Divine Tragedy

by Gustave Doré, found HERE

*original, in Serbian, will be down below

*shared with dVerse Open Link Night

Divine Tragedy

Like angels of stone, we watch the Sun;
through our fingers, they curl,
those moments when
somebody’s hurts you,
does not matter who,
and now he cannot take a handful
from the bright stream;
drinks instead from your cheeks,
his mouth full and
while he licks a drop
off his fingers
says to you:
“Forgive me, for I had no choice!”
and then, he becomes, an icon,
a white wall peeling –
some Average Joes,
around him people,
flowers, clouds and ceilings – thirsting.
And he, while the grays are scratching,
thunders hatching, glowing slightly,
runs at full speed
tongue – to the rain.

We watch,
it’s pouring from our eyes.

You are eyeing the French candy
through the display pane,
the crickets are seasonal workers,
with wicker violins – in wallets.

Fallen angels standing in a full line,
chattering about weather,
donating, in front the church door.
To you, dad, a piece of land
without blood.
To you, lord,
the winning docket from the bookies.
To you, snake – teeth;
And forgive us our sins,
And our loves and our biting,
and that among the gifts of these
there is all but heart.

That we gifteh under whitest clouds
as we do under those professing rain,
so it is not nothing that remains.

He would eat the sea for lunch.
He doesn’t have breakfast – come mornings
his belly is full of dreams,
his eyes full of the Sun.

For snack –
a piece of highway,
for dinner – un-returning
sprinkled on the edges with wandering men:
a bomb in his chest,
burning in his mouth,
on his wrist a ticking watch.

one glass
full of water
to the brim.

And he questions should he
let his throat embrace it
or should he in the
ragging flames of remote heavens
that swallow the cities,
and ships, and forests, homes and sheds –
place it.

On the surface,
one ray is not drowning,
but swimming.

The sheets are straightened, the breeze is blowing,
the dream was shaken from the window pane,
nearby from a blooming bush
a flute, through the blue, bursts
of bottlnecked lucifer:
a golden field cauldrons on his tongue
and I, like a doe, listen to his shrill
and I drink and drink
against my will.


Божанска Трагедија

Као анђели од камена, гледамо ка сунцу;
кроз прсте нам пролете
они моменти,
када те неко повреди,
није битно ко,
и не може да попије
из шаке са сјајнога извора;
уместо тога пије са твојих образа и пуна му уста,
и док лиже кап са прста,
он ти изусти:
“Нисам имао избора!”
па постаје, као икона,
бели зид који се љушти;
неки тамо Авераге Јое,
око њега људи ,
цвеће, облачи и плафон – липсали :
а он док сивило гребуцка ,
кроји громове, светлуцка ,
креће пуним трком
језиком – ка киши.

из очију нам пљушти.

Гледаш у мињоне кроз стакло витрине,
сви цврчци раде као сезонски радници ,
са виолинама од прућа . у новчаницима .

Пали анђели у пуном реду,
чаврљају о времену,
донирају, испред цркве.
Теби, тата,
комад земље без крви;
Теби, господе,
победнички листић из кладионице;
Теби, змијо – зуби;
И опростите нам грехе наше,
и кога волим и кога кључкам ,
што међ даровима овим
свега има осим срца;

И што давасмо тако и под облацима белим и под кишним,
тако да нам не остане баш ништа .

За ручак би појео море.
Не доручкује – изјутра
стомак му је пун снова,
а очи сунца.

За ужину – комад
за вечеру – невраћање
посуто по рубовима човеком који лута:
у грудима му бомба,
у устима гори,
на зглобу сат који кућа.

часу једну до ивица пуну воде.

И пита се дал у грло ил на пламен бесни што у забаченим кутчима свода гута градове и бродове,
шуме, домове и супе;

да је смести.

На површини,
један зрак се не дави,
већ плива.

Поравнани су чаршави, поветарац дува
отрешен је сан са прозорског окна
у близини, из прочвалог грмља
кроз плаветнило распрела се фрула
луцифера уског грла
у гротлу му гори златно поље
и ја, као срна, слушам како поје
и ја пијем, пијем,
против своје воље

~ by Oloriel on September 12, 2022.

39 Responses to “Divine Tragedy”

  1. Ouch!

    • Just a pinch!

      • That whole piece has a real power and momentum about it, yes? It’s as if it digs claws into the mind and rakes out a whole section of peace and comfort leaving only this unsettling feeling of having been mauled. Not a mere pinch; ouch, I say! What do you think: does it affect you in a different way?

      • Would not say so; I see it as an everyday thing, and I, merely took a moment to describe it, like sending a postcard home from the war.

      • I love it that your willing to talk about your work and the inspirations and meaning behind it. Some artist are, like: I did the writing and it’s up to the reader to do the interpretating. You’re refreshing.

      • Thank you, that pleases me to hear, because it reminds me of another poem I wrote precisely on this topic, called “Ask me and I will tell you” – meaning that I always tend to say how it is, the curtains were blue, that sort of thing – so people used to it, don’t ask me. They prefer to interpret. So it is likewise refreshing to be asked, so thank you!

