Don’t wake up

Image

*Beograd, 2010te. Volim da zamishljam da je ovo bicikl od Krepkog, posto se secam da je i on na istom mestu uslikavao momente.

*Translation is below πŸ™‚ Wrote it originaly on Spanish, but don’t wanna clutter with all translations.

Don’t wake up

The clock plays rock ‘n’ roll,
it’s six o’clock.
You blink six times,
six demons close their gates
and leave their watch,
six mortals breaks their tooth on the coin,
seven puts honey on bread,
seven women rubs vanilla on their thighs,
and like all that needs transpire
is for a single breath
to wiggle out
and touch the drunken Sun,
just a single footstep
for the clumsy dance
to venture towards nothingness.
It’s six o’clock,
at seven everyone talks about love
and always, that one hour,
someone owes you.

The birds preach melancholy
and vendor silence vows
for a handful of maize grain.
The devil whispers to you that it’s eight o’clock,
you both missed your bus.
Eight gamblers open up their beer,
eight hyenas gossip about you,
eight wavelengths from a cross section
of a foolish homosapiens
storms the radio in vain,
and it’s like you command the morning to rise
with swallowing your saliva,
rise and raise it’s Kapellmeister hands
while the philharmonia waits.
It’s eight o’clock,
nine red traffic lights,
nine messy beds,
nine shops full of mannequins
dressed up as mahadevas,
at nine the innocence dreams
wrapped candy-made glades
and always,
for that one hour,
you will lie that you were walking.

The wind poohs to your face
and offers like a dealer
with transparent hands
three pairs of three minutes
for ten bucks,
peanuts, nuts, sunflower seeds,
roasted chestnut in a cone and dulek,
a little distraction of ten seconds
at ten o’clock
while ten mothers sew the holes on ten left socks,
ten angels play darts,
ten primadonas renew their vermilion
and your tongue hiccups through intermittent monologues
thirsty for hunger.
Only ten more minutes ’till eleven,
only ten more cursive letters
yet already before you
three years of solitude
wrote out,
yelled out,
hatched out themselves,
the needle diverges ten milimeters
and the gramophone starts it’s circle again,
it starts to scratch.

Don’t wake up.
A long day out on the street awaits you.

*****************

Ne budi se

Sat svira rok en rol
sest je sati.
Sest puta trepces,
sest demona zatvara kapije
i napusta strazu,
sest smrtnika lomi zub na dukat,
sedam maze med na mirisni hleb,
sedam zena trlja vanilu na prepone,
i kao da jedan dah samo treba
da se izmigolji
i dotakne pijano sunce,
samo jedan korak
da se smotanim plesom
uputi ka nistavilu.
Sest je sati,
u sedam svi vec govore o ljubavi
i vecito ti taj jedan sat
neko duguje.

Ptice propovedaju melanholiju
i prodaju zavet cutanja
za saku zrna kukuruza.
Djavo ti sapuce da je osam sati,
oboma vam je pobegao autobus.
Osam kockara otvara pivo,
osam hijena tracare o tebi,
osam talasnih duzina poprecnog preseka
budalastog homosapiensa
uzalud jurisa kroz radio,
a kao da gutanjem pljuvacke
zapovedas jutru da svice
i digne ruke dirigentske
dok filharmonija ceka.
Osam je sati,
devet crvenih svetla,
devet neurednih kreveta,
devet izloga punih lutki
obucenih ko mahadeva,
u devet nevinost sanja
proplanke od sarenih bombona,
i uvek ces za taj jedan sat
lagati da si hodao.

Vetar ti puhce u lice
i nudi ko diler,
prozirnim rukama,
tri para tri minuta
100 dinara,
kikiriki, orahe, suncokret,
pecen kesten u fiseku i dulek,
mala distrakcija od deset sekundi
u deset sati
dok deset majki krpi deset levih carapa,
deset andjela igra Pikado,
deset primadona ponovo nanose rumenilo
i jezik ti stuca kroz isprekidani monolog
zedan gladi.
Jos samo deset minuta do jedanaest,
jos samo deset nakrivljenih slova,
a vec se pred tobom ispisalo,
izvikalo,
ispililo
tri godine samoce,
deset milimetara skrece igla
i gramofon pochinje opet u krug,
da grebe.

Ne budi se,
ceka te dug dan na ulici.

 

Advertisements

~ by Oloriel on February 17, 2014.

38 Responses to “Don’t wake up”

  1. nicht mit den Uhren spielen.

