The Misty Hidden Of Mine/Moje Magleno Skriveno
In the daybreak song
Will take the forests into an embrace
My never hoped for
Heartbeat cut off the heart
Will spill the walls into a midnight sound
Mine within the chains treasure in my hands
Will toll cursed from the towers
Sadly the song of awakening
Into the deafness
Mine into nothing flooded water
A current beginning into an endless
Will cut the seams and sew
A new array for the soul's nakedness
Mine on my palm colourful lonely butterfly
Moving the wings like eaves in the tempest
Maddened by the possibility of flight
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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
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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
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The day we learn how the streets get their names
And plunge into geometry of the sharp blind corners
That live their lives between two dreams
The milimetres of strength might easily dissolve
Into both maps and paths museums at the crossroads
Into the traffic lights helplessly blinking frozen
When the wishes billboard the paths to hell
Or deceptive images of harsh entertainment
For the visitors who say
‘We’re now nice decent people
We no longer look at the dancing bear
Pinned by pokers on fire
Because we’ve learned his macabre pain
Now we put on the gloves
And walk to his Zoo
To ask him for an interview
Though he never said a single word’
The day we learn how the streets get their names
There appears an aphorism of pain
Squeezing a masterpiece address
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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An Orangutan And The Truth (Scratching And Stretching) -Orangutan i Istina
This is how an orangutan who one day played a research in the unsearchable fields of life came to the essence of the existence.
He stood under the treetop of his favourite tree in the banana group and watched a yellowish reflection of newly matured fruits. And he admired them endlessly amazed at the possibility of the yellow.
Then he slowly started to climb. On the first branch he saw the first circles of time and he scratched his head. On the second branch he saw a circled space of the treetop and he scratched his tail. On the third branch pressured by the instinct of manual movement he stretched his arm toward the fruit. On the fourth branch he found out what evolition was. He didn't dare to move forward. But he was eating, he was eating so sweetly and couldn't stop and he told himself that life was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
The sun was setting down and unresearched regions of the treetop were approached by another orangutan who, having been pressured by the same instinct of the manual movement (Hello Marx) , advanced toward the discovery of an ax.
He stood under the same treetop in which the first orangutan was having a jolly good time lulled within great opportunities of the existence. He jumped high and cut the branch on which the first orangutan had been having a jolly good time. Everything would have been different if the ax carrying orangutan hadn't wanted to find out the point. The whole drama of this event was just an experimental attempt at life. Or simply monkey business.
Evo kako je orangutan koji se jednog dana u neistrazenim predjelima zivota igrao istrazivanjem istog dosao do sustine svega postojeceg.
Stao je ispod krosnje omiljenog drveta u banana hordi i posmatrao zuckasti odraz tek sazrelih plodova. I divio se beskrajno zacudjen mogucnoscu zutog.
Onda je lagano poceo da se penje. Na prvoj grani ugledao je prve godove vremena i pocesao se po glavi.
Na drugoj grani ugledao je omedjen prostor krosnje i pocesao se po repu.
Na trecoj grani pritisnut instiktom manualnog kretanja pruzio je ruku ka plodu.
Na cetvrtoj grani je saznao sta je to evolucija. Dalje nije smio da avanzuje. Ali je jeo, jeo slatko nezadrzivo i govorio sebi kako je zivot lijep, beskrajno lijep.
Palo je vece i u neistrazene prostore krosnji dosetao je drugi orangutan koji je pritisnut instiktom manualnog pregnuca (zdravo Markse) uznapredovao do izuma sjekire.
Stao je upravo ispod one krosnje na kojoj se sjajno zabavljao prvi orangutan uljuljkan u velikim mogucnostima egzistencije. Skocio visoko zamahnuo sjekirom i prelomio granu na kojoj je ovaj drijemao. Sve bi bilo sasvim drugacije da orangutan sa sjekirom nije zelio da spozna sustinu. Citava drama ovog dogadjaja zapravo je pokusaj eksperimenta sa zivotom. Ili prosto majmunska posla.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Calender Day 1
It's a silent night and half a truth. The edges of thought lightly touched by the Moon. It's a thick darkness I feed with the light of the letters, an aureole of the written among the walls the whispers slipping between the words and the body prostrated before the soul. From my altar like window the bidrs are flying up towards the arches upwards into an all held within manner built beneath the limits of the human craving.
...and half a dream. In another one there's an eye sighting into the gap and each step is light when there is no bottom. The space is answered in time and the time is wondered at in space about the meaning of standing and duration. The black sky spells out the stars the signs of its counting and I am but one of them. Sometimes the reflection answered in the surface of the water by the depth in which my own countenance is reflected and the edges of my shadow. Sometimes it's nothing as an always a good place to start a journey.
