HUNTINGWe hunted grasshoppers and butterflies, Just to have enough play in the meadow .... then we hunted rabbits and roebucks,Just to gorge ourselves and to survive,Then we hunted foxes and wolves, to stop them hunting our rabbits and roebucks,then we hunted other hunters,to stop them hunting our quarry.... so we started to hunt ourselves,for he who once starts hunting - never stops.EVERYTHING IN ...
HUNTINGWe hunted grasshoppers and butterflies,
Just to have enough play in the meadow .
... then we hunted rabbits and roebucks,
Just to gorge ourselves and to survive,
Then we hunted foxes and wolves,
to stop them hunting our rabbits and roebucks,
then we hunted other hunters,
to stop them hunting our quarry.
... so we started to hunt ourselves,
for he who once starts hunting - never stops.
EVERYTHING IN ITS OWN PLACEEverything will finally come in its own place:
Nightingale on a poplar branch barely covered with leaves,
Bee on a first flower of primrose,
Sunbeam on a clear dew drop
Awake on a still not blooming bud.
Everything will finally be placed in its own place:
Smile on a freckled face of a sleeping child,
Maidenly wish in a smell of a bouncing apple,
Headless rhyme in harmonious verses
Of a poem that no beginning can be seen.
Everything will finally settle down in its own place,
Only my being will be far away,
Searching for a point where essence is shivering,
Only my thought will be on a path
Where feet do not touch the ground.
MOTHER READS MY POEMS Unexpectedly I turned up
In my parents' house
Once full of joy
And found lonely old woman
Grown into numerous years,
With glasses on her nose
And a book in her hands.
My mother, who had
Between two deliveries
From a cooing of her sons
Solved the secret of the letters,
And whose love for books
Was unknown to me
Was reading my poems.
How surprised I was
And how astonished was I.
And how ashamed I was
For I hadn't over each verse
Before its publishing
Kept longer watch, just to make sure
For it to be as meaningful
as mother's word was.
Translated by: Svetlana Pavlovicbiografia:
Ranko Pavlovic was born on January 19, 1943 in Snjegotina Gornja, near Teslic, Bosnia and Herzegovina. He lives and works in Banjaluka.
He wrote 10 anthologies of poems, 12 anthologies of short stories, three novels, 15 anthologies of stories for children, one novel for young people, 4 anthologies of poems for children, fifteen radio dramas and radio plays for children and ten texts for children's theatres.
Publishing house for textbooks in Sarajevo published his Selected works in four volumes.
He won several important literary awards.
Ranko Pavlovic is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia.
pavlovicr@blic.net
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