Blesok no. 44, September-October, 2005
Poetry


Virtual Park

Boban Bogatinovski



The Friend


I found him in the mental hospital. He was sleeping
on the bed between the empty scratched walls
dressed in jacket, with his sneakers on, neglected,
without bath for days, his face unshaved.

I woke him up. We went out into the hall.
This is my friend – he said with joy in his voice.
My friend has come to see me.

The mass behind bars started to move, sunken faces,
lifeless, dark faces, asking for cigarettes,
asking for a dime, asking if I was from the police.

We went out in the yard. I bought him meat pie
and yogurt  and we sat on the bench in the open.

”If we were in Canada, now there would be a pond,
with ducks swimming, grass around us, all green,
flowers. Here the first day male nurses beat me up
badly, other lunatics took all my money.

You know, it goes like that when one
gets sick in mind as if chessboard is lost,
but all figures are in number”.




Virtual Park


Let's go to our virtual park now
Breath
Breath
Fresh oxygen molecules under the big shadows
of the big trees
the air is crystal clear as after summer storm
we are alone there
without pensioners amortized from the time
addicts, maniacs,
lonely girls
with soap weekend novels in their hands
without the cop
of Sergej Glavjuk who is waiting
to charge for electricity and water supply

Love changes everything – just put the music louder
the sounds falling from the sky
screams of the migratory birds
children throw the ball hard in the air
and discover the gravitation secret

Hey, you are crazy
Yes, I am on the other side of the computer
actually there are a few computers here
everything is virtual
and multidimensional
and this conversation is virtual

Hi, how are you!? Glad to see you!
And I am also very glad!?


Sorry for asking you, where from I know you.
I really cannot remember.
I also have a feeling we have met before.

Entering a tunnel is like simulation of penetration
also riding a bike

come on a little psychodynamism

you always talked about tomorrow
and unfinished commitments
standing one's hair on end
my song loses sharpness describing
her foolishness
even that is better
than to write about the war,
the last one when opponents respected each other.




Too Painful is that for me


I write with hours in the internet club
on the first floor of my building. In a way
it satisfies me. Makes me sufficient to myself.
I don't have to wait for months
some of my phony friends to call.

I write till my last dime.
-How much do I owe?!– Here you are… Have a nice day.
Sometimes strange pictures appear on the internet.
Casino on line. Black jack. Poker. Roulette. Sex.com.
Death hidden under dark overcoat.

I am coming right back,
just to put my suit on and a new tie.

Somewhere, sometime you'll be happy too. Without me.
Whatever. I was loosing strength for a long time
loving you endlessly, unreservedly. Losing myself.
I cannot do that anymore. Too painful is that for me.




The Line is Law


I woke up today
forgetting it was  my birthday.
I told myself: – Oh, one more line
should be drawn. Ticker underline.

Are you for serious discussion?!
We might reach the essence.
There is a little difference between Hare Krishna
And please Jesus Christ pardon my sins.
There is a big difference.

Everything is relative – would be your answer.
We won't philosophize, would we?!
It is hard to find
the line that should be taken.
As a tightrope acrobat stretched from day to day.

Point in the coordinate system. Equilibrium.
Between X, Y, Z. Happiness, love, destiny.
Maybe there is no beginning.
All is illusion in our thoughts.

The rows should be thicker.
The words to become critical mass.
Whiskey bless for closeness.
I will buy. I know how to make you happy.