      • 🙂 You’re welcome, but it’s really just a measure of my inquisitive nature.
        I couldn’t find the poem you refer to, but is it related to Jeremiah 33: “Ask me and I will tell you remarkable secrets you do not know about things to come.”? I’m guessing not. 🙂

      • Ah no, it was my own poem I wrote some time ago, titled that way 🙂 Inquisitive nature is the best!

      • Not on your blog then. Okay. 😊

  2. 😲😲😲 This is SO GOOD, O. 😲 I got chills every few lines and tears stinging my eyes. Too many great lines to mention but please know that I’m so blown away by this. You wrote about Leviathan! (And so much more.) No words- no words; just incredible. Ok, I have words. 😁 But seriously! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

    • Thank you for reading it! I thought I did not have anything specifically in mind, but a friend of mine dropped by the other day, and Leviathan is precisely what he was talking about, I guess I just interpreted it through the lens of our own neighborhood, which he is moving back to – once my housemate buys his apartment that is in a different, far, neighborhood of Belgrade. He also showed me a weird thing, which I want to show you, but don’t know if it is possible to attach pictures inside comments: he found what he sees as Leviathan on google maps.

      • Oh yeah. Near the end of the book of Job, Leviathan is described- it’s pretty incredible stuff! I love your interpretation of *everything*, and despite it seeming as an “interpretation of something”- it’s still so original and so you. It’s got fantastic pacing too; a sort of give and take- speed up, slow down tempo that I really like. I was in awe reading it. Definitely one of your best and most powerful writings to date. And Leviathan on Google maps? That would definitely be interesting to see. 😉

  3. your imagery and language or so stirring and mesmerizing! I love these lines:
    “To you, snake – teeth; And forgive us our sins, And our loves and our biting,” 👏👏

  4. I love what you did in this epic poem… so many great lines, and I like the division in parts. To me, this poem has its roots in myths though the setting is contemporary with a belly full of highways and suns.

    • Thank you very much for reading, Bjorn. In a way, thanks to your comment, and from other creators reading and commenting, I hope that I did manage to depict my own little suburban neighborhood as part of a larger, wider-known myth.

  5. The stuff of nightmares. I believe this, there:
    “And our loves and our biting,
    and that among the gifts of these
    there is all but heart.”

    • Thank you very much for reading.
      Often, it is precisely so, a cursed gift that has no heart – almost all donations that are not pure money, are often declined here in Serbia, and there is a rising trend of doing wrong to the world and those around you, but “clearing your soul” by dropping a few bills on the church pew :/

      • You are very welcome. Oh wow, that is a little demoralizing to think it’s happening there. It seems too many care only about money, but I guess if you need money to buy food, clothing, and shelter, it takes on a greater importance.

      • It very much does, but it is all in twisted ways. People will bet and bet and bet at casinos, and then win once and be proud, restart the process. I wish it was less encouraged.

  6. Oh wow! Truly a poem of epic proportions. The part that has stayed with me, after a single reading is about eating sea for lunch.
    Very absorbing write, I will have to read multiple times.

  7. In my reading, an almost suburban submission to rape flutters normality with a stark red silk lining. The thirst is predatory, the submissions part of the daily walk from here to there. It is breath for us all. It’s bleak but the dark poetry sings.

  8. My eyes are so bad I can’t read the color print on black. White on black would be fine, but I know it’s not as pretty…

    • I am terribly sorry for that. On desktop, my theme is dark gray, so all the letters appear properly. For some reason, whenever my blog is visited via mobile, it switches the background to white. The theme I use is discontinued, and I find the new ones lacking in various ways without paying lots of money. Thank you heartfully, for trying, and I apologize once more if I have strained your eyes.

      • I understand completely. I can’t read dVerse much of the time either except in the reader or if I take the time to print it out because it’s not black and white. For people with eye problems, it’s a difficulty, but I would not want to try to change my own blog format either because WordPress has so many problems. I don’t use my phone to do anything online, the print is too tiny.

  9. This is a powerful and compelling write, Oloriel. So many lines resonated with me:

    “the crickets are seasonal workers,
    with wicker violins – in wallets.

    Fallen angels standing in a full line,
    chattering about weather,
    donating, in front the church door.”

    Enigmatic too in a good way. Enjoyed this.

    • Thank you very much for reading, Sunra, I do hope our crickets, soon, get paid properly, if not with more material value then at least with a slightly healing world.

  10. This is beyond powerful, Oloriel! Wow!

  11. Oh, this is chilling! Such a sense of betrayal. Even the average Joe has a devouring demon inside. And cannot be trusted. Is deadly.

    The breeze blowing, straightened sheets and French candy – reminds me of a resort. Opulence and gluttony. Forced upon us.

    • Thank you very much for reading, I am glad the poem could stir thoughts.
      I can see the resort image; it makes me likewise think how we take so many things for granted.

  12. Pretty much immaculate

    • I always think of, you know how you can clean a white sheet pretty decently from any stains and even though it glistens, you still know that the stain was there?

  13. I just love the imagery and mood in this. It’s always fascinating when someone can make you feel like you’re physically going through it or you can get an energy. Cool!

    • Thank you very much for reading and taking the time to leave me a word of your own; often when I write, I am just trying to describe the scenery, blended with emotion and I hope that reading this poem did not make you too uneasy in the feelings and the scenery it shows.

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