среда, 3. новембар 2021.
Radio B92 | Emisija: "Šišmiš" Voditelj: Miomir Grujić Fleka | TROTOROCK - URBAZONA / Live Session - Božidarac 09.02.1996. Former Yugoslavia
Poljubac Žene Zmaja: "Dovoljna Je Jedna Reč" 06 / Zbirka Poezije | poezija | poetry | poésie | a collection of poetry | un recueil de poésie
Poetika Zmaja: " Pesme iz ove zbirke odišu toplinom iskrenog iskaza. U pitanju je prvi, u stvari najneviniji, pogled koji iz imanentnog glasa javlja da je nužno tamu pretvoriti u svetlost. Zmaj i andjeli kruže po autorovim morama pristižući do kraja koji nema kraj. Ove pesme ne koketiraju sa već postojećim modelima i solucijama, već veruju u sopstvene detalje. Očito je: pesnik veruje sebi!
On ilustruje nadu i želi da je podeli sa drugima, jer pesma koja ne zna da komunicira vrlo brzo presahne u zamračenju neiskazanih namera. Tada započinje zarobljavanje prostora lažnim identitetom – kaže pesnik – što poetskim slikama treba ispraviti. Ali korekcija nije namet i ropska obaveza, nego predanost muzama koje kroje tačnu sudbinu pesništva satkanu od rafiniranosti i vremena.
Pesništvo, kao i u slučaju ovog pesnika, kazuje da spasa ima. Ne moramo ga čak ni pronaći, dovoljno je da započnemo putovanje ka njemu. " Iz Recenzije: Boško Mandić
DOVOLJNA JE JEDNA REČ
Nezaustavljiva je Jedna Reč . kao ispaljen metak,
Neka se sakrije svaka primisao tvoja,
Zatvori oči i negledaj svet,
Dolazi Blagotvorna Reč...
Ući će ti u srce, u kosti,
Zahvaljivaće duša tvoja tada ako bude mogla da moli.
Zatvori usta - neka se ne čuje buka zla,
Dolazi i već je stigla Reč od praiskona,
Istopiće ti se jezik kao da je od voska,
Slomiće ti zube...
Otrovao si i pogubio toliko duša,
Ludačka nemilosrdnost te uspinjala na gordi presto,
Malo ti je nebo a kamoli ljudi...
Masi si hipnotisano brbljao,
Jadnici su oduševljeno klečali i plakali.
Daleko si otišao - potpuno sve iskoristio
Više se ne sećaš...
Bićeš pokošen ćes biti istinom o sebi,
Reč će te pretvorila u prašinu,
Jedna reč za sva vremena
Kao šapat na vetru reći će ti sve o tebi.
Poljubac Žene Zmaja | PDF - Scribd
Keywords: Poljubac Žene Zmaja, knjiga, poezija, , sebastian sava gor. poezija koja diše, čitaj poeziju, smiri se poezijom, poezija koja se čita, Zbirka Poezije, Jadranka Bunuševac, Sava Gor, Recenzent: Boško Mandić, lustracija na koricama: Irena Bijelić Gorenjak, Urednik i korektura: Jadranka Bunuševac Izdavač: Zoran Damnjanović i sinovi, Beograd 2007, Kiss Of The Dragon Woman, Poetry, Poezija, poetry lovers, poetry is not dead, poetry twitter, Book, Poetry Collection, Literatura, Literature, Literature Posts, Književnost, Knjiga Poezije, poezija, poetry, poésie, поэзия, poesie, čitaj poeziju, pesme, un livre, poésie, collection of poetry. un recueil de poésie, Kiss of the Dragon Woman, book, poetry,, sebastian sava gor. poetry that breathes, read poetry, calm down with poetry, poetry that is read, Poetry Collection, Jadranka Bunuševac, Sava Gor, Reviewer: Boško Mandić, lustration on the cover: Irena Bijelić Gorenjak, Editor and proofreader: Jadranka Bunuševac Publisher: Zoran Damnjanović and Sons , Beograd 2007, Kiss Of The Dragon Woman, Poetry, Poezija, poetry lovers, poetry is not dead, poetry twitter, Book, Poetry Collection, Literatura, Literature, Literature Posts, Književnost, Knjiga Poezije, poezija, poetry, poésie, poezija, poetry, read poetry, poems, a book, poetry, collection of poetry. a poetry collection, Пољубац Жене