VOICES FROM NATURE IX
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VOICES FROM NATURE IX It is the wind that give us our voices we chattering leaves are full of whispers sighing , breathing leaving the forest ripe with rumours as we collectively exhale. |
07.11.2004., nedjelja
VOICES FROM NATURE IX
06.11.2004., subota
VOICES FROM NATURE VIII
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VOICES FROM NATURE VIII What goes on up there above in the light space we have no names for or know what shapes such seeds take on where our skin is exposed to all the elements suffering every condition yet we give seeds life but are not life itself me we us soil and the seeds that seek shelter all manner of things have grown here in the dark in the turmoil of our acidity and alkali seeds in stony layers between which roots thrust their searching tips prising and worming deep into our soul and where only the drip drip of liquids penetrates deeper and deeper still. |
04.11.2004., četvrtak
VOICES FROM NATURE VII
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VOICES FROM NATURE VII By the field’s edge we grew Long time undisturbed Edged by ploughing Observed the breaking clods. Long time looked over A distant edged distance Watched the sowing, The reaping, The ploughing, The sowing And all the time About our trunks Grew a deeper green Than we’d ever seen. Creeping up Stealthily, Slowly, Slowly, Suffocating. |
02.11.2004., utorak
VOICES FROM NATURE VI
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VOICES FROM NATURE VI version in English, awaiting translation into Croatian VI Why do you copy in our dead colours When we struggle so hard for life? Even last year’s leaves still wave and rattle, Yes, even we saw the winter through. How easily you melt into our surroundings Sunning your wings just long enough To alert us here of the dangers there… Just the thought of it now makes us all shudder. |
19.10.2004., utorak
VOICES FROM NATURE V
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VOICES FROM NATURE V version in English and Croatian V Tendrils twisting up limbless trees. Our season’s growth holds on to Our dead, expressionless companions Rootless, yet sturdy, Pushed deep into the soil Who knows of their silent aspirations To spread a branch, some leaves. Carrying our fruiting lineage We emulate their staked-out intervals And cling for support, since we need you. Do you look upon us with envy? Our leaves cast great shadows That our companions could only dream of. Reaching out along a trail We’ve spent years mastering. Contorting our trunks into shapes That is not straight or rigid But as if to say, ‘We’re alive, we’re alive Admire the fruits of our labour’ It consumes all our strength To engorge this wisdom And each year we are cut back to conserve our energy. Each year is our new beginning, Until one year we shall be cut back completely, When we are no longer yielding And become, like you, Unyielding. V Mladice se ovijaju oko drveća bez grana. Naš godišnji rast oslanja se na Naše mrtve, bezizražajne prijatelje Bez korijenja, još uvijek krepke Gurnute duboko u tlo Koje poznaje njihove tihe težnje Da prekriju granu, nešto lišća. Noseći našu plodnu lozu Mi oponašamo njihove ograđene razmake I ne damo se otkinuti, dok vas trebamo. Da li nas gledate odozdo sa zavišću? Naše lišće baca velike sjene O kojima naši prijatelji mogu tek sanjati. Pružajući se duž staze Mi provodimo godine vladajući. Nakrivljujući svoja debla u oblike Koji nisu ravni ili ukočeni Tako da bi rekli, «mi smo živi, mi smo živi Divite se plodovima našeg rada». To troši našu snagu Za gutanjem te mudrost I svake godine mi se smanjujemo da bi sačuvali svoju energiju. Svaka godina je naš novi početak, Sve dok se jedne godine, posve ne smanjimo, Kada više nećemo biti plodni I postat ćemo, poput tebe, Neplodni. |
15.10.2004., petak
VOICES FROM NATURE IV
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VOICES FROM NATURE IV Version in English and Croatian The breathing wind Ripples the moist air And ruffles leaf’s smothering covering. We stir us from under cold slumber To warm our backs, Face down in earth’s ochre. Alone I carry me a weighty ancestry Yet all that is known is still my unknown. Is it my own turn now? Am I ready yet? Am I? Ready. IV Dašak vjetra Mreška vlažan zrak I naborano lišće pokriva. Mi se budimo iz hladnog sna Da bi zagrijali naša leđa, utopljena u zemljin oker. Sami Nosim opterećenost porijekom Još uvijek sve što je poznato je moje nepoznato Je li red na meni? Jesam li već spremna? Jesam li? Spremna. |
13.10.2004., srijeda
VOICES FROM NATURE III
