'Two nomads searching for pearl oysters in the wetlands on a starless night' circle of poems by Nikola Kitanovic from his book 'The Beast'

Nikola Kitanovic - his poems page. Nikola is modern, postmodern and after-postmodern poet. He have ten published books of poems. His book The Chemistry of Verbs was published in English language in US




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








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





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





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






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







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





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







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





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





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