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Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc Sarajevo & Bugojno, Bosnia and Herzegovina MI OBJEDINJUJEMO RAZLIČITOSTI... WE ARE UNIFYING DIVERSITIES |
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Daniel Jakopovich, Croatia and United Kingdom
Daniel Jakopovich is an author and a progressive intellectual. He is the founder and editor of the Novi Plamen - journal for politics and culture, and is active in several peace movement and other progressive organisations. The poems below are presented in chronological order of writing, the first (Children of the Unlucky) having been written around 2002.
VILLA AMIRA, Street Ante Starčevića 33,
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Čitati i znati
Daniel Jakopovich prevazilazi maštovitost trenutka unutar sablaznosti suočenja sa surovom stvarnošću, javljajući se kao Musaeus iz Atine, otvarajući pred nama snažni bljesak mogućih vizija. I to ne bilo kakvih već onih koje upozoravaju, usmjeravaju, ali i, nadasve, jednostavnom logikom krijepe. Šta? Dušu izmrcvarenih pravednika koji živjeti traže. Njegov otklon od zavedenih mediokritetskih težnji svakodnevnice je...u čitanju. Da, čitanju svijeta oko sebe. Jasno prepoznajući what went wrong i šta nam valja ispravljati. Uspjeh u tome ne zavisi samo od njega. Već i od nas. Ali... Jedino ako, njega, budemo znali...naravno, čitati. Riječ urednika Sabahudin Hadžialić 08.7.2013. |
To read and to know
Daniel Jakopovich transcends imagination of the moment within the seducing of the confrontation with harsh reality, appearing as Musaeus of Athens, opening in front of us a powerful glimpse of possible visions. And just of any kind but those that alerts, steers, and, above all, refresh through the simple logic. What? The soul of righteous maim ones who seek to live. His deflection from misguided mediocre aspirations of everyday life is in...reading. Yes, reading of the world around him. Clearly recognizing what went wrong and what should be corrected by us. The success of this depends not only on him. Also on us. But...Only if we know...of course, to read, him. Editor's word Sabahudin Hadžialić 08.07.2013. |
Children of the Unlucky
Filthy cats share their private solitude,
and dream marks perish with the stream unseen -
the bluntness of the character or the storms within.
“The barren bags of our parents bring us only lead!”
Sunken shipyards,
jungles of despair,
and the outward tapestry.
Decay their early breakfast.
Filthy cats share their private solitude,
and dream marks perish with the stream unseen -
the bluntness of the character or the storms within.
“The barren bags of our parents bring us only lead!”
Sunken shipyards,
jungles of despair,
and the outward tapestry.
Decay their early breakfast.
Montaigne’s Library
The flames of the hearth cannot yet thaw; they burn rime to circumvent.
Words devise the hallowed murmurs of a hermitage consecrated through
the cult of good books; the conviviality of the Ancients. Ashen folios,
erased from later memory, shield their dogged outcasts amid angry centuries’ din.
The walls must hold,
for in their cavities
the blacksmiths of horizons are still at work.
The monastery of the owl, and of the nightingales withdrawn, glimmers
and sings its wintry tunes cloaked by the tempest’s roar.
Still uninvited, Aurora awaits, blazing where there is scope.
The Bellow of the Black Grease
Each morning, over tea, to glimpse the entombment of charity,
Is to read rags with crutches for bigots to pace and patches to see,
Bearers of herd-like unanimity
That bind dark blood to its sharp sheets, sheets of shattered olive trees,
Leaden from the bruising caverns of soliloquies.
Quarries of guiltless stone,
Chivalrous slayers of doubt,
Always the first to smoke-out
The fallen, the hunted, alone.
Polluted minds, polluted hearts
Must abide by the ravening wants of Baal’s;
They cannot envisage divergent parts
Delayed in their corrals.
A Young Plant at Khyber Pass
Be they a hundred years old,
Patriarchs of conquest cold
Nodding on thrones of porphyry,
Never have they seen, like Mehri at ten,
What she had witnessed then,
When metallic brutes of prey
Stole her father’s breathing dear,
Bedimming the daylight’s way,
Bloodying her beauty clear.
In the playground of oligopolies,
Of dirty old orders of war which sear small birds still,
Ambulant, benumbing hostilities
Ravage the biophile ethic of Summerhill.
The loess of bellicosity
In Badsha Khan’s tenacious hills
Obscures such archaeologies
Which bring forth nobility
Through solar, gentle pedagogies.
In a lair as blind as this,
What could she have learnt of art, and logic, and peace?
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Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com
Contact Editorial board E-mail: [email protected];
Narudžbe/Order: [email protected]
Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo i/ili
Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina
Design: Sabi / Autors & Sabahudin Hadžialić. Design LOGO - Stevo Basara.
Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com
Contact Editorial board E-mail: [email protected];
Narudžbe/Order: [email protected]
Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo i/ili
Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina