(љубазношћу сајта http://www.miroljubtodorovic.com/)
of the sea
You are the Earth's lover
Enslaved you dream another planet
In the eye of apparition
By a bluish light
was devouring the darkness
In the field of smokes
a flock of imprisoned birds sleep
If I hear their call
If I shoot at them by star
They will jump out
like secret hinds
into a moved world
Once he will give me a gold apple
as a gift
Entombed in its
succulent sub consciousness
EXPERIENCES ON THE PLANET
Great ice oceans radiant of light
Were turning their faces to the eternal sun.
In the hell of volcano the fire scattered
Fiery roses of helium and hydrogen.
Crystals great like the earth's towns
Hanging on the threads of liquid Atmosphere
Stunned me with their indecent forms.
Entering the crystal spheres
I was shouting my name
Which then spread, echoing,
Into the most distant corners of the Universe
Has excited just the green-yellow grasshoppers
Of unimaginable size.
Catching with their hind legs
The sticky morning light
They were making very skilfully
Of the numberless cubes of quartz
Closing access to me
To the planet's centre
Stars were melting. It is their power to be
exciting. I watched, sleepy, from a flower:
the stars melted drop by drop. Through the
atmosphere unpleasant odours of starry liquid
spread. A great galactic storm was approaching.
Puce flowers were sprouting in the Space.
The anxiety of animals warned to danger.
Grasshoppers were leaving the planet in swarms.
Ants penetrated deep toward the core. Clouds
of birds turned off the sun. Entrails of the beasts
having drunk some of the fragrant star liquid set
aflame. They roared painfully in the darkness.
The fire was spreading first by circulation of blood
all over their bodies. Then explosions of inner
organs happened. The heart exploded most fiercely.
It soared into space like a fiery ball and lit
the planet for a moment.
I listened to breathing of metals
Similar to breathing of beasts
* * *
Metals warred against air
Moved through underground corridors like moles,
undermining stability of the planet
Air entered the crevices on the crust
And attacked them trying to cause
Chemical changes in their characters
They swallowed it greedily
And then digested for a long time
On the leaf of a copper-colored herb
A butterfly laid an egg
Of human eye size.
That egg is a little planet
That will wake up
In three light years.
Then so woken
It will orbit around a flower
Like around its own Sun.
Measuring of the earth
Like a measuring of death
Measuring of the sun
Like a measuring of stars
Geometry of my dream
To geometry of the Universe
Machines were catching us
With their sharp gears
And ground slowly meat and bones.
Blood flew away by special drains
For irrigation of carnivore herbs
It was a systematic destruction of our bodies
But our spirit even more curiously
Continued research into stars.
Water advanced from the east and from the west
As if willing to show that it is the matter
The Universe is made of.
Initially I laughed at it.
I breathed the air. Walked on a narrow
Belt of the planet that was not flooded.
Hunted beasts in forests.
Fruit was falling down from tree branches
Into high grasses and hiding before
Greedy eyes of grasshoppers.
Stars twinkled mystically in the
Space and spoke to me about galactic
Roads. Then I admired fire.
I sacrificed blood of my daughters to it.
It never extinguished in front of
My tents. At evening it would pleasantly
Permeated my bones with its warmth.
Water still advanced.
I began think more and more about it.
I did not laugh any more. I saw its
Voracious face and was afraid.
It flooded the earth and forests, drowned
The beasts. Then it began to fill
Atmosphere. I was helpless.
Finally it covered stars and extinguished
The Sun. All my being was now
Occupied with water.
( From the poem "Planet” 1960-1963.)
