juggle
The boredom is biting my lips
The scorn so dumb is choking me.’
And the fool came
Yes, the fool will always be the fool
He rolled his eyes
He threw the balls
Colourful high up into the air
He said:
‘I am a fool my king
You are my wire walker
I spread it far upon the sky
From one world’s end to another
Towards the death itself.’
‘Entertain me’, he shatterdly said,
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A bullet proof thought/Misao otporna na metak
A bullet proof thought
Pushed away determines the edges of a goal
A life style built on the margins of its own lie
Hardly overcoming a life form
Like a deadly foe always ready to shoot
Sworn by dawn and its own branch of the sun
To settle it on a thin beam of breathing
You asked me where one should go
I the daughter of a sorry
I am carried towards her own edges
Where each goal is to disappear into the clouds
And sing new skies in an armful of white
I dwell within the kiss of the paths
In a street made up of one name only
Pushed down the number thirty five
On the threshold of all the houses a doormat of a dwelling
Knocking with its heart on its own door
And my eyes fall down my own windows
Down to a mad world
That's become less painful
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Calender Day 79/Kalendar dan 79
A heretic moving through the linear system of the keyboards-that's who I am with the first touch of keys. The intruder of silence, the devotee of a disappearing sound. The acrobat on x/y axes, the loneliness of the rhythm aflame in the only mathematics that makes sense. I am swaying you - silence, I'm smashing you against the window panes of eyes, my hammers strike into hopelessness- how-how shall I play myself into infinity on the limited number of keys. The heretic shifting through the aureoles of sounds, the pearls of accords I scatter before my feet so that I could start walking. I am not playing-no- I am dipping my fingers into the endless and the traces of its sound I am splashing across the universe and spreading it into a smile.
The Pianist
Јеретик који пролази кроз линеарни систем клавијатура-то сам ја у првом додиру са диркама. Уљез тишине, поклоник звука који нестаје. акробата на икс ипсилон осама узаврелог ритма једине смислене математике. Љуљам те -тишино, разбијам о окна очију, ударају чекићи у безнађе како ћу - како на опсегу клавијатуре одсвирати себе у бескрај. Јеретик који пролази кроз ореоле тона, перле акорда проспипам пред сопствене ноге нњ бих ли тако коначно проходао. Ја не свирам, ја прсте умачем у оно бескрајно и трагове његове по свемиру размазујем и у осмјех развлачим.
Пијаниста
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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People Will Leave In So Many Ways
Fathers sometimes too early
Mothers you wonder if they ever should
Grandparents when you’re too young to understand
Or too old to really close their eyes
Sisters and brothers will fly their dreams
Beyond your dreamland zones
Children in need of their future fulfillment
Will leave too and you’ll be both happy for them
And selfishly sad for yourself
Friends in need won’t even know that they’ve left you
With a switch on switch off parameters of their phone calls
Business partners without any notice for who knows
How long it takes to realize
Short term deals and long term tasks
Lovers will leave you no matter if
One night stands or many a night empty bed touches
Neighbours will leave you
They move houses and never really move in anywhere
The shop assistants calling you either love or son or neighbour
Depending on the geographical region you come from
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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For this is the way life always begins/Jer tako uvijek pocinje zivot
The night I took away your blues
To spill it behind you as a sign of good luck
You said- your iris- your iris quivering
It stole a dropp right from a well
To kiss place it on my lower lip
The tip of you fingers
To lightly touch the upper one
To draw them both within a smile
You said- there are teeth behind
Whose bite times ago foretold a mark on your neck
And there's a tongue fear snake
Stumbling upon drunken deceptions
Taking off its sagacity skins incurably
I asked- is love a sickness
Insufficiently recorded in medical documents of slow death
And is your name the fountain of health
The word inexhaustible that the sky said is allowed to drink
And should be drunk three times a day
And on the seventh take some rest from water
You said-yes love is a sickness still
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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the heart will move away the sorrow(Nafaka)
even if it is cursed under the sky
this being of mine not important
the heart will move away the sorrow
like birds out of their nests the hours will flow
to the point of no return
to the point of no return
the heart will move away the sorrow
I want to rejoice
time is just a possibility of the eternal
the heart will move away the sorrow
I want to dance be one with the rhythm of being
The heart will move away the sorrow
There will be joy there
There will be a blue of the joy there
A meaning cut off from a word
It will flow to the point of no return
To the point of no return
Come with me and sing
The songs of the tribes
Let’s get crazy under the eaves
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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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Born during the seventies
I
The deepest thing within
Destroying the possibility of breathing
Will cry even when we’re gone
Even after our own death
We will remain
The homeland poets in the foreign countries
Obscure forces of alien lives
Too tired sights of alien eyes
The deepest thing within
Will move on breathing
When all our days are gone
Hopefully not dying again
Insane
Wretched descendants of alien pasts
Paying their bills with our own skin
Moving back to illusions
Building the worlds
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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