Змаја, књига, поезија,, себастиан Сава гор. поезија која дише, читај поезију, смири се поезијом, поезија која се чита, Збирка Поезије, Јадранка Бунушевац, Сава Гор, Рецензент: Бошко Мандић, Ирена Бијелић Горењак, Уредник и коректура: Јадранка Бунушевац Издавач: Зоран Дамњановић и синови , Београд 2007, Пољубац жене змаја, Поезија, Поезија, љубитељи поезије, поезија није мртва, поезија твитер, Књига, Песничка збирка, Литература, Књижевност, Књижевни постови, Књижевност, Књига Поезије, поезија, читај поезију, песме, збирка поезије. Dovoljna Je Jedna Reč,
Movies, Books & Soundtrack: "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" SF Book by Philip K. Dick (1968) | "Blade Runner" SF Movie by Ridley Scott (1982) Vangelis Soundtrack
понедељак, 1. новембар 2021.
Noć Slomljenih Strela: "Sećanje Na Orah" | Night Of Broken Arrows | Zbirka Kratkih Priča | A book Of Short Stories | Un Livre D'histoires Courtes
Noć Slomljenih Strela:
"Sećanje Na Orah"
Vraćam se daleko, u vreme koje je zapisano u mojim osećanjima , koje mi nudi oskudne vizuelne slike.
Noć slomljenih strela, BG | SEEcult.org
"Remembrance Of The Walnut"
I go back far, to a time written in my feelings, which offers me scant visual images.
The face of a drunk and fast grandfather and the face of another grandfather, also drunk but slowed down. The face of one smiling grandmother, the face of another smiling grandmother, the face of a pensive and absent great-grandmother. Everyone's eyes glaze over, grandfathers due to an alcoholic flash, grandmothers due to strong emotions and thoughts in their chests.
Meadow, large, spacious. The grass is as tall as I am, a real jungle and a paradise for the senses. Lots of white butterflies, bees, wasps, danger rings, lizards, snakes, cats, dogs, moles, earthworms and ants. The entire cosmos gifted as the most beautiful and interesting toy.
I climb a small hill, and imagine that I am a king. I also needed a stick to lift it up into the clear blue sky. To confirm that I rule the world. I sought to pluck from the earth something to match the magnitude of my will to power. I saw a strong, thick stalk and I pulled it out with all my might, I had to assert myself. I was pulling so hard that I slipped, fell and almost got a puncture under my eye. I started home crying, holding the bleeding wound. They cleaned it up quickly. It wasn't terrible, but I didn't raise that stick to the sky... They put me in the bathtub to wash me, somewhere I bumped into black resin, I didn't even notice that I was all black. Grandma took a mop and a brush to wash the carpet, I don't know what she was thinking, but she peeled the skin off my leg in one place. I cried out loud. Vlada, a friend of the house came to help. He rubbed shampoo into my hair and took a shower to wash it off. Very drunk, he forgot about cold water, he only turned on hot water. I snorted, the hot water on my head giving me a good burn. Maybe it's because of that cat I let her drown in the barrel, I thought. To comfort me, they all got together and sang children's songs in the living room. I looked at them and still doubted if they were normal? Teča gave me a metal ten dinars. I quickly got tired of holding them in my hands so I put them in my mouth and started choking, the coin stuck in my throat.
That was the first time I saw the panic of adults, swept away, like wind-up toys colliding with each other trying to do something.