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VOICES FROM NATURE III Version in English and Croatian III Gaps appear when dark descends, When the nightly sun is up, Pushed between us brackens and long grasses. Tramping on, me Snuffling for seeds and berries. We sleep soundly, undisturbed. We rise up from earthly dark earth And simply unfurl each frond. Sometimes a marking passing Remains, me scenting soft earth. Undisturbed, but for waking sensations Of a not-seen having brushed against Our stalks, caressingly. III Praznine se pojavljuju kada tama se spušta Kada se sunce svakonoćno diže, Gurajući između nas paprati i duge trave. Skitanje, ja Tragam za sjemenkama i zrnjem. Mi spavamo čvrsto, neometani. Dižemo se iz zemaljske tame zemlje I jednostavno razmatamo svaki list. Ponekad samo označeni put Ostaje, ja mirišem nježnu zemlju. Neometano, ali za osjete koji se budi iz sna Neviđenja oni imaju šikaru do Naših stabljiki, kao da miluju. |
11.10.2004., ponedjeljak
VOICES FROM NATURE II
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VOICES FROM NATURE Version in English and Croatian II All stones hum, Some deeper than others Sunk deep in the earth under us. We keep an ear to the earth And listen to the stones, Cradling them with our roots. The stones have stories too; Stories of seas, Of seas leaving And leaving land, seas Like windy grasses Waving in fallow fields Like big skies Lying under big skies Above. The leaves are reaching up Into big sky above. We want to know Tell us, tell us all you see, Is there, anywhere Big sky below? II Svo kamenje šumi Neko dublje od drugog Potonulo je duboko u zemlju ispod nas. Mi smo uši prislonili uz zemlju I slušamo kamenje, Njišemo ih s našim korijenjem. I kamenje ima priče, Priče o morima Morima napuštanja I napuštanja zemlje, mora Kao vjetrovite trave Koj se talasaju na nezasijanim poljima Kao velika neba Koja leže ispod velikih neba Iznad. Lišće dopire Do velikog neba iznad Mi želimo znati. Reci nam, reci sve što vidiš, Je li tamo, bilo gdje Veliko nebo ispod? |
10.10.2004., nedjelja
VOICES FROM NATURE I
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VOICES FROM NATURE I Version in English and Croatian I These beaded threads of morning moisture Stretched across our hardening antlers Come upon us in our sleep and we seem to be sleeping longer, Longer since our leaves have left us. Heavy in the dark they become lighter as the light up-rises. This binding silk is not bondage to us But through it we detect little tremors in all our parts. When that happens it is like the wind but not the wind But like the wind it stirs us from our light-green reveries Since we know that sound of something airborne all too well. It has been around us, everywhere, while it has been warm. A kind of singing that is not singing, just coming and going, And sometimes we feel the sensation of a sudden shudder Which shakes these sparkling crystals and then the singing stops, And while they fall there is a moment of silence That is taut and tense in which we wait to hear them shatter. I Te kapima nanizane niti jutarnje vlage Protežu se duž naših otvrdnulih rogova Dolaze k nama, u naš san i čini nam se da smo spavali duže, Duže otkad nas je naše lišće ostavilo. Teške u mraku one postaju laganije kako se svjetlost uzdiže Taj povez od svile nije ropstvo za nas. Ali kroz njega otkrivamo malu jezu u svim svojim dijelovima Ono što se tada događa je kao vjetar, ali nije vjetar Ali kao vjetar pomiče nas iz naše svijetlo-zelenog sanjarenja Dok mi predobro znamo taj zvuk u zraku. To je okolo nas, posvuda, dok je bilo toplo Vrsta pjevanja koje nije pjevanje, samo dolazi i ide, I ponekad osjećamo nagle drhtaje Što otresaju sjajne kristale a potom i pjevanje zastane I dok one padaju nastaje tren tišine Napet, napet u kojem mi čekamo da bi čuli kako se razmrskavaju. |
31.07.2004., subota
Two poems from Bosnia
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Journey to Sarajevo After the first time I never made that journey again by day And longed that the landscape Had remained a mystery. But, even in the dark I still knew That the black hollow beyond the window Was filled with row upon row Of blackened houses, Windowless, hollow-eyed, gaunt. Eventually, such villages held no surprises Except in one, where among the ruins A line of white, freshly laundered washing Stired, just a little, as we sped passed. On later journeys I would lie on my back And stare up through the smudged window Into the night sky So that it seemed That it wasn't the bus turning But the whole galexy above, revolving. Somewhere, Orion stood defient The Plough still furrowed the