Poem
Miroslav Mićanović
BONES
Summer startswhen deaf-mute Đurica
comes into the garden.
He speaks with his fingers:
a star, a somersault,
a handstand, salute
the sun.
Every morning he opens
a schoolbook of summer. Mute body
of text.
Joy was granted
on the threshold.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Emptiness fills up
pages between the lines.
Letters are signs for dead and
abandoned places.
If you ask mother:
is deaf-mute Đurica still alive?
she will answer black soil
cover his bones now.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Louder than words.
Then summer.
Then death.
© Translation: 2014, Miloš Djurdjević
KOSTI
KOSTI
Kada u vrt dođegluhonijemi Đurica,
započinje ljeto.
Govori prstima:
zvijezda, salto, stoj na
rukama, pozdrav
suncu.
Svako jutro otvori
čitanku ljeta. Nijemo tijelo
teksta.
Radost je bila sigurna
na pragu kuće.
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
Stranice između redaka
sada puni praznina.
Slova su znaci mrtvih i
napuštenih mjesta.
Majka na pitanje:
je li živ gluhonijemi Đurica?
kaže da njegove kosti
pokriva crna zemlja.
Nešto je bilo glasno?
Nešto je govorilo?
Glasnije od riječi.
Od ljeta.
Od smrti.
© 2013, Miroslav Mićanović
From: Jedini posao - vizije, fantazije, utopije
Publisher: Meandar-Media, Zagreb
From: Jedini posao - vizije, fantazije, utopije
Publisher: Meandar-Media, Zagreb
Poems
Poems of Miroslav Mićanović
Close
BONES
Summer startswhen deaf-mute Đurica
comes into the garden.
He speaks with his fingers:
a star, a somersault,
a handstand, salute
the sun.
Every morning he opens
a schoolbook of summer. Mute body
of text.
Joy was granted
on the threshold.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Emptiness fills up
pages between the lines.
Letters are signs for dead and
abandoned places.
If you ask mother:
is deaf-mute Đurica still alive?
she will answer black soil
cover his bones now.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Louder than words.
Then summer.
Then death.
© 2014, Miloš Djurdjević
From: Jedini posao - vizije, fantazije, utopije
From: Jedini posao - vizije, fantazije, utopije
BONES
Summer startswhen deaf-mute Đurica
comes into the garden.
He speaks with his fingers:
a star, a somersault,
a handstand, salute
the sun.
Every morning he opens
a schoolbook of summer. Mute body
of text.
Joy was granted
on the threshold.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Emptiness fills up
pages between the lines.
Letters are signs for dead and
abandoned places.
If you ask mother:
is deaf-mute Đurica still alive?
she will answer black soil
cover his bones now.
Something loud?
Someone spoke?
Louder than words.
Then summer.
Then death.
© 2014, Miloš Djurdjević
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