Hard Decision


I met one Jehovah's witness in the elevator and
we are already drinking coffee with his older
friend at the restaurant on the first floor of the
building. I was always interested in and respected
the people who devoted their lives to God.
One of them (more clever) immediately is trying
to force the authority topic.
The man we should follow.
Later I found out that he lost his father very early
and that his roots are in Bosnia somewhere.
“I am interested my problems to be solved”
– I disrupted him, the authority is made by
money, power, and your suits also.
They talk about spiritual need, a few
hanging phrases, hypothesis, rhetorical questions
apocalyptic visions in recent times
– how much one can control himself,
the need 24 hours to be in touch with God.
We are unfortunately not perfect – I conclude.
What are you doing for a living?! – I ask them.
– Donations, study and interpreting
the Bible – the cleverer answered
and puts the Bible on the table putting his glasses
with thin frames on it. Shortly I explain
how Orthodoxy works here. Liturgy,
fasting, the prayer, spiritual leadership.
Six billion people equally dear to God.
We stay late sincerely saying good – bye.
And then I stare long in the room's ceiling thinking
of the time when I use to fall asleep immediately.




Happy Day


This holiday starts to make me tired,
vacuum in the empty streets,
everybody is at some dull picnic,
how many bears Russian way should I drink
to feel something
not knowing what?!
The passersby heads floating in the air,
their thoughts making prints
in the sky above the houses
As if we all grew old instantly
I search for the conversation sense,
where we stopped on the way,
sorry neglecting you, I wandered somewhere.
Too hot is in the restaurant
in the town's outskirts;
-The beer??? – the waiter asks.
-No. The air, the air is too hot!!!
– The beer is good.
I browse with my look…
the same place as a few years ago,
maybe by night… yes… it is certainly different.
I waited for the 5 and the 9
on the roulette-merry-go-round,
maybe I should have gone to the end,
but one never knows, depends on the bet,
neither gambling excites me as before,
gambling is devil's calculus,
next year maybe I will pause,
but good is the silence, the silence is good
at last I think there is no reason
this not to be a happy day.




Violet


If one thinks a little bit more, it is not such
a bad idea. One same game that repeats,
with known, boring rules. Have you been at that
theatre where everybody plays somebody else's role.

We pass under my balcony, you say
Latin names of the flowers that my mother
grows – and that is the beginning >>>
I suddenly suggest to escape by train to Veles,

You put your head out of the window,
Your hair flying in the wind, you sit leant
on my shoulder, the train slowly moves ahead,
railroad bending as a black snake,

I felt it in the air, we wander through unknown
streets, looking at the books in the bookshop
windows that got yellow from the sun
(maybe I also stayed in the sun too long)

This day could be endless if you want,
but the next day I'll sell you to my best friend
and then I'll take you back again, till the darkness
I wish you heard my confession one day.


                    *Viola tricolor – blooms early,
                      resistant to frost and heat pretty much




The Girl from the Bilboard


It is over your head, I know my moon flower,
from looks, flattering, proposals, offers,
cheap conversations, but I have no time
for tactics and wrong evening topics

waiting your compound sentence “The sun is shining,
the cow is grazing in the green meadow”
the day is short – the day turns into night
Hitler would kill for compound sentence

It is hard to be a beast, even harder not to be a beast
A few bullets in the ceiling will not change anything
Fight for me, swim to the surface
be faster than time, make strict selection

play simultaneous match with your thoughts,
overcome the discontent, hide the loneliness
I like it how you stand me, uncultured, but you
will have to look for somebody with more nerves.




Have you ever asked yourself why?!
Remaining time is 0.01 sec.


There were thoughts in my head
that remained unwritten forever.
As the first confession for example:
The brutal killing of hundreds ants.

I become weightless, almost incorporeal.
A hand on my shoulder and deep voice:
Come back, it's too soon for you to go there.
Now the dream is one closing and opening
of the eyelashes. Dream without pictures.

The person was with psychological profile
of an idiot. He had timed the party at 1.00 minute.
I don't believe that he had heard
of concrete opinion, abstract opinion,
or any opinion. Even less of creative thinking.

I sharply attacked him and his king
started to flee in panic round chessboard,
but I succeeded to drive him into corner in the
second before last. The chess pieces stood as frozen.
The king surrounded and helpless in the corner  
of the board. Remaining time is 0.01 sec.




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