OvO Je pRIča BeZ zaKLjUčKa

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poetry corner
rastanak sa sobom

mi stojimo na rubu svijeta
i gledamo u zapadanje zadnjih zvijezda u dubine noći
sa zvijezdama i mi zapadamo
mi stojimo već na krajnjem rubu sebe
ko ispod nas zemlju nevidljivo maknu
da je već daleko vidimo ko zvijezdu?
zamakle su zvijezde
tko od nas još može naslutiti sebe?
rušimo se vječno
naš je put bez dna i padanje bez glasa.
(A.B.Šimić)

tužaljka

iz moga svijeta, gdje si bila čudo,
ti zauvijek odlaziš. o što će
od moga čuda ostati u svijetu drugih ljudi?
o zašto, moje čudo, rastat ćeš se sa mnom
i biti nekom samo žena?
što možeš biti ti na zemlji, zvijezdo moga neba?
(A.B.Šimić)

mi smo se sreli

mi smo se sreli na zvijezdi što se zove zemlja. naš put kroz vrijeme u ovaj čas (čas svijetli kao cilj) stoji za nama dalek, gotovo beskrajan, da smo već zaboravili naš početak odakle smo pošli.
sada stoji ruka u ruci, pogled u pogledu. kroz naše ruke, i kroz naše poglede zagrlile su se naše duše. o kad se opet rastanemo i pođemo na naše tamne putove kroz beskraj, na kojoj ćemo se opet sresti zvijezdi? i hoće li pri novom susretu opet naše duše zadrhtati u tamnom sjećanju da bijasmo nekada ljudi koji su se ljubili na nekoj zvijezdi što se zove zemlja?
(A.B.Šimić)

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crępe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
(W.H. Auden)

A Dream within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
(E.A. Poe)

John Steinbeck
As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.

When things get really bad there are some who seek out others who have it worse, for consolation. It is hard to see how this works but it seems to. You balance your trouble against another's, and if your's is lighter you feel better.

When people change direction it is a rare one who does not spend the first half of his journey looking back over his shoulder.

Some days are born ugly. From the very first light they are no damn good whatever the weather, and everybody knows it. No one knows what causes this, but on such a day people resist getting out of bed and set their heels against the day. When they are finally forced out by hunger or job they find that the day is just as lousy as they knew it would be.

Looking back, you can usually find the moment of the birth of a new era, whereas, when it happened, it was one day hooked on to the tail of another.

And the laughter was so pleasant they tried to keep it going after its momentum was spent.

It is a common experience that a problem difficult at night is resolved in the morning after the committee of sleep has worked on it.

"I love true things,"said Doc. "Even when they hurt. Isn't it better to know the truth about oneself?"

When a man is finally boxed and he has no choice, he begins to decorate his box.

It would be absurd if we did not understand both angels and devils, since we invented them.

No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.

Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.