night sky And a whole myriad of creatures Somehow found their place While I, lying on my back, Thought of the years it took For the light from the stars To reach us here. Sarajevo The slender reed of a minaret Snugly fills the frame Of the rectangular window I look out of once again. A solitary figure, Cupped hands, sings While across the city A church bell rings And just for that moment it seems That the birds fall silent And the traffic recedes. Though nothing impedes The flow of the Miljacka. Sarajevo Is a city awash with sound And the echo of a shell Slamming into a street Still reverberates Somewhere, way beyond Mount Igman. Earlier today I stood on Princip’s Bridge To lob a stone into the shallow river And now make ripples in my coffee with a spoon. |
30.07.2004., petak
TRAVEL JOURNAL SARAJEVO - ZAGREB, JUNE 2001
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Travel journal Sarajevo – Zagreb June 2001 Sarajevo Warm, overcast. Clouds scrape the tops of the southern hills. The city rapidly recedes, gradually wakes. Parallel to the Miljacka, flanked by a tram. Minarets Chimneys Pine Rolling green hills and cleavages Peppered with houses. Jagged edged skyline of concrete blocks saws the sky. Another fallen building, peeled wings. Mount Igman looms, its summit concealed. Road crosses the river of its country’s namesake. Scattered houses now Peopled by shrouded men of straw. Pill box stands sentinel Perched above a verdant swathe of pine And houses more recently blackened And those, more recent still, built to replace the fallen. Rusted cars richly patinated return to the soil, Driven into a ditch. TITO Road follows a winding cleft, A river valley carved by ancient currents. Gentle fields of cultivation, Those neglected bloodied with poppies. Figure scythes in a tiny clearing. Bridges Tunnels Viaducts Road traverses a wide, steely green lake Receiving and reflecting the great sweeping hills Overwhelming the fringe of small dwellings. Crossing the Neretva exposes the distant range of mountains Blue karst, brooding. Deep valley gorge inhabited by pylons and ghosts, And fish farms. River between two roads. All roads lead to Mostar. Black cypresses, white gravestones. Verticals in a flattened plain. Colourful billboard advertises soap powder. Even the mountain is pockmarked. The Old Bridge recreated, Painted on a wall. Front line, bell tower territory. On the radio ‘This is the road to Hell.’ Roadside littered with little monuments, And car parts. Scattered settlements suddenly grow Unfinished but ownership claimed by ethnic graffiti, Invisible borders known only by those who live here. Vegetation thinning. Flag anticipates the border, The UN’s looks pale and tired, nothing stirs. Fishing men, pleasure boats, Tethered cow lazily grazes. Pinewoods patch the hillside. Road rises and skirts a cultivated plain. Rocky outcrops shape the fields And water channels around them. Terraced olives. ‘Dubrovnik is your friend.’ Finger of a peninsular pokes the sea And points accusingly at a short stretch of overdeveloped coast. The sea breaks open, warm breeze, Breathing the heady scent of herbs mixed with evergreen I lie back and fill my eyes with sky. Ston Coursing the artery of this peninsular, little shade. Villages of stone grow organically from the hills Or dug from the earth. Small windows look out on a parched distance Until the land falls away. The razor-edged mainland Reveals itself in the shimmering haze. A road sign used for target practice. Prickly pear Cactus Vineyards Coca-Cola as ubiquitous as the crucifix. Crossing sides We plunge down into the town. Orebić clings to the shore In fear of the mountains nudging it into the sea, Resisting the advancing scrub. The boat pulls out Ultramarine Emerald Black The white surf parts. Korčula Axis of the old town points to the New World, Sheltered from the Bura Twenty-five minutes walks every street. Shimmering reds White walls crystallised at the sea’s edge. Bleached olive greens. The sea takes on a new intensity. The landscape unwinds Between two blue layers The horizon ahead is curved. White sails drifting in a blue calm, Clouds above unmoved. Zigzag road stitches the mountains together, Gradually tapering, increasingly sparse. Vapour trail is the sky’s shoreline. The light house a full stop. Starboard side leaves the shade And the mainland comes into focus. Split Trogir – Šibenik Lines of stone drawn down to the sea Anchor the mainland Its undulations, ribbed. ‘Fish Picnic.’ ‘Sretan put – Good luck.’ New marina agitates its surroundings. From Zlarin island The distant layered hills are terraced in rows, Fertile soil for growing settlements. On this car-less island A new road, empty, Abruptly halts. Continues, for now, as a small woodland path. Pinecones decorate bare trees, dense and deadly packed. Needles carpet the ground. Waves shape the shore. Young growth clings to ancient rocks. Mariner’s memorial speaks only to the sea. A clear glass bottle contains no message. Rain hangs the sunflower’s head And further on, Where the path becomes impassable, Gun emplacements still keep a wide-eyed vigil On a view long since obscured. Above the cove Labyrinthine walls thread through wild grasses, Where every bush and branch is barbed. Stone piles look down on a huddle of houses. Walls become streets and individual rooms. Gradually, the plan of an ancient settlement is imagined Until the summit gained And a surviving bunker Steps down into the earth. The concrete is inscribed with names Velimir Tomislav That the wind carries down The descending goat path. Vegetation follows the rock’s fracture Rising and dipping in waves. Solitary figure waves from an uninhabited island. Approaching the town. Houses barnacle-encrusted on the hull of the hill. Šibenik – Zadar Road travels through an empty wilderness. Little chapels Quarries Road signs Each town centre approached Through the industrial zone Disfiguring Desolate Sprawling. Bright green leaves Cast purple shadows on my sprawling tent. Zadar City walled and wide moated Punctured in places To allow the worn-smooth gleaming streets to breathe On which bell towers cast long shadows Stretching back to when the Romans Carved their fluted columns, Now segmented into sturdy foundations. PAX VAN TIBI GELI MAR STA CE E MEVS Radi kao da ne trebaš novac Ljubi kao da nikad nisi bila povrijeđena Plesi kao da te niti ne gleda A mid-summer wedding blares past boats Beached on stilts. The air becomes their sea, But sailing nowhere. Writers write their names In the names of the streets. Ivan Tanzlinger Mata Karamana Frane Alfirević Zadar – Ugljan Crossing a diamond studded sea ‘Look out for a small island, a church, a palm tree.’ Boatman pushes out from the quay. Monastery Island, Six minutes measures the circumference. Across the water lies the low-lying city, Its church towers and tower blocks clearly etched and illuminated. Zadar overshadowed by the Velebit, Whose limestone peaks Are barely distinguishable from clouds Now almost lost to view. Twilight. Necklace of lights decorates the distant city’s shoreline. A silken sea brooched by fishing boats, nets cast, Only the ferry, pink tinged, ripples the stillness. Monastery Island looks dark and foreboding, At night becomes the Isle of the Dead. The first row of stars appears. Zadar – Rijeka Rows of empty road-side stalls Fruits still languish in trees. Impact craters patched the only road, Hugging a convoluted coast And screened by the weight of the crumbling Velebit. While across the sea A long-stretched pink strip of land, Wind-blown stripped of soil and vegetation, Grows only stones In fields enclosed by stone. KM stone 354. Road signs caution rock fall and the prevailing wind. Inhospitable, unsustainable terrain. Viaducts Goat bridges Way side flowers of plastic. Crossing the 45th Parallel at Senj. The road straightens. The hills soften. The stones become concealed. KM stone 245. Eternal flame burns from the oil refinery As we circumvent the ship yard. Marco Polo Liburnija Jazina And descend into Rijeka. Rijeka – Zagreb Forging through clefts of rock A rhythmic ascent skirts the valley And leaves behind the sea and islands. Rounding rounded hills pinpricked by occasional outcrops. A shepherd watches sheep with binoculars. Lines and cables criss-cross the hillside. The forest changes texture. Forests densely foliated. Oak Beech Silver Birch Rocks yield to bracken and soft grasses. Fields become pollen-covered meadows. Muravice Stations are wood-stacked, hedge-trimmed. Tapped wheels chime. Where villages appear meadows become fields, Cultivated and scare-crowed. Sap green Golden green Viridian green Rivers only seen when crossed. Klek, from a distance, firmiliar from all sides. Ogulin Unrepentant motorway, unfinished, ploughs the forest against the grain. The landscape flattens and views open up, Punctuated by pillboxes, following a river’s flow. Fields scythed and burnt in patches, increasingly tamed. The ember’s glow is the land’s setting sun. Houses randomly placed and spaced. Karlovac The sky enlarges. In the distance The blue hills of Japetić approach. Then Sljeme silhouettes itself against a falling sky. All the greens darken. Crossing the Sava The city is entered Zagreb |