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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 80-81 | volume XIV | September-December, 2011



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 80-81September-December, 2011

I Have a Word

p. 2
Boris Domagoj Biletić

A Grave below the Hilltop
My Locked Father
Misty Little Poem
In Lithuanian Dreams They Visit Me
The Empty Quarnero Sea
Rhetorical Poem


My Locked Father

I let daddy a flower on his trembling soul
He dreams in the smells, colours of his home
Father, I am a city after an earthquake, a city emerging
Father, I am an earthquake into earth’s entrails returning
To your home, distant mother, herself once torn
From our embrace as was her last wish
Stagnant water before the mourner awaited me
Chakavian village of my childhood deserted, Oliver,
Nobody to recognize me in a superficial rush across the graveyard
You are, man, locked, encased wordless
Gone to the other side of the secret, riddle, without lies finally
And what can I do now – the pathos of the living
Is a poor picture made in your, her image
Already hunched consoling myself with the hope you are together
Guarding a tribe with no relics, no Sign
From eternity my father accepts a flower, a bouquet
For himself, for her, for all us still alive, trembling, withered
Glowing from space – continents, planets, galaxies
Of extinguished cities being built by survivors, nameless
Across the seas, across the worlds, live our sleepers
Across the oceans they live – when a word is raft, boat, ship
Underneath us cities sank by earthquakes pulse
Warm places the keys to which even dear God is without

(Nikolai Jeffs, “Vilenica”, Slovenia, 2003.)

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