Circle of poems from my last book The Beast.
Title of circle is: Two nomads searching for pearl oysters in the wetlands on a starless night
Author: Nikola Kitanovic
Translation from Serbian to English: Svetlana Katnic
Tags: postmodern poems, postmodern poet, postmodern poet Nikola Kitanovic, post modern book, Serbian poet, Serbian postmodern poet, Serbian writer, Serbian postmodern novelist, Serbian artist, written poem, theme poem, summary poem, submit poetry
Description: postmodern poet Nikola Kitanovic present circle of his postmodern poems from his last book The Beast .
Two nomads searching for pearl oysters in the wetlands on a starless night
I cannot write
You cannot
read
We resort to
hunting
Targeting
rains
The city fogs
The power of
passing through the oak bark
The cracked
roads
How far we manage
In this wordless tune
In this soul bounded by spaces
Is up to you
Is up to me
Whoever
II
Spirit of the
space
The spirit of
the space
Is a cherry
petal
In blossom
He lets the
angel’s wings
But then in
time he fades
Falls down to
the ground
At first like
a feather
Like crumpled
paper at last
My mother gave
birth to me
She fed me for
the first time
Gave me the
first lessons for the fight
The words of
her ancestors
Spill over to
my soul
On the lean
soil
Like a
crumbled piece of paper
I did not know
Where to go
Who to learn
from
I wanted to
blossom
In the mud
III
I am taking
down and stammering
The words
stepped over
The sentences
of a young wolf
The verses of
a morning hearth
You are
spelling out
Both of us
blind
The alphabet
for the blind does not help
We are
observing the raging waters
The faces of
passengers
The stories of
our parents
The myths of
foreigners
The legends of
ancestors
A handful of
salt
A wooden spear
The cottage on
the glade
We do not
recognise
We cannot see
IV
An oak has the
root
The violet
iris grows out of the soil
A swallow
flies along the line of its origin
A salmon
growing old returns to the river of its birth
We are
dreaming of the store windows
With silk toys
for the grown-ups
The walls of
our dreams
Are balloons
The local
meteorology
A mouse hole
Bounded by the
ancient skies
I cannot see
the ones of today
I cannot
foresee the ones of tomorrow
I exist like a
dead birch
With a single
spring with leaves
On its side
V
Our inner universe
Wandering
barley soul
Mechanics of
joy and regret
Are not
sufficient
There is no
manna
There is no
cup for sacrificial oil
There are no
spirits at forest roads
There are no
fairies near the raging waters
In the silent
temples
By cruel
motions of foreign words
The memory was
smashed
The feeling
died
Our eyes
record no more
Our words do
not say
Our mind does
not recognise
VI
Where we are
not yet
We will need
the space
In which we
are not any more
When I do not
see an apple tree
I do not see
distant unknown spaces
Planets,
Constellations
Beings
I do not see
myself
My own phases
When I am the
Moon
When I am a
distant star in the sky
I do not
recognise myself
VII
How can I
learn to read
When there are
no books
Unclear signs
remained
A petrified
spear
A rusty shield
The broken
dishes
For which I
have no eyes
No soul
No mind
Where from,
where and when
The gap appeared
My father
His father
His father’s
father
The homes
follow one after another
Ever since my
cornea
Turns into
shadows and dark
The sparks in
the middle of the house
Since the
angel at the spring
Became
invisible
Since I cannot
hear
Advices of my
Gods
They are not
in signs
There are not
in books
There are not
in memories
VIII
I was
entrusted with parts of the singing
Taken out of
the poem
Broken off the
sound
Changed from
the verse
To take the
living fire out of them
The words of a
boar and juniper
Like pieces of
a sacred stone
On which at
times the gentle
Divine leg was
standing.
The steps
remained
Taken into the
dances
Melted in the
new instruments
Danced without
the sacrificial will
For me to
shape waterfalls of them
The wisdom of
the thunder in the clear sky
From where the
all-seeing goddesses
Used to guide
my ancestors by signs
Perhaps the
song and dance suffice
Perhaps
nothing more is needed
Perhaps all an
awaken human needs
He should find
in the crags of the soul
IX
Drought in the
space
Lakes taking
the colours of surroundings
Comets
floating over the sky without a road
I am dancing
Among the
rain-makers and masks
Wondering at
first through the air
Through myself
Slowly
drowning to the fogs of wetlands
Falling down
like the sun into the shadow
And my feet
Becoming light
hoofs of a dear
My thoughts
young treetop of an oak
My motions
heavy northern wind
Two lights
break through the dark
My two
goddesses
My two guides
through the forests and deserts
Two eyes of
the soul like a wave spilled over the rock
I was dancing
for them
For my
fascination with light
For your
ability of reading
Tags: postmodern poems, postmodern poet, postmodern poet Nikola Kitanovic, post modern book, Serbian poet, Serbian postmodern poet, Serbian writer, Serbian postmodern novelist, Serbian artist, written poem, theme poem, summary poem, submit poetry