The Zagajička Hills, Serbia

The Zagajička Hills, Serbia

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Peony

Peony

By Milan Rakić

What a beautiful night! Lo! O’er the plains,
Down the locusts, mulberries, stately planes
And lofty oak-trees, the golden streams flow
Of ethereal bright moonlight. And so,

Above the vast meads and odorous plains,
Mid the florid boughs, o’er many a field
That are all dark after some heavy rains,
The great soul of the moon’s sleeping conceal’d.

All is calm. Still lies the level meadow
Where in bygone days troops fell row by row.
Grown out of the blood-drenched soil long ago,
Red and blue, peonies bloom in Kosovo…

Translated by Ljiljana Parović

BOŽUR

Kako je lepa ova noć! Gle, svuda,
S topole, rasta, bagrema, i duda,
U mlazevima zlatokosim pada
Nesuštastvena mesečina. Sada,

Nad livadama gde trava miriše,
U rascvetanim granama, svrh njiva
Koje su crne posle bujne kiše,
Velika duša mesečeva sniva.

Sve mirno. Tajac. Ćuti polje ravno
Gde nekad pade za četama četa…
— Iz mnoge krvi izniknuo davno,
Crven i plav, Kosovom božur cveta…

 

Paths

Paths

By Djura Jakšić

Before me now two paths out are spread:
One of flowers, the other of spines;
My feet of iron are strong to tread
On the thorny path beyond confines.

I cede the path strewed with flowers sweet
To the ones whose step is soft and frail;
Trodden be flowers by ladies’ feet,
Men are made for the thorny trail!

STAZE

Dve preda mnom staze stoje:
Jedna s cvećem, druga s trnjem;
Gvozdene su noge moje:
Idem trnju da se vrnem.

Ja ustupam cveća staze
kojima je noga meka;
Nek po cveću žene gaze,
a trnje je za čoveka!

dve-staze

Abandoned Church

Abandoned Church

By Milan Rakić

An old image of Crucified Christ lies:
Down his broken ribs warm blood is shed-
Pale as death his lips, lifeless his eyes,
A cast silver nimbus o’er his head.

A gift from pious serfs and noblemen-
On his neck a ducat necklace shines.
Its frame rimm’d with sterling silver lines,
Carved by the best among the craftsmen.

So lies Christ mid this desolate shrine.
As softly descends darkness divine,
And birds of prey are ready to soar,

Alone in the church that vampires haunt,
He spreads his arms, desperate and gaunt,
Waiting for his flock, which is no more…

Translated from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

NAPUŠTENA CRKVA

Leži stara slika raspetoga Hrista.
Mlaz mu krvi curi niz slomljena rebra;
Oči mrtve, usne blede, samrt ista;
Nad glavom oreol od kovana srebra.

Dar negdašnjeg plemstva i pobožnog sebra,
Đerdan od dukata o vratu mu blista.
Po okviru utisnuta srma čista,
A okvir joj rezo umetnik iz Debra.

Takav leži Hristos, sred pustoga hrama.
I dok neosetno, svuda pada tama,
I jato se noćnih ptica na plen sprema,

Sam u pustoj crkvi, gde kruže vampiri,
Očajan i strašan, Hristos ruke širi,
Večno čekajući pastvu, koje nema…

https://i2.wp.com/www.kosovo.net/osojani2.jpg

Jephimia

Jephimia

By Milan Rakić

Jephimia, the wife of Uglješa, the despot,
And a nobleman’s daughter, in a sanctuary
All secluded, with pious zeal and no respite,
Embroiders a silk shroud for the monastery.

All around her, the blood of people is shed,
Empires fall and crumbles the world whole,
She, ever alone, embroiders in silk thread
And gold the deep anguish of her noble soul.

Centuries have gone by, in oblivion they rest,
But this people is still groaning as before.
And it seems that even in the time of yore
Our hearts used to beat in your gentle chest.

And at the time of the nation’s doleful fall,
When in the horizon there is no light frail,
You and your humble abode I clearly recall,
O despotress of Serbia with a nun’s veil!

Then I feel that just as once she used to do,
Over our calamity which ever direr grows,
Over the flame enveloped by darkness, too,
The old Black Lady is bemoaning our woes…

Translated from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

JEFIMIJA

Jefimija, ćerka gospodara Drame,
I žene despota Uglješe, u miru,
Daleko od sveta, puna verske tame,
Veze svilen pokrov za dar manastiru.