WINTER SNOW RUNNING HORSE
MAN MAYBE DEAD WALK
man maybe dead walk
man maybe walk dead
man dead maybe walk
man dead walk maybe
man walk dead maybe
man man man
man man maybe
man man dead
man man walk
maybe dead man
maybe dead maybe
maybe dead dead
maybe dead walk
dead dead man
dead dead maybe
dead dead dead
dead dead walk
walk walk man
walk walk maybe
walk walk dead
walk walk walk
WITH NOODLES CERTENLY
MAY BE I DON'T WANT DON'T FORGET
ZAJECAR RICH SOUP
ACCORDING TO THIS I'LL SPEND SUMMER
IN MARRIAGE HAVE I RIGHT
AT SLAVIJA CALMS DOWN
ACCORDING TO THIS WHILE I'M GOINGG
MAYBE I DON'T WANT IT'S TIME
NEVER DON'T FORGET
FFOR SITTING IT'S TIME
BUT HOW I'LL LOVE
CUT IT OUT OF COURSE
YOU ARE RIGHT DON'T FORGET
WELL TO MIX ON ROAST
ORGANIST I'LL SPEND SUMMER
AT SLAVIJA DON'T FORGET
I'LL HAVE DON'T FORGET
ON DIKE RICH SOUP
STRAIN WHILE I'M GOING
FROM PENALTY LET ME SUGGEST
STRAIN I'LL FLY
NEVER LET ME SUGGEST
STRAIN WHILE I'M GOING
CUT IT OUT I'M SWIMMING
WITH NOODLES CERTANLY
I'LL HAVE YMY HAIR CUT A CAIR
ORGANIST I'D LIEKE
IN AMARRIAGE I'M COMING BACK
WELL TO MIX ON ROAS
NO INTEREST HAVE I RIGHT
WELL TO MIX I'LL FLY
IN MARRIAGE MEANWHILE
IN MARRIAGE DON'T FORGET
AT THE SAME TIME LET ME SUGGEST
WITH NOODLES I'D LIKE
ACCORDING TO THIS WHILW I'M GOING
FOR SITTING I DON'T WANT
MAYBE NOT I'LL LOVE
ORGANIST IT'S TIME
FOR WINTER RICH SOUP
FROM PENALTY I'D LIKE
STRAIN I'LL EAT
IN MARRIAGE RICH SOUP
NO INTEREST I'M COMING BACK
MAYBE NOT I INFLUENCE
ACCORDING TO IT SURELY
WELL TO MIX RICH SOUP
I HAVE MY HAIR CUT FROM THE OLD TIMES
NO INTEREST IT'S TIME
BUT HOW I SWIM
ACCORDING TO IT I'D LIKE
BUT HOW YOUR HOBBY
I'LL WALK I'LL FLY
ON DIKE ON ROAST
FFOR WINTER CALMS DOWN
I HAVE MY HAIR CUT I'LL FLY
NEVER AT CAIR
AT THE SAME TIEME I'M SWIMMING
1969 - 1970
(Ready-made and phenomenological poetry)
hygiene of toilet bowl
you will maintain easier
if you purchase a nice
and practical brush
A physiological excrement
consists of water
and unused part of
have not mucus or blood
do not stink much
are of sour taste
Domestic sheep is:
an incredibly boring
If you take a raven
from its nest
as a young bird
he will become
He will learn up:
to bark like a dog
to coo like a pigeon
and to laugh
like a man
BUY ONLY SIGNALIST POOETRY
in every house, hall, institution!
new in Yugoslav market!
the already known industry of poetry
"miroljub todorovic" has begun with
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a high-quality poetry is in question
that can be read, watched,
heard, drawn up, exhibited,
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in these products that can not be
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MIROLJUB TODOROVIC IS 0UT OF ORDER
A year ago i bought miroljub todorovic of
Czechoslovakian production. at the purchase
i didn't get written warranty, but i considered
it unnecessary anyway, for a miroljub todorovic
is not an easily spoilt goods. immediately after
the purchase i found its eye is out of order and
that therefore miroljub todorovic is not precise.
i tried to repair it, but my effort was useless.
so now i have a miroljub todorovic i can not use.
