Poetryzine Magazine presents the selected poems by the Serbian poet Jelena Ljubenovic
Petit Dreamy Apocalypse
On the night of a mighty and
vivid moon,
I was sitting on the
terrace, on a plush
balmy pillow,
looking to a far,
toward the whitest little stars
Their rest hour was just about,
bracing a vast sky above
for man's dreams and
verses of delight
THE MOON was first
to lead the stars toward hidden magnitudes;
Thus he spoke with his last whitish ray,
making his steps unappearable and
appearable so -
as the Twilight murmurs'
He lowered his halo
undisturbed,
guarding his wishes and thoughts,
wandering about;
the moon isn't stubborn,
he is vivid and
epic
On the hill of a freshly
mowed meadow
petit plants were
dancing;
my dad knew their cheer
and potency,
and he didn't interrupt-
just watched them close.
My dad is like the wind,
with his eyes so close
to the flames:
souled, sprited, sensitive,
- yes, that's him
He often says
when a storm is about to set-up:
''If you don't believe,
just look at the clouds;
I know them,
their density, shapes,
the ways they collide''
On nights of bland
scents and songs,
without bow-wows,
only a guitar makes a sound
of A PETIT DREAMY APOCALYPSE-
ready to repaint the unshed
characters forgotten by the peoples
of the Holy Books.
Translated by Andreja Jakuš
A Midnight Paradise
Our big, white house
it is the most beautiful at night
it illuminates, traces
and thinking how to
be even happier and
better today than yesterday
In it many dreams
mom - dad
Marko and Dragana
and their dreams
they are building another one
a new house
not far from the stars
where it is from
came to us
big and white
house when still
was so small
The Dream of a Lyre
It will snow your dreams
your innocence
your bed
your awakening
your dream
they are for someone
the door of tenderness
for someone
an island of incoherent beliefs
you will come calm
when you fall asleep
if you're awake enough
for one moment
you will find a letter by which
you addressed yourself to the ocean of eternity
you will be amazed
now I'm not writing a poem
because from the face of the prophets'
souls I feel cold
pain and calm and snow
accompanied by silent Psalms
accompanied by the waves of His
every plant is a becoming
every beat does not exist
*Jelena Ljubenović (1995) was born and raised in Serbia. She is a theologian, contemporary poet and writer. Her modern poetry has been translated into many languages - Farsi, Arabic, Turkish, English, German, Chinese etc. Many of her poems are dedicated to her grandfather Gradimir Ljubenović who understood, supported and encouraged every step of her literary and artistic ideas. Her works have been published in many international anthologies, magazines and web portals. Poetry is her necessity and serenity that is sometimes so elusive.
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