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Milena Isailovic
Nacionalidad:
Serbia
E-mail:
zoradv@beotel.rs
Biografia

Milena Isailović

is a professor, poet, literary critic and aphorist. She published four books of poetry: Image, Waiting for a poet, Arch of the eyebrow and Three Milene. Her poems have been translated into English, French, Japanese and Swedish.

She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia.

Lives and works in Belgrade. In words she looks for glow, music and sign.

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Biografija

Milena Isailović je profesor, pesnik, knjievni kritičar i aforističar. Objavila je četiri knjige poezije: Slike, Čekajući pesnika, Luk obrve i Tri Milene. Njene pesme prevedene su na engleski, francuski, japanski i švedski.

Član je Udruenja knjievnika Srbije.

ivi i radi u Beogradu. U rečima trai sjaj, muziku i znak.

e/mail: zoradv@beotel.rs

DOUBT

 

The winter between us

tends to grow

into hoarfrost, the flakes of snow,

into white, infinity,

into grudge.

We throw

meaningless words

over our shoulders and back

and trudge

through the snow

seeking the track.

 

 

SUMMER

 

My arms

and my legs,

my thoughts

and my eyes,

and my longings

all set out without myself

each to fetch what is theirs.

 

 

TAMING THE PAIN

 

To my Dad

Post – mortem

 

You had loved me

even before my birth,

both when I had just babbled

and when in verses

I got entangled.

You loved everything that was alive,

both small, frail

and strong, set to thrive.

Everything was easy for you –

to be fulfilled with joys,

to forgive,

to give a hand,

to sing,

to speak in a most tender voice.

Such a glorious man

who could give

even what he did not have.

Lord, forgive me for being so,

sinful, but I can hardly bear:

with wish to see him I do burn

though I know

that from there

he can not return.

At least in a dream,

for a moment

let him beam.

 

 

SNAIL

 

Can it attain any goal

on its weary trail,

reach any place?

On his back burden and doubts to bear.

Under a bag – like house to wear

it has to crawl

at its own pace.

What is there

in its soul?

 

 

GRASS

 

I weed it

so that it does not bother

flowers.

The green sorrow

in my hand

is full of gall.

Both it and I

have no doubt

that from nothing

new grass will sprout

over dreams

and over tomb

close to flowers

and from a stone

but either it or I

am not prone

to say die.

 

Translation from Serbian by Ivana Prokić

________

 

 

SAN

 

Na postolju sam

bez imena.

U rukama mi vreme –

marama svilena.

 

 

MAGNOVENJE

 

Mlada pšenica

raste

kao moja ruka

na tvom ramenu.

 

 

O SEBI

 

Suknja me deli

na pola.

Glava sanjari.

Noga hoda.

 

 

ULICA

 

Tramvaj i ja

veče jurimo.

Linije maja.

Ljudi sve više,

sve manje sjaja.

 

 

SEĆANJE

 

Seku drveće.

Cvile testere,

padaju grane.

Sunce sija.

Kad sve odnesu,

iver ostane.

 

 

RADOST

 

Od lica do lica

spletom ulica

hrlim

divlja, lakokrila,

ni dete, ni ptica.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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