Gladovanje! (Ljubav, po njemu?) / Starvation! (Love, After Him?)

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2017. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

This is ugly. It's probably also tasteless in some way. However, I am incredibly pleased with most of it. Perhaps it'll need a little clean-up, perhaps not. But given what kind of carp is called poetry nowadays (I think people use poetry and other forms of artistic expression to justify their lifestyle, as if it wasn't supposed to be the other way round...will talk about that some other time), its messy structure can be justified by how complex the matter is.

There are a couple of made-up words, mostly in the Serbian version. There are no adjectives such as "sluščinjski" and "taštoskroman" (the second translated to English as "humblevain", which ended up not sounding as odd); but I went for what Laza Kostić and perhaps Laura Nyro would do.

If a sentence reminds you of a sentence you see on e.g. photos of cats and dogs with their heads stuck in something, then it means that the only XXI century in this XX century spanning story has been good enough. So, if you can notice it, let me know.

There's a typo in the first paragraph of this introduction. The matter shouldn't be related to fish market.

Gladovanje! (Ljubav, po njemu?)

Svemu što je dobilo ime po zlom mrtvacu,
balsamovanog za pokolenja da ga vide,
suđeno je da traje večno,
posle mnogo, mnogo patnje.
Zašto onda svoju ljubav prema tebi ne bih nazvala po njemu?

Mogu da budem celi grad koji umire od gladi,
mogu da budem kolevka grupe naroda koja umire i ubija.

Postoji levo, postoji desno.
ja sam tik pored tebe,
no, znajući koliko si levo,
ti možeš gledati samo još dalje levo,
pa sam ja leva, leva, leva, leva, leva.
Nije lepo svrstavati stvari.

Bez obzira da li podrum krvari crveno, a plavo,
ili plavo, a ustvari crveno;
ti me zatvaraš tako što me ne zaključavaš.
Kako je moguće da neko toliko levo nije levi?

Kakva su ovo slova?
Kakvo je ovo jezivo mesto?

...no, ako se izgubiš, pogodi ko zna put?
Gde je otisak šapa?
Gde su sitna slova?
Znam. Ne danas, ne ovaj put.

Pa, gde sam to bila svih ovih godina?
odmah pored tebe,
odmah iza tebe,
odmah na prvoj liniji fronta,
no tebi leva i pogrešna,
i u tom podrumu.

Gde je dom svih mojih strahova?
Levi, unutar tebe,
levi, od strane tebe,
levi za tebe,
ali meni pravi, meni istinski,
i gore, gore...negde gore.

Domine su domine,
probijanje jednog zida
dovelo je do probijanja drugog, mnogo većeg,
ali ti - ti to radiš pogrešno.
Volim žute latice,
ali se ne kupam u njima.
To ne znači da sam prekrivena pogrešnim zvezdama.

Ne guram silom deliće raznih slagalica.
Ne kupujem one već uramljene.
Moje platno je prazno,
u mom akvarijumu nema riba.

Sve ovo je beskonačno bolno,
ponašaš se tako taštoskromno,
i nazvaću svoju ljubav prema tebi tako, da.

Ako krvari,
neće biti razjašnjena ceo jedan život.

Ako je proguta plamen,
prekriće ceo celcijati svet.

Bilo kako bilo, krvareći ili bljujući vatru,
ležaće tu i neće se micati,
poput starog, napuštenog mlina,
krišom će raditi kad joj okreneš leđa,
slepa će se voziti mrtvim autodromom.

Šutiraće košnice sa bagremova,
da te ne bi ubadali iznova.

Jačaće straćare medom,
da te ne bi mlatnuli nekom gredom.

Meandrirajući su snovi onoga ko šapuće krošnjama.
Veliki je bol onoga zamišljenog u sluščinjskim nošnjama.
Duga je priča obasjana Pogrešnom zvezdom.

Pobogu, šta je to "Pogrešna zvezda?"
Davati ime svakoj stvari je tako glupo!

__________________________________________

Starvation! (Love, After Him?)

Everything named after a dead evil man,
Mumified for the future to see,
Is bound to last forever,
After a lot of suffering involved?

So how about I name my love for you after him?

I could be a whole starving city,
I could be a dying, yet killing crib of peoples.

There's left, there's right.
I'm right from you,
But given how much left you are,
You can only look further to the left,
So, I'm left, left, left, left, left.
It's not nice to classify things.

Regardless of the basement bleeding red, yet blue;
Or blue, yet red -
You lock me up by not locking me in.
How come someone that left isn't left?

What are these letters?
This place is so scary!

...yet, if you're stuck, guess who knows the way?
Where is your paw print?
Where was the fine print?
I know. Not now. Not today.

Where have I been for all these years?
Right next to you.
Right behind you,
Right on the frontline,
Yet left to you, wrong to you,
And in that basement.

Where is the home to all these fears?
Left within you,
Left by you,
Left for you,
Yet right to me, proper to me,
And up, up...up somewhere.

Dominoes are dominoes.
Breaking one wall
Led to breaking an even greater one,
But you - you are doing it wrong!
I like the yellow petals,
But I don't bathe in them.
It doesn't mean I'm covered in wrong star!

I don't force-fit various puzzles' pieces.
I don't get framed premades either.
My canvas is blank.
No fish in my tank.

It's all been endless pain,
You're so humblevain.
So, I'll name my love that, yes.

If it bleeds,
It'll be unsolved for one lifetime.

If it bursts in flames,
It will reach the entire world.

Either way, bleeding or breathing fire
It will eventually lay there still,
Like an old, abandoned mill,
And sneakily work when you turn your back,
Driving blindfolded on a dead racetrack.

Kicking beehives from black locust trees,
So they don't sting you again.

Hardening dilapidated slums with honey,
So roof beams wouldn't collapse over you.

Meandering are dreams of the one whispering to treetops.
Great is the pain of the one born under such a bad name.
Long is the story from under a Wrong star.

What on Earth is a "Wrong star"?
Naming all things is so stupid!

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