poems 2023/2024/2025

I forgot

I forgot (several times already) to whisper

To the key to remind me what it’s like being on the outside of the door,

I forgot to count the indentations on the zucchini, while I was collecting the bitten skin from my lips into a pile,

I forgot to watch a YouTube tutorial

to see if I can make banana whipped cream

From chickpea water,

On that same day, the laundry was competing for a place in the basket,

The bag remained full of bills,

Because my gaze at the weather report didn’t stay

triangularly recessed,

So it bounces off a bit,

I don’t even know how much a raincoat costs so

I can put it on myself and the bike,

That is starting to look like my dog’s skin,

Pedalling away and getting hands wet.

Still, I didn’t forget to think about the dreams

of an invisible tree,

The fine furrows and the fact that it was healthy,

I didn’t forget to multiply all the fridges and slimy end pieces,

Flushed down like a waterfall after cleaning,

And the directed brown-ochre flow on the stretch (above the bridge),

I didn’t forget about the oceans,

The ransacked bottom and movements of pale choral shells,

In this moment, I am collecting food that’s blocking the drain so I can finish doing the dishes (at work).

I didn’t forget about the whirlpools of vanity,

Nor to write on small pieces of napkins about the ways of weaving,

Compassion,

Into the present moment of the world.

You laterally flattened, transparent snake

Are you counting the slopes of Posidonia meadows,

blurred nurseries, hideouts and lay-bys,

While you meander down the paths of broken noble pen shells,

speeding through the tangles of currents.

You brushed against a fin of a sperm whale,

Pressed against the mucus forming a pod,

Smelled the depths of the Caribbean,

Spawned and died.

Your offspring travel back with the Golf Stream (into Neretva river).

And through the membranes of their memories,

and the bursting of sweet breath bubbles,

you are captured by the saliva of vanities.

Stuttering in eelish,

You write down,

Yesterday’s dance and whirl,

On the very edge of

Extinction.

Prošli životi

u golubljem pogledu svašta se vidi

lepeze jednostavnih želja

snubljenje, šepurenje, šamari krilom

dajem im sjemenke suncokreta

i telepatski prizivam one

iščezle nakon prvih letova

othranili smo ih dosta

jedan je sramežljiv, drugi znakovit a treći alfa

Pipin, Mango i Bili;

naš ponosni kralj s išijasom

za sunčane vikende katkad ih operemo u tuš kabini

ostavljaju nam perje

ono se danima ljepi u hodniku

jagodicama i moždanim pregradama

paralelno s javom stanuje

u velikom dvorištu kućice

prepune šećernih susreta ptica

iz prošlih života.

Vodama tijela dlakavih stonoga

Zavojite dlakave gusjenica u prosincu,

prelaze nogostupe,

isijavajući petlje micelija,

poslane s mikroklimom vrtova predgrađa.

Dvoje srednjoškolaca su je zaobišli,

A njen smjer je cesta u dva traka,

Vidjeh jednu u parku, nije uspjela prijeći dio betona između livada,

Preuzela je oblik kružića na vrhu rukavice,

Na mom radijatoru klobci poredani u krug gube sokove.

Sada u prosincu svako malo zaustavljam bicikl,

Preslagujem tragove jeka,

gusjenica u nestajanju.

 Collect in translation, synchronized recoveries

Into nowhere I scattered,

Marbles of solidity,

While doubt rubbed my muddy meadows,

Lying on the grooves between the bones.

Flooding me,

Withdrawal in awaiting,

& delay of breaths caught in half.

Look,

Something caught hold;

Tickled by words,

Sunlited slowly,

Just so you can lean your back on it,

& collect in translation,

Synchronized recoveries.

If (you) wonder,

What I taught (you),

Don’t say the language,

Nor the correct diction,

Please pass on,

Tides of sharing gentleness,

By playing a whispering game of words,

With lungs filled with tingles,

Of laughter mantras,

Of performing care.

Lying down in clouds of (her) blood

Inside movements are grinding the silences,

of broken up (other) options, (we) move on,

the imprinted silences are awoken in a spasm,

while thousands of stings move from the lower belly,

into the spine and legs,

and slow down the repetition of movements,

halting the dexterity of smells,

into a condensation of nausea,

impeding the agility,

enveloping (me) with fatigue.

Clouds of blood are waiting for me,

So I can lie down on them,

the tops of hips piercing while throbbing,

as I collect black dots on a ripe banana,

and set the red clover flower tea to boil,

while sucking on a tablet of magnesium.

The entire body’s weight concentrated in a lotus navel,

they say that the pain is like a minor contraction?

Tonight, I dive into fetal position earlier,

and think to myself before sleep,

perhaps this time it was a bit better.

Zaležani (njeni) oblaci krvi

Unutarnje kretnje melju tišine,

iskidanih (drugih) opcija, nastavljam(o) dalje,

utisnute nijemosti su probuđene u spazmu,

dok tisuće uboda prelazi iz donjeg dijela trbuha,

u kralježnicu i noge,

i usporava repeticiju kretnji,

zakočila se spretnost mirisa,

u zgusnuća mučnina,

otežavajući okretljivost,

omotavajući (me) u umor.

Čekaju me oblaci krvi,

da ih zalegnem,

 vrhovi kukova probadajući pulsiraju,

dok sakupljam crne točkice dozrele banane,

stavljajući da provriju cvjetovi crvene djeteline.

Otvaram tabletu magnezija.

U lotosov pupak sakupila se sva težina tijela,

kažu da je bol nalik manjem trudu?

Večeras ranije uranjam u fetus oblik,

i prije sna razmišljam,

možda je ovaj puta bilo malo bolje.

For Fikile Ntshangase (63); she was murdered

on 22 October 2020 for running a campaign against a coal mine.

Fikile’s thumb was wrapped around the skin of a red onion,

As it was gently gliding,

And with six shots propped up by gravity,

It changed into an artifact.

Cracks in the walls and deposits of black dust,

Displaced from the bed

Of dancing shafts.

With a quivering collarbone,

The voice threads will make one listen,

And the threads will envelop the attention,

Of those who don’t recognize letters,

But see the cracks,

A lungful of abyss.

Foot-shaped grooves led to mines.

Through the echoes of immersing in the memory,

Words are returned (by us).

We keep whispering our current inhales.

Construction is in expansion.

Murderers (the three of them), without arrest.

Fikile left behind

A burst of presence,

Impossible abandonment,

Of the Body.

In motion.

Unfaltering contractions.

Za Fikile Ntshangase (63) ubijena jer je predvodila kampanju protiv ugljenokopa

22.10.2020.

Fikilin palac je obrglio kožicu ljubičastog luka,

Dok joj je lagano klizio,

I uz šest hitaca upregnut gravitacijom

Presvukao se u artefakt.

Upuknuća u zidovima i talozi crne prašine,

Izmještena iz ležišta

Plešućih okna.

Uz podrhtavanja ključne kosti,

Vlakna glasa navesti će na slušanje,

I niti će omotati pažnju

Svih onih koji ne prepoznaju slova,

Ali vide pukotine,

Plućima zapunjeni bezdan.

Isjeci stopala vodili su do rudnika.

Jekama urona meomorije

Vraća(mo) riječi.

Sadašnje udisaje šapćemo dalje.

Gradnja je u širenju.

Ubojice, (njih trojica) bez uhićenja.

 Fikile je ostavila

Rasprsnutu prisutnost,

Nemogućeg napuštanja,

Tijela.

U odsjecima.

Trudova neposustajanja.