LET US SPREAD OUR MIROLJUBS TODOROVICS
nowhere like here i saw
so many miroljubs todorovics
every morning miroljubs todorovics
harness eight red horses into a coach
every afternoon miroljub todorovics
strike exact time
last night i fell asleep in trousers' pocket
of my miroljub todorovic
miroljub todorovic is drafted
to be in the first fighting lines
it is necessary to discern
what miroljub todorovic is and what he is not
a further reorganization of miroljub todorovic
will lead up to an inner stability
miroljub todorovic does not leave
a man to himself
a man with miroljub todorovic
doesn't feels alone
it is clear that we can be
satisfied completely with miroljub todorovic
miroljub todorovic acts
as a strong gravitational force
let us spread our miroljubs todorovics
I WANT TO BE A DRUM
i want to be a drum artificial
eyelashes are in fashion
wake up for you will have troubles
with digestive organs
Niagara has begun operating
down with Europe
live Japanese Antarctica expedition
do you accept modern fashion
woman always offers hand first
try to exclude thoughts from your head
life in brothels is not same everywhere
what does Moscow want in Beijing
it doesn't upset us much
the earth's magnetic field has shape of a comet
i admire coats made of camel hair
you have a runner on your stocking
rest on Chang Kay Chek mattresses
while drinking castor oil
I'M MOUNTING ROCINANTE AGAIN
(Aleatoric and stochastic poetry)
WHEN I AM AN ENGLISH FOOTBAL NATIONAL TEAM PLAYER
when i am an English football
national team player with three transplanted
organs from same donor please
free me from head cold i will spent summer holidays
on a mountain like in a dentist-medical
academy and let history of mankind
remain in scars i will find
a formula for all and everybody before i
arrive to Copenhagen on a wooden wheel
and glass cases mute crocodiles will begin to sing
like crickets on grill
and when i put me in order with a chimney sweep
brush and winter kohlrabi in
my pockets excuse me for having
to write to you i will become a red
horse in a golden ashtray i do not need
a box of aspirins do not exclude power to me
i know for those fairy
companies in violet corsets
but i still do not know to dream away
nine thousand bees on a flower of
EIGHT CENTURIES AFTER
the world is full
of green bugs
those parking improperly
in Dobracha's street
every Friday afternoon
while I introduce you
to five candidates
for mister universe
suitable for crops
my poor luck
with black pearls
cruises over Texas
perhaps for thousand dollars per month
condemns American intervention
looks for Genghis khan grandchildren
your definition of democracy
and i exist
such as i am
with half litre of beer
and three fried eggs
on a spacious terrace
of Hilton hotel
eight centuries after
with electronic language
on an enclosed porch
neither on the sky nor on the earth
I'M MOUNTING ROCINANTE AGAIN
and seven nights i was mourning over
in two most rainy towns
of the northern France
on the earth covered with blood
in foamed air
welcoming spider's mountain
but don't tell me
i am in the twentieth century
the year seventy two
the day fiftieth
let it be said by an apple
and let be said by worm
of ticklish feet
on the moon
I'm rising from the dead
with lot of things
not to be forgotten
I'm buying lightning rod
a quarter of mankind
the planet sleeps
in the sticky space
of my cut-off hand
still with arms on
i leave for travel again
I'm mounting Rocinante again
TO ALPHABET OF CRIPPLED WOLF
I'm burrowing through you. You bone-breaking
Cave of Serbian language. Blood and graves.
Bee bread and honey. Curse in fertile land. Sceptre
in manoeuvre. I'm covering my face with soil.
I rejoice at the birth. Olympus and Rome among
your teeth. Alphabet of crippled wolf. Cruel and
shaggy. By sticky spit you shackle up the contagious
deities. You bless with fetid urea.
In lakes of the north. In Baltic fogs.
Time dismembers itself. I have woken up.
Descended from the mountain. In the beginning
of summer. Light. War. And Vid. Your breath
is ruddy. Like a wild rose flower. You supreme
deity. Of ancient Serbian religion. Axes smell.
Blood. And burning sacrifices. In a horn. Honey
brandy. Foretells a harvest.
YOU RUDDY MAGICIAN
From Spasm. Hissing word. Stairway
toward sanctuary. All my beaters.
Downpours wash poems away.
From walls. From books. You made
Homer blind. You crazy warrior. Ice
conquers. Fever from steel.
Mercury cools. Jupiter
explodes. Slavs in front of
purple towers of Constantinople.
They gnaw my skull. Wild
Thracian dogs. Water nymphs from
whirlpools. You stand in air. With one leg.
In the Mediterranean Sea. October
closes roads. You ruddy magician.
Neither in the sky. Nor on the earth.
TO THE DARK BLUE DEMON
By the way. Mortuary. Rain. Wavering. Germ
of speech. You are lying under a sunflower.
Seductive swan. Apotheosis of the unconsciousness.
Human turmoil. You dark blue demon. Am I a bead.
Or a god. In a wild paradise. Closed. In innocent words
Play of green pebbles. Spring. Spring. Strong sinews
of the world. You are tempting the language. Foaming
of lymph. They rise from abyss. Firm snow and morning
star. Monster watches. Interior and burn. It is a time of
decision. In a ruddy morning song. Graves freeze. Flower
field. Entropy. They are more and more away. Chasers.
Hostel burns. Under the mask of hellebore. You shiver
noisily. Skin has emptied. Where is the end? In innocent
words. Ocean boils.
