Pesnici

Ava Justin Ćelijski

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Raniše me ljudi u srce,
i mesto krvi potekoše suze.
Nežna nebesa,evo vam kazujem svoju tajnu:
mesto krvi u srcu imam suze.
U tome je moj život,
u tome je moja tajna.
Zato plačem za sve tužne,
za sve nedužne,
za sve ponižene,
za sve uvređene,
za sve gladne,
za sve besprizorne,
za sve ucveljene.

Ava Justin Ćelijski

Ava Justin Ćelijski


Alone and drinking under the moon – Li Po

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LI PO

LI PO

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.


Loš Inok – Šarl Bodler

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Sa ogromnih zidova manastira drevnih
često Istina sveta gledala naslikana;
to je grejalo srcaiskušenika revnih
i blažilo hladnoću njihovih strogih dana.

U ono doba kada Hristov je usev cvao,
mnogi kaluđer,danas neznan a onda slavan,
za radionicu svoju groblje je uzimao
i Smrt je veličao na način jednostavan.

-Duša je moja raka u kojoj dane tratim,
loš inok,od iskoni bludeći po njoj gredem;
a golih je zidova ta ćelija duboka.

Kada ću,monah lenji, znati da preobratim
uskomešane slike pretužne moje bede
u delo svojih ruku i sreću svoga oka?

Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

 


Ulica Branitelja Zaspalih Duša – Emina Đelilović

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Mrtva tijela idu napolje
u veličanstvenoj noći strasnog opijanja.

Jutros je pronađen živ čovjek
u Ulici Branitelja Zaspalih Duša.

Trebalo bi ga uputiti u pećinu.
Gdje je nestao Zaratrustra?

Trebalo bi mu otkinuti prst.
Vlada traži ceremoniju.
Inicijalizacija satanizma.
Bacimo čini.
Možda mrtvi napokon zaspu.

antichrist-lars-von-trier

antichrist-lars-von-trier

 


Ne onaj koji je ovde živeo – Čarls Bukovski

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Već onaj koji je ovde umro;
i ne kada
već kako;
to nije poznati genije
već onaj koji je umro nepoznat;
to nije
istorija država
već životi ljudi.

Bajke su snovi,
nisu laži,
a istina se menja
kao
što se ljudi menjaju
i kad se istina ustali
ljudi
će postati mrtvi
a
insekti
vatra
poplava
postaće
istina.

death of czar lazar - djorđe krstić

death of czar lazar – djorđe krstić


Dopust za odlazak – Emina Selimović

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Dejani

Spakuj svoj kofer.
Da! Možeš otići!
možeš odnijeti svoj osmijeh,
možeš odnijeti svoje orgazmične
ruke koje me čvrsto drže živom,
možeš odnijeti moju vedrinu,
možeš odnijeti polovicu
mene.

Možeš odnijeti i moje snove
i tvoje snove možeš.

Možeš odnijeti sve,
ali,
da se brzo vratiš!

Mjerenje boli je posao
kao i svaki drugi,
samo neka ne traje.
Neka nas ne ubije!

 

leon Spiliar

leon Spiliar


Hey brother, why do you want me to talk? – Kabir

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 Kabir a mystic poet and saint of India

Kabir a mystic poet and saint of India

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?
Talk and talk and the real things get lost.

Talk and talk and things get out of hand.
Why not stop talking and think?

If you meet someone good, listen a little, speak;
If you meet someone bad, clench up like a fist.

Talking with a wise man is a great reward.
Talking with a fool? A waste.

Kabir says: A pot makes noise if it’s half full,
But fill it to the brim – no sound.


Gruz i ja – Valentina S. Topalović

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Potrebno je mnogo truda
Da je pod prstima ne rastočiš
Kao krunicu pamuka.

Njene usne su japanske.
Neka bleda krv se nazire
Pod sitnim, čajnim
Pegicama.

Moj si čovek
Pečeno Sunce,
Kako da ti ne bude muka.

Sve je to
Mleko i šećerni prah.

Zato ne daš dodir.
Umesto toga žvaćeš duvan.
Umesto toga sipaš dlanove
Po bubnjevima.

Potrebno je mnogo truda
Da ne mrziš vijugavu šemu
Moje kose i taman obruč
Zategnutog struka.

Ja sam sve od čega
Jedan pristojan begunac
Krči svoj put.
Strnjika i blato,
Ugriz i blud.

Zaista, potrebno jeste mnogo.
Sunce, konjakom fino
Kamufliraš taj trud.

Pevaš ti o Gruziji
Ali sve bojiš mojim likom.

Robert Sturua

Robert Sturua


A fine Old English Gentleman – Charles Dickens

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I’ll sing you a new ballad, and I’ll warrant it first-rate,
Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
On ev’ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev’ry noble gate,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!

The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains,
With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains,
With rebel heads, and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins;
For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains
Of the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!

This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes,
And ev’ry English peasant had his good old English spies,
To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies,
Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!

The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need,
The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers’ creed,
The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed,
Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed. . . .
Oh the fine old English Tory times;
When will they come again!

In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark,
But sweetly sang of men in pow’r, like any tuneful lark;
Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark;
And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark.
Oh the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!

Those were the days for taxes, and for war’s infernal din;
For scarcity of bread, that fine old dowagers might win;
For shutting men of letters up, through iron bars to grin,
Because they didn’t think the Prince was altogether thin,
In the fine old English Tory times;
Soon may they come again!

But Tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing’d in the main;
That night must come on these fine days, in course of time was plain;
The pure old spirit struggled, but Its struggles were in vain;
A nation’s grip was on it, and it died in choking pain,
With the fine old English Tory days,
All of the olden time.

The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land,
In England there shall be dear bread — in Ireland, sword and brand;
And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand,
So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand,
Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time!

charles-dickens

charles-dickens


Daleko od Johanesburga – Spasoje Joksimović

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To što unosimo jednostavnost
Dokazuje da smo
Osvećeni saznanjima.

Govore da pola života
Nosimo isti nepoderan kaput
I čekamo zaborav
Grada o kome smo slušali.

Da smo se namerno
Navikli na godišnja doba,
Odvojeni iznova od ljudi
Kojima su prirodna.

Da hodočastimo
Starački kutak i vraćamo
Prvolik dalek od ukrasa.