WORDS

words leave books
beasts their lodgings
love long forgotten
and plants from root cut
down

letters grieve for you
and worn papers

unreal\'s lament
without moaning and crying

there is no forest without
birds
and water that their beds
do not go

LES MOTS

Les mots quittent des livres,
Les bêtes abandonnent leurs tanières,
Amour depuis longtemps oublié,
Plantes coupées à même la racine.

Les lettres s’affligent pour vous
Et pour les papiers rongés,

Lamentation de l’irréel
Sans gémissements ni hauts cris.

Il n\'est pas de forêt sans
Oiseaux
Ni d’eau sans lit
Où couler.

Zivko Avramovic
Traduit par Athanase Vantchev de Thracy et Marc Galan

MINER

beneath helmethis days and nights sleep
beneath helmet his oblivion of forgetfulness hides

at his left side one heart beats
at right side one lamp burning
into the lamp are three hearts, three fires, three loves

in his one boot someone\'s night burns
in other someone\'s darling sleeps

in his country his love and son rules
in his country stars and moon shines

if you please him to give you
something
he will give you the country and all of his love

if you ask him for what he is longing
he will tell you that he longs for a dream
[how he won\'t, in a dream his love often comes]

beneath the ground he excavates tunnels
to the surface he throws out
excavated Strength and excavated Sense

INSTEAD A LETTER

Where are the dreams from, and where are the letters from?
If the confidence found refuge in my veins, why the letters smells like soil?
Why are the fingers stick to paper while whispering to each word?
Why the grass suffers from thinking?
Why?

I remember: I have often chased these fields.
What have you expect, beside that, stranger?

This isn\'t a memory, this is a recall, this is the search for the lost breath, this is the ring before cross like before death.
Memories have always been dear to me. Without them there wouldn\'t be spilled ink on the paper. Wouldn\'t be paper.

Come to me.
Come to swallow all memories with our rolling eyes, to leave our mark in front of the cross.
This night is warm from howling of wolves and music.
You be warm, too, from night and memories.
Be memory.

biografia:

Zivko Avramović was born in 1952. in Sarbanovac near Bor, where he still lives and works. He writes poetry, literary criticsm and essays, and he is occasionally engaged in journalism. He is publishing his works in newspapers, magasines, books and common books.
He has publishing his books of poetry: \'Homeland\' [1987], \'Dreamed/Asleep\' [1993], \'Delijovanom to the inflow\' [1996], \'Selected and new poems\' [1999], \'Lights cheats river\' [2005], and \'Stumble red winds\' [2009] with Momčilo Milosević.

He is a member of The Association of Serbian Writers.

zivkoavram@krstarica.com