Miroljub Todorovic, translated by Slobodan Skerovic
(From the book “Pig is an Excellent Swimmer” – 1971)
I WILL GIVE YOU A RECIPE FOR DRESSED MIROLJUB TODOROVIC
knead with water half kilogram of
cut him into tiny sheets
bake it through on a warmed stove
in deep bowl mix
ten fresh miroljub todorovices
all this then stir well
women like miroljub todorovic
better not to make plump
when thin he bakes better
bake carefully your miroljub todorovic
till his skin gets red
miroljub todorovic with his skin red
cut into slices
LET'S SPREAD OUT OUR MIROLJUB TODOROVICES
nowhere as here have I seen
so many miroljub todorovices
each morning miroljub todorovic
harnesses eight red horses to a coach
each afternoon miroljub todorovices
announce the exact time
last night I fell asleep in the pocket
of my miroljub todorovic pantaloons
miroljub todorovic is invited
to be in the first fighting lines
it is necessary to discern
what is miroljub todorovic and what is not
ARE YOU SOCIAL
swept are the pavements by Aeroflot to Osaka
no doubt the excerting organs as
fundaments of the budget policy sometimes
meet the metal gnawer and architect well-known
model but I do not attend together with viruses
of contagious hepatitis or males with kidneys
the execution of court function and the procedure
on the stomach side i heard that you imported carpet
from parisian shops without a delay
by indirect method as blood pressure
or candelabras in the walls of veins maybe
the pre-nuptial neurosis in various colors
a step closer to the abortion who functions as
the authority who can not girls are you
(From the book “Water-Snake Drinks Rainwater” – 1987)
STALIN EATS JAGODA
Desirous are gods. Of fat bees.
Of human broth. Of song-singers. Tou gulp
Eldorado. From Kazakh steppes. “Declaration
of Human rights”. Frenzy and
explosion. Blooming of death. From particles
of awareness. Golden map. A Thousand-year
empire. Sprouting up from the dark. it is the wheel
of history. Phosphorous flame on the lips.
The holy madman. In hell. They sculpt paradise.
You eavesdrop winter. Heart of blind father.
Stalin eats Jagoda. In dungeons of Lubjanka.
“My Beast, my beautiful age”. Next to black
fire. In Siberia. Sings dead Mandelstam.
About another one. Crimson. Morning. Of Adamism.
Jagoda Genrih Grigorjevich (1891 – 1938), high official of the Soviet Union. People's Minister of the Interior, 1933 – 1936. Oversaw purges, executions and the exile to Siberia of non-conformists. In the year 1937, he, himself, was killed, a victim to Stalin's purges.
jagoda (Serbian) = strawberry
Lubjanka = Huge gulag (prison/dungeon) located in Moscow.
Mandelstam, Osip Emilevich (1891 – 1938), Russian poet, founder and theoretician of the creative movement Akmeism (Adamism). Exiled to Siberia in 1934, where he died in 1938.
“My Beast, my beautiful age” – This is a verse from the anthological poem “Age” by Osip Mandelstam, written in 1923.
(From the poem “Pucanj u govno”, 1971)
SHIT IS THE INSTRUMENT OF THE UNIVERSE
as time passes, get yourself some good shit
for every occasion and every home
favorable credits for buying shit
our shit is certified
our shit is bacteriological certified
every year more than four thousand
insure your shit
demand exclusively hard shit
contemporary functional and modern
which kind of shit do you use in your
our shit has rich tradition
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try shit and you will get
in plastic box a unique shit
try shit and you will be enraptured
shit considers its consumers
five years guarantee for shit
we reward best buyers of our shit
this year 500 million pieces of shit will be
visit the seventh international fair of shit
can domestic shit, by its quality,
compete with foreign shit
who is the biggest producer of shit
shit is the mirror which reflects
the whole world
shit doesn't create art which is already
shit is the arranger of future art
shit is the instrument of the universe
shit is the fifth world's power
shit will soon sign the contract
on non-spreading of nuclear shit
THE IDEAL SHIT
your shit is a little late
my shit works precisely
i have attuned my shit
it is time to shit
you are already shitty
yes i just got shitty
i will go back shitting
how did you shit
i shat very well
i have an easy shit
be careful not to shit again
i'm not shitty any more
i don't suffer from shitting
i couldn't take a shit until midnight
why do you shit so late
i can't shit earlier
it is better to shit earlier
i'm used to shitting later
how do you cope with shit
illuminate sincerely for us the image of your shit
when was the first time you felt like
dealing with shit
isn't it that because of shit you neglected
what are your impressions from your annual
inspection of shits
are you against the imprinting
just what does the ideal shit
after the success of your shits
how did you manage to stay humble
which shit do you like best
Датум последње измене: 2007-10-01 00:00:47