TRICKELING OF ETERNITY

A sweet spirit sentenced to trickle away
The boat of past in the ship of future
Thi hill of medow on the other side
Water to oneself
Why with water
Do not the centuries ask the same question
The models of the centuries in the centuries in the model of
a river

The same time keeps playing against the Sun
The past of the future is a slash on water
The begining in the name of the end

Two friends are sitting on a river bank
Shelling the grains of the mutual shadow
throwing it into water
May be they are not friends
But are merely referred to each other

If the water circling
they think
water is quite indifferent
to the reason why
Does time trickle

THE CHARRIOT OF THE SUN

Between the tones that I hear
is gentleness
In the eyes of a naive child
or
A child in the charriot of the Sun
When the east running behind the earth\'s
hemisphere
enlightens us
Like in the earlier experiences of music
which is not space
although it inhabits it
which is expressed by silence
and is not a memory
which hears the unread
and sees the speech
Or
In the tones of the Sun
the charriot behind it
a child in it
before them the east
An inspiration of daily events
Unbraids the tresses into the musical scale
A raven on the scale
plucking its plumes
wets them with ink
Writes down the notes of the same endurance
lower and lower
deeper and deeper
quieter and quieter

A cheerful child climbs onto the charriot
saddles the sides of the world
Beetween the east and the estuary
is lament not music

An old man steps out from the charriot

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JUGOVO

Bunches of autumn are in my vineyard
They dive from the skies ripened with memories
Seriousness of sight is mirrored in the river\'s
inconsistency
The east of an evening crawls towards the west

My mother measures the paths in my vineyard
My father makes golden sugar of hope in his veins
The wind fliks through incidental book leaves
A hanging bridge made of letters
Relaxes against their heads

A drunkard from birth believes in steps
The hymn of grape bunches enters the veins of singers
Sands breathes out the pores of time through high vaults
The cheeks of autumn touch my shoulders
The sword of clouds taken against the friendship of
lightning

Persuadeded by the day the evening falls
Through the crowns of trees and the smoke of moss
Muteness is all that is said by silence
When there is no merriment the song is vain

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An area on the way from Belgrade to Smederevo, famous for its vineyards and orchards

biografia:

Tomislav Stevanovic was born in Smederevo in 1948. Both his parents were teachers. The Author is curently Director of the Historical Archives of the city of Smederevo.
He has published following books: Family Tree Gallows, The forest of My Mind, Victoria [a long poem], Light Wall, New Calendar, Slash on Water, Hymn of Destiny, Sand for the yes, The Bridge above the Gallows and Why Smederevo.

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