Techa was the most composed, he grabbed my legs and turned me upside down, he punched me on the back and the coin flew out of his throat. Then everyone except Techa shouted at me and told me that I should grow up. Later in bed, I remembered all the ant dormitories I had poured water over and stomping on all the ants, I thought maybe I should have suffocated because of that.
A few days later my parents packed my things. We sat in the car and went to the sea.
I enjoyed the sun and looked at the unusual nature around me. I stared at a cactus and considered its red flower and dangerous spines. Around him, curled up in the shade, a snake was resting, it looked like a fat snake, but they explained to me that it feeds on snakes and is harmless to humans. My reverie was interrupted by a thump. I felt hot blood running down my face. I still have a photo of the girl who smashed my head with a rock. The photo shows her and me, only instead of the bandage that I wore for a while, the picture shows a large white flower that she picked and placed as a decoration on my nicely combed parting. I was trying to understand why the girl hit me in the head with a stone, but I couldn't conclude anything. Later I remembered the torn wings of white butterflies turning into dust on my palms and it was clear to me that my head was broken because of it.
That night I dreamed of a huge snake, the size of a nearby tavern, lying in front of the narrow passage to my house by the sea. I followed in fear, hoping the snake wouldn't move. I will never forget that dream.
When we returned from the sea, another dream followed which will also remain forever in my memory.
It's dusk, I'm coming home and I feel a strong sense of danger. I look around but I see nothing that ignites fear in me. Only in front of the front door do I realize and see what awaits me in the apartment, hidden in the shadows, darker than her. It has a human form, but it is not human, it is not a witch, it is not even a sorcerer, a black stranger... a terrible hellish creature that is waiting for me to take one more step in order to reach me and feed on me. I woke up in a sweat, grateful to be alive.
……………
I started very early asking myself questions about life and death and trying to clarify some things for myself. I looked at the adults and felt that I would not get any answer to that question from them, so I never asked them anything about it. I started looking for the answer on my own and I knew it would be a long process.
What I first concluded was that I am inextricably connected with everything that surrounds me. Every wrong move that followed in the later future, and separated me from that relationship, was an abyss and like the taste of bitter poison that I would feel. During similar thoughts, the huge crown of the walnut tree that I killed always opened before my eyes. Such a nut, huge, fertile. The nut that was my house, my peace. Why, why am I in did? Why did I break it branch by branch, and then move on to the big branches and mutilate it so that the mountain nut withered and dried up completely, completely. I remember when they dug it up, it took three days, it had such deep roots.
…………….
A thought rushes through my body, like blood when I was a child and doesn't ask. The child is looking for an answer, the child needs to be raped, a flying jump, the child is looking for actions that will pardon him before the sky, give the sun more strength, the universe if it needs to be gathered again, turn everything around and raise his hand with the green branch under the sky again.
недеља, 31. октобар 2021.
Movies and Music: "Halloween" (1978) * Soundtrack - Horror
Noć Slomljenih Strela: "Prsten, Puška" ::: Night of the Broken Arrows: "The Ring, The Rifle"/ Zbirka Kratkih Priča. A book Of Short Stories - kratka priča, - kratke priče, short stories,
Noć Slomljenih Strela:
"Prsten, Puška"
Kupio sam prsten, odmah zatim kupio sam pušku.
Night of the Broken Arrows:
"The Ring, The Rifle"
I bought a ring, then immediately bought a rifle.
Zoran stared at me blankly, Nebojša wistfully.
"Guys… this is the 21st century, after all… Respect for everything, but our paths split here… Goodbye!"
I said it slowly, convincingly enough that they understood I wasn’t joking.
I slipped the ring onto my pinky finger. It gleamed ominously, whispering its secrets.
I cocked the rifle and rested it against my right leg, my finger on the trigger.
I walked slowly down the middle of the main street. The neon lights flickered, striking a contrast against the dark sky and forming an interesting composition.
I knew exactly what needed to be done. The weight on my heart had been burning for centuries.
The moment of doubt was over; the scorpion in my pocket finally spoke, making it clear that hesitation had no place anymore.
She had to disappear from the face of the earth. Reducing her to ashes wouldn’t be enough. Her betrayal was far worse—she must wander forever, never arriving anywhere, her suffering equal to utter chaos, where hair is torn out, and heads smash against walls.
That’s where I would send her.
In their wisdom, the ravens understood that something resembling blood would soon flow beneath them. They settled in the treetops, unwilling to witness what was to come.
Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead as I waited for her to appear.
A strong wind blew, carrying street trash and sticking it to me. Soon, I could barely move—the garbage piled up, weighing me down. I raised the rifle. I only needed to see my target.
Once more, a shadow of romance stirred within me—I cast a curse upon her.
Then, I saw her. Standing motionless, with a soft and genuine smile.
"So, this is it," she said calmly.
"Yes," I answered, and fired, aiming for her head.
She fell. I didn’t even look—I knew it wasn’t over.
She emerged again from the underpass, her eyes gleaming. The reflection of that light clinked against my ring.
I fired again, hitting her square in the forehead. The force of the bullet sent her tumbling back into the underpass.
I trudged forward, now nothing more than a heap of trash. Walking and aiming became harder.
Suddenly, I turned my head.
In the depths of the passageway, a dark red lipstick shimmered.
The gunshot echoed like a bomb. Storefront windows shattered.
She fell and never rose again.
Sad, considering she once loved me so much more than I ever loved her.
P.S.
I am grateful for the inspiration for this story:
Nebojša Antonijević – Anton
Zoran Kostić – Cane
Band: Partibrejkers
Song: "Prsten"
субота, 30. октобар 2021.
Ishod Na Nišanu: "Beloglavi Sup" 20 | Zbirka Poezije | Poetry Collection | Recueil de poésie | poezija | poetry | poésie
Ishod Na Nišanu:
"Beloglavi Sup"
Vetar juri okeanom, juri pustinjom,
Šumom, livadom,
Zavija strašno kada naleti na vrh kamena,
Beloglavi Sup, pero belo - oko strahovito!
Pogled sa visine:
Velika grupa lešinara, izgubljeno leti na sve strane ovih dana,
Jedni na jednu - drugi na drugu stranu,
Đavo tačno zna, šta im dešava.
"Beloglavi Sup" Photography by Sebastian Sava Gor
Keywords: Ishod Na Nišanu, Geometric Body ,Corps géométrique, New Book, Nova Knjiga, Book of Poetry, Knjiga Poezije, Literature Posts, Književnost, Literatura, poetry lovers, poetry is not dead, poetry community, Thanks foCuerpo geométrico, r Readingsebastian sava gor. poezija koja diše, čitaj poeziju, smiri se poezijom, poezija koja se čita, Zbirka Poezije, Sava Gor, Poezija, poetry lovers, poetry is not dead, Book, Poetry Collection, Literatura, Literature, Literature Posts, Književnost, Knjiga Poezije, poetry, poésie, поэзия, poesie, čitaj poeziju, pesme, un livre, poésie, collection of poetry. un recueil de poésie, poetry that breathes, read poetry, calm down with poetry, poetry that is read, , poezija, poetry, read poetry, poems, a book, poetry, collection of poetry. a poetry collection, књига, поезија,себастиан Сава гор. поезија која дише, читај поезију, смири се поезијом, поезија која се чита, Збирка Поезије, Сава Гор, Поезија, љубитељи поезије, поезија није мртва, Књига, Песничка збирка, Литература, Књижевност, Књижевни постови, Књижевност, Књига Поезије, читај поезију, песме, збирка поезије. Ishod Na Nišanu, New Book, Nova Knjiga, Book of Poetry, KNjiga Poezije, LiteraturePosts, Književnost, Literatura, poetry lovers, poetry is not dead, poetry community,Тачка и Дуж, Point and Length, Point et longueur, Beloglavi Sup, Vautour fauve
Thanks for Reading
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