Pokraj nje se krve narodi i guše,
Propadaju carstva, svet vaskolik cvili,
Ona, večno sama, na zlatu i svili
Veze strašne bole otmene joj duše.

Vekovi su prošli i zaborav pada,
A još ovaj narod kao nekad grca,
I meni se čini da su naša srca
U grudima tvojim kucala još tada,

I u mučne čase narodnoga sloma,
Kad svetlosti nema na vidiku celom,
Ja se sećam tebe i tvojega doma,
Despotice srpska s kaluđerskim velom!

I osećam tada da, ko nekad, sama,
Nad nesrećnom kobi što steže sve jače,
Nad plamenom koji obuhvata tama,
Stara Crna Gospa zapeva i plače…

Over Belgrade

Over Belgrade

By Vojislav Ilić

O, silent monument to times foregone,
Why’s your brow sullen and grim always?
Haply you recall the gory battles bygone
Which gave your name a glorious praise?

Or you count the graves of foreign sons
That all fell beneath your walls so grand,
Enthralled by dreams of conquest once,
Far from the bosom of their fatherland?

Even now as oft I behold you at night,
Gigantic human shadows before me fall:
With chests crushed and brows so white,
With lips cold and coated in blood all.

And I hark some unintelligible sound,
A susurrus that fades and dies away…
Haply ‘tis an echo of a pain profound?
Or haply ‘tis a curse that these lips say?

Oh, so many a dream, hope and woe,
Deeply engraved in your stone appear,
Shattered by the deadly hand of the foe
In its rage during many a glorious year!

But you live on!…Your grey hair has not
Been laid to rest by such turbulent time!
To restore your fame you may’ve sought,
That pale shadow of a future sublime.

Translated from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

NAD BEOGRADOM

Spomeniče nemi prohujalih dana,
Zašto ti je čelo sumorno i tavno?
Da l’ se sećaš, možda, krvavih megdana,
Što digoše u zrak tvoje ime slavno?

Il’ grobove brojiš tuđinskih sinova,
Što padoše redom pod zidine tvoje,
– Zaneseni čarom osvajačkih snova
Daleko od krila domovine svoje?

Jest, i sada često, kad te kroz noć gledam,
Ukažu se ljudske gorostasne seni:
S razmrskanim grudma, sa čelima bledim,
I usnama hladnim u krvavoj peni…

I ja slušam šapat nepojmljivog zbora,
Šapat koji tiho umire i tone…
To je, možda, izraz dubokoga bola?
To su, možda, reči koje kletvom zvone?

O, koliko snova, nadanja i muka
Zariveno leži u kamenju tvome,
Što ih sruši smrti oružana ruka
U danima slave, u pomamu svome!

I ti jošte živiš!… Tvoju sedu glavu
Ne položi u grob tako burno vreme!
Možda čekaš snova poništenu slavu,
Taj bleđani prizrak budućnosti neme?

Резултат слика за above kalemegdan

Spring

Spring

By Aleksa Šantić

Darling, let not a sleep come o’er thee tonight,
Grant not, dear, to thy heart a sweet respite!
When o’er our river the moon pours its light,
And on the ground fall first dewdrops bright,

A young spring will be born! As everywhere
The sweet fragrance of lilacs the air will fill;
Soft snowflakes will fall from branches still
Into our brook winding thro’ the garden there.

Lado will sneak in Mostar, our dormant town:
On each window he’ll shed snowflakes down,
To waken all the hearts that love and ache…

So, my dear, let not a sleep come over thee!
Come! May thou first rose in our garden be,
And sweetly smell in my heart till daybreak!

Translated from the Serbian by:
Ljiljana Parović

PROLJEĆE

Nemoj, draga, noćas da te san obrva
I da sklopiš oči na dušeku mekom!
Kada mjesec sine nad našom rijekom
I na zemlju pane tiha rosa prva,

Rodiće se mlado proljeće! I svuda
Prosuće se miris plavih jorgovana;
I pahulje snježne padaće sa grana
U naš bistri potok što baštom krivuda.

Uzviće se Ljeljo nad našim Mostarom,
I svaki će prozor zasuti beharom,
Da probudi srca što ljube i gore…

Zato nemoj, draga, da te san obrva!
Dođi, i u bašti budi ruža prva,
I na mome srcu miriši do zore!

woods, Mountains, Meadow, Flowers