...and half a touch. It moves with its fingers the quiver of an early storm that will grow into slapping the boughs, the first dropp of rain will flood the streets now trodden by a silent night.
...and half a smile. Built within a tear and all made of hope. That smiles the night.
Тиха је ноћ и пола истине. Тек Мјесецом дотакнути рубови мисли. Мисле ме. Појим густе тмине свјетлом слова, ореол исписаног међу зидовима, шапат поклеко између ријечи и тијело сопствено пред душу стављам. Са мог прозора као са олтара узлијећу птице ка сводовима горе сведржитељно изграђеног под међама људског хтијења.
...и пола сна. Другом око снатри у јаз и лак је сваки корак када нема дна. Простор одговорен временом и вријеме простором упитано о смислу стајања и трајања. Небо црно изриче звијезде знаке свог бројања и ја сам само једна од њих. Понекад површином воде одговорен одсјај дубина у којим се огледа и мој лик и рубови моје сјени. Понекад ништа од којег креће сваки добар пут.
...и пола додира. Он прстима покреће први дрхтај олује што ће прерасти у љуто шамарање грања, прва кап кише што ће поплавити улице којом хода сада тиха ноћ.
...и пола осмјеха. Сазданог у сузи и од наде сав. Осмјехује ноћ.
©Мирослава Одаловић
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hello, my name is Sarah
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is not
Who never is
These are the hands for my embraces
Mutilated in emptiness
Husked in the rings at twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They are writing a history of a plastic toy
Buried in the tombs of childhood
That never grew towards a cradle.
My name is Sarah
I am the one who is trying to be
These are the feet for my steps.
Frozen in the paths
Tied by tinkling jewelerry
At twilight I take off
And throw into the dark.
They walk the streets that there are no more
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sideroad/Krajputasica
Darkness winged in forebodings paths
A lock of hair medallion hidden
Like the mole of the beginning
You were born for
You were lived away endlessly
In hidden pain you drummed
A star paved Sideroad made by raindrops
With raindrops into streams flown away away
Swelling in the duration strength
A little necklace of death
Around your neck
The circles of time you spinned
A lock of hair medallion hidden
Like the mole of the beginning
You were born for
In dusty steps you crafted noise
A rusty gates steal made
Opened despite the fear
The eyes always staring behind
Behind and behind
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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
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Nothing nothing just thinking thoughts
Sometimes I'm thinking about the roles and an intuition that there's something in them that I always feel a need to complain about. It's what we do for others that may so easily define us and if what we do is good make us better people - parental role eg. is the best cure for egoism provided that one is a normal parent. Still, I wonder how come we've become so many things at the same time- parents, friends, colleagues, business partners, lovers, leaders, fighters…reminds me of an onion that's very hard to peel when it comes to all the layers the eyes wet cannot see a core layer, a central one. And it also makes me wonder why we need all of them, we cannot blame it only on the complexity of living as well as which one will swallow the rest of the personality as it seems inevitable to sacrifice other roles for the main one at least in certain periods of life.
It's very hard to play them at the same time, multitasking is a synonym of civilizational disease which is why sometimes the seams of personality tear and persona ends up lying in psychiatric arms. There's nothing cynical in this just an underlying though that there are no abnormal people but merely an abnormal ‘circumstances' that bring about a ‘normal' reactions.
I've noticed (please, correct me if I am wrong) that those who are terrified of solitude easily become somebody's friends, usually actually friends to many people. They cannot spend a single minute on their own, always busy sms-ing facebooking sipping cofee in a local bar…and always complaining about being betrayed by their friends.
Things may change of course once they've become parents, they may easily redirect their energy into children upbringing and just as well may easily choke their development. And eventually be shocked by their children's betrayal and ungratefulness (we've done everything for them, never thought of ourselves-does this ring a bell?)
Things may change of course they've become leaders and fighters, they may easily redirect their energy into making the world a better place, a benevolent and a harmless role unless they sacrifice those who dearly love them in the name of, ironically love of all the humanity.
(I'm just thinking how easy it is to love humanity in an abstract way, especially if one can click it off and on in their virtual world, send messages of love and peace and understanding to humanity when it best suits one's time or mood in a relationship when one is totally in control of communication and one can dose it in compliance with (what a term!) the situation (wow another one!)
Things may change once they've become business partners…dedicated lovers…and stretch the implications of I'm not doing anything for myself endlessly.
In a way roles are o.k. provided one picks up those that are basically harmless. Still, there is one thing that remains unclear to me, that is- how much of the personality will survive them and where exactly I fit in the whole story for I don't think I'm an exception to the rule of playing no matter how hard I try to preserve the innermost intact. And the rule is sometimes ironically spelled in a credo ‘be yourself' or ‘be true to yourself' declaimed by so many.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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