    • They don’t, that dance would be rushed and without passion. To dance with the clock is best in the evening, in the calm, in the obscure, in honesty πŸ™‚

  2. Keine Uhren vernichten.

  3. Loved it! Ne ustijem πŸ™‚

  4. I like it, so…deep.

  5. I love that your prose is written in short spurts. There’re no hefty sentences that tax the mind or eye- it’s easily digestible, although deep. You have a great style. :0)

    • I think the world already taxes us enough, I want us to stop and feel πŸ˜€
      Thank you very much for the kind words! I hope you are recovering!

  6. Reminded me of the Christmas song .. How you manage to put so much, with imagery that gets me thinking of what it would actually be like or feel like. One talented lady..added to the fact you wrote it originally in Spanish! πŸ™‚ x

  7. svaki sat se racuna u sekundama, onda ih je vise a i tri kao broj ispada manje.

  8. From here, it’s look like Amsterdam.

  9. The closing lines just throws a new light on your whole poem!

    • I want to encourage the reader to keep walking and dreaming, because I believe that all great changes to the gruesomeness and ignorance of the world start with someones dream πŸ™‚

  10. nice…really an engaging piece…the use of numbers and their increase through the poem adds to the build of it….effective use of the grammaphone there in the end bringing us back around….adding and endlessness to it…

  11. The first thought to run, don’t wake up, never sleep, where nothing dwells when between dusk and dawn, what does it write across a challenged mind, in between the dry split grain, caper the pleasant, perhaps the frightening. Now I have to go read the rest, got as far as the title initially..

    Where do you walk, is this the tale to what your writer’s eyes has seen, passed upon, so much play as the lines unravel a montage in woken voice in coloured sounds. Give me a rain toasted day, steeped in lashings of music, and well lit voice, yes, no need to walk, or wake today.

    • The feelings described in the poem are something I have grown an unheathy addiction to – I like to call it “Stolen time”. When I was younger, I would skip school very often and it being far from my home, I would find myself with an overstacked backpack, right at the place which you see on the photo, at 7-8 am. It felt like watching the machinery, it felt like being for just a mere hour something other then a cog with its parameters and orders. It gave me a permanent dream-like outlook on the city and it’s noise. Where you see a man in a suit, I will see a wizard in hiding πŸ™‚

  12. I really enjoyed this adventure into such an unfamiliar world, told through familiar eyes. I haven’t ever seen the things you describe, but I felt like I had as I was reading.

    • I am very glad you enjoyed the adventure and if you ever find yourself on the streets of my city, you will remember this poem as a map and just stagger through it dreamily!
      I would have loved to see how where you live looks through poetry! πŸ˜€

  13. I like the use of numbers as it moves the poem very energetically ~ also it gives a snapshot of the scenes ~ Enjoyed this one ~

  14. I loved how this danced and swayed through the evening, with all its possibilities and proclivities… πŸ™‚

  15. A counting rhyme with a difference! Very interesting use of numbers, which gives it a sense of urgency. .. and yet, we have all the time in the world…

  16. brilliant, intense, memorable ~

  17. Fantasticno je, apsolutno sam odusevljena! πŸ™‚

  18. A beautiful craftsmanship. I could see the images of every hour… and I still can see it. I am looking for a favorite bit… but there is none because the entirety of it along with the small observations have left me enchanted.
    I will be back to read it once again and may be again and again.
    Great writing. πŸ™‚

  19. “The birds preach melancholy
    and vendor silence vows…..”
    loved this. Well, I obviously loved the whole poem. Brilliant work – as usual!! πŸ™‚

Tell me something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
In~between

sketches of life and clips of dreams

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, creative writing and a desire to inspire..... Isaiah 40: 31 But they who wait upon the Lord will get new strength. They will rise up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weak..

That's What She Read

In which the weird girl reads and sometimes recommends.

Clacks Header

A massively unofficial fan site to remember Sir Terry Pratchett

Poet's Parlor

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Nemirne misli se poigravaju s umom...

PiΕ‘em ono Ε‘to mi se mota po umu u trenutku kada naidje dama inspiracija

Ward Clever

Pentgrams and Candy Hearts

Pieced By HB

a curation of thoughts

Christina Strigas

You can't break up with a soul mate

eclecticismgunfight

Poetry by Shawn M. Young

A Word Of Substance

"Object Relations"

Insights from "Inside"

Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"

TWYCKENHAM NOTES

poetry & art | South Bend, IN

My Peacock Books

Books, Art, Poetry & Peacocks!

Whisper and the Roar

A Feminist Literary Collective (& outlaw poets swearing)

%d bloggers like this: