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Vinko Kalinić

Requiem for Two

I can not write anything tonight.
As the moon and the stars and the whole sky
on this night are nothing else
but cosmic panthomimes
from an unsuccessful magician’s trick,
sarcastic graphic signs of our civilisation,
inarticulated sounds
from which is imposible to read anything
about perspectives of the mute universe.

And the Earth,
dry as a gunpowder,
on this night,
is standing still.

Like a dot.

Like a big black holl
in which i’m laying belayed
- redundant and final!
- like before, full of unrestrained sense,
when lying
on the glade
of your navel.

I will never climb up to the tip of your nose,
neither will I jump from one eyelash to another.

I will never again be bathed by the look
which used to wake up all of my fairy tales.

No mornings will ever risen totally inocent,
without blury memory.

Some wind has taken away even the last part of you,
and nothing of me has remained at all.

I will never be
in just one single touch reborn again,
and rocked away in the cradle of your lips.

The hart is hopelessly following the clock.
There are no us.

I can’ t hear your voice,
or your blood throbbing.

Not even there where things lay dead
we haven’ t left not even our grave behind.
Not even our bones.

What has left was only some empty eternity:
mute and lingering existance.

Only dead letters,
only empty words.

Scatered thoughts float, humid steam flashing
over the clifs of precipitated dreams.
Piles of petrified sensoring shells
echoing and yawning like destroyed city walls.

This night is blind.
This night is mute.
This night the poetry is dead.

Tonight all that is alive
- is hollow as an abyss.

Vinko Kalinić


Je ne peux rien écrire ce soir.
La lune, les étoiles et le ciel tout entier
Cette nuit ne sont rien d\'autre
Que des pantomimes cosmiques,
Des tours ratés d\'un magicien,
Des graphèmes sarcastiques de notre civilisation,
Des sons inarticulés,
Qui ne nous laissent rien savoir
Des projets de l\'univers silencieux.

Et la Terre,
Sèche comme de la poudre à canon,
Cette nuit
Est immobile

Comme un point.

Comme un grand trou noir
Dans lequel je gis dans les liens,
Superflu et fini !
Comme auparavant, rempli d’une sensation irrépressible,
Sur la clairière
De ton nombril.

Je ne grimperai jamais sur le bout de ton nez,
Pas plus que je ne sauterai d’un de tes cils à l’autre.

Je ne serai plus jamais baigné par ton regard
Qui éveillait en moi une multitude de contes de fées.

Plus jamais aucun matin ne sera innocent
Ni sans un souvenir trouble.

Le vent a emporté jusqu’à la dernière part de toi
Et rien de moi non plus n’est resté.

Je ne renaîtrai jamais
Sous l’effet d’un simple toucher
Et ne me bercerai point dans le berceau de tes lèvres.

Le cœur suit sans espoir l\'horloge.
Nous n’existons pas.

Je ne peux entendre ta voix
Ni les pulsations de ton sang.

Pas même là, où les choses gisent mortes,
Nous n’avons laissé nos tombes
Ni nos os.

Ce qui est resté n’était qu’éternité vide :
Existence muette et longue comme l’ennui.

Rien que des lettres mortes,
Rien que des mots vides.

Des pensées éparses flottent, un brouillard humide se répand
Sur les abruptes falaises des rêves.
Les amas des coquillages pétrifiés et encore sensibles
Leur font écho et restent béants comme des murs de cités en ruine.

Cette nuit est aveugle.
Cette nuit est muette.
Cette nuit la poésie est morte.

Ce soir tout ce qui vit
Est creux comme un abîme.

Vinko Kalinić

Traduit par Athanase Vantchev de Thracy et Marc Galan

Lets go

Give me your hand, lets go, lets get out of this banality
- true, we might never be children again
whose faces glow of innocent carelessness
but we still can be people
totaly extraordinary, and totaly different
we can still avoid rail tracks and evade the roads
we still can...we still can...
all that never could do any child

give me your hand, lets go, it\'s crazy to live withot imagination
- we will walk in silence, with faces turned towards the Sun
we\'ll only follow Hís trace, and keep dissapearing
until we dissapear in it\'s integrity
until we become same as the wind, cloud and storm
until we arrive to the other side of the world
where time is not measured by the ticking clock
where all is meaningless, what is not woven
from pure unselfishness, misgiving
and the most intimate human beliefs

come, give me your hand, lets go
we\'ll take off these masks and we\'ll remain worthy of ourselves
we will both lay down on the mute and bare soil
we will listen how silences are multiplying
how impossible things become possible
we will create some, entirely our own, nation and religion
whose flag will be the sky, and it\'s anthem your restless eyes
I will sing it , from day to day, without stoping
soundless, like you sing the most holiest prayers
but we will cry together

give me your hand, lets go, lets get out of this language
let\'s leave the words, let them grow themselves, past us
instead of them our crossed fingers will speak out
by to the wormth of our palms we\'ll recognise
more intensly, and better than according to the moss
how the day turns into the night, and night into day
all we need to know we\'ll find out
in the pulsating of our own blood

Vinko Kalinić


I\'ve dreamt of dreaming \'bout you

I\'ve dreamt of dreaming \'bout you
And in the core of that dream
There I stood.
The dream was blank

The sky was empty
and all the skies
were devoured by the dark

Your lips were the only thing
shivering in the dark
loose as the soil
fervid as bread

I don\'t know, that dream,
perhaps I was a human
or maybe just a ghost

I can only remember
just how much a soul
could be

and that sigh
- oh, God!
that keeps awake
the feeling in my brain
the scent of your skin

Vinko Kalinić


Mi ha el

Do not worry, I haven\'t forgoten you
even though we haven\'t heard from each other for centuries.

At some hollow time of the night,
I\'m still poetry writing because of you.
And during the day, drinking often
from that same invisible fountain,
which makes me behave
totaly childish.

It happens at some blind time,
when you are entirely at the other end of the world,
it happens, I can see you quite nicely:
like a shadow in the mirror broken -
that you\'re so light like a cloud! - like a ray of sun,
trees naked, in the tree top disengaged.

Through the crowd, buzz and noise
when city walking -
you are here. Totally close!
Always in the corner of the sky.

Even the soul when it needs you,
I climb down to the shore
in the twilight, in the morning -
fishermen when departing the harbour,
I\'m listening how you\'re dreaming,
then we\'re breathing as one,
with the winds roar.

Every day i watch your photos
on the Facebook.

When sitting in my room,
through the window, through the wall, through the mortar,
my dreams are touching you.

I always find some new way,
some hole, some pore, some wrinkle,
in cosmos, in the brain, on the ceiling,
to return to you, to fly away,
like a seagull, always returning to the sea.

And, it happens, always from the begining,
not knowing what gesture,
lost and without a goal
we are walking along some road,
which doesn\'t lead anywhere and nothing\'s on it,
where only nettle grows, blackberry and twigs.

And when my thoughts are madly scattered like a fish,
although my voice is not touching you,
regardless, I am whispering to you, out of pleasantness.
Sometimes I even scream wildly, on top of my voice,
after we climb up somewhere there, where everything is naked,
where nothing exists, not plants no vegetations,
somewhere totally up there, on the hill,
above the brain cortex, on the carrousel,
under the same that shell
where peace and anxiety tremble,
together where the whole cosmos
is spinning
and my fantasy.

And I could be telling you like this for days -
and even more !

Serious !
It\'s happening !

I find myself - during day or night,
for no reason soaring, disapearing, staying awake.
And when I open or close my eyes,
like some transparent, sleepless bird:
where the sun and the stars are,
I can see your face.

I see you through my eyelashes!

You stop for a moment and wave from a distance,
no logic - more distant, and more and more bigger and taller.
Your fingers scattered across the whole sky,
your hand is swaying, completely white and soft,
like leaves when shiver in the autumn rain.

Do not worry,
I haven\'t stopped loving you.

I hear your every step!

And when the life is bitter,
crazy and empty,
and unbearable
like eskimo\'s winter,
and when the heart shrinks,
like a hedgehog when it rolls into a ball,
when he can\'t care less,
it is just enough
to whisper your name to him.

I know!

No one is like God!
Maybe God doesn\'t even exist,
it might be all ilussions,
and maybe even I am superstitious.

However, I love everything of yours.
Even those, who are kissing you
instead of me.

It doesn\'t matter where you are,
Moscow, London,
New York, Paris, Qatar
...it\'s all the same.

Important is that YOU ARE!

Not important at all is, who are you with.
Black, yellow, white...in your shadow
all people are beautiful.

When I\'m telling you
only what I want,
without even Globe
wouldn\'t have sense,
is the smile
on your face,
which is touched
by some invisible hand,
thin, stretched,
like the lyra string.

From it, man can sense
depredation and insomnia,
in the head, in the brain, in the soul,
than listens and keep quiet,
and from desire burning
to bi born again,
without delay, without dilema,
in any other place,
at any other time.

When I can not take any more,
when you are too far from me,
I study Hebrew.
And I articulate onomatopoeic way!
Instead of you, I\'m listening
how words are echoing.
And always from the begining
I find something of your own
- in those most beautiful ones!

Amabiel, Amitel, Armisael
Asariel, Boel, Comissoros, Darel
Egibel, Elemiach, Enediel
Gabrijel, Guabarel, Hagiel
Israfel, Lailah, Lalahel
Librabis, Mehabiah, Rahmiel
Spugliguel, Talvi, Tezalel, Uriel*

Above everyone MI CHA EL
- angel of victory !

In the shadow of that sacred word
nothing can harm me
neither defeats nor the slanders.

Lo, let the Globe rotate
the way it wants it.

Just walk wherever you want.

In my heart, anyway
how it was, will stay that way:
you always stand on the same place.

Totaly same, endlessly and clear,
in the centre of everything -
I will love you until your existance.

Komiza, April 25th 2010

Vinko Kalinić


Vinko Kalinić
was born on 05. 12. 1974.
He is a writer, journalist and human rights activist.
He lives on the island of Vis.



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