.for d Spanish Lunula

Slobodan Nikolić, born in Pančevo, Vojvodina, Serbia in 1980. Graduated from Navy Academy in Belgrade, but received (mostly) honorable discharge from the Serbian Navy. Interested in Psychology, he completed Dream Interpretation and Analysis Course and is soon to become a licensed Dream interpreter. Falls in love easily with cities and women. In cities mostly because of women. Used to be in love with Trieste, Zagreb, Subotica. Writes poetry, short stories and novels. His work was translated in Italian, English and Hungarian. His first novel is to be published this year in Croatia. He won the UNESCO award for poetry in 2011.


READING NERUDA

You are reading Neruda
At 6 o’clock in the morning
After sleepless night
In somebody else’s apartment
In which you already feel at home
In the city you have been calling your
own For a long time
Though you know it is not
Neruda, which you don’t even like to read
(And you refuse to admit
That today, you even
Like some of his poems)
And you know you could write
The most beautiful verses this morning
The greatest love poems of all
And the saddest ones, too
Only to defy Neruda
But you are wondering if it’s worth doing
Without knowing If you’ll ever get the chance to read them
To Her

Zagreb, 2011



INSOMNIA

The night is dawning in my head.
Dreams are perishing in sultriness,
Under the gloomy Sun
Of my fears.
Silence is bestriding me,
It is sitting on my chests.
Eyeless, it is grubbing me up
Through my pupils.
Never to meet
You.
We are never
On the same side
Of eyelids.

Pančevo, 2011


TRIESTE – ZAGREB (- BUDAPEST )

Trains are, they say,
Much more comfortable for long journeys
Than the buses
You can stretch
Stand up
Go to the loo
Have a cigarette
Or sleep tucked in pleasantly
By the grinding in the metal womb of a train
Tonight, while I am waiting,
At the deserted station in Monfalcone,
The train which will only reach
A half of its destination,
I know that the comfort of traveling
Depends solely on
Whether you are leaving
Or arriving

Zagreb, 2011





Maja Klarić was born in 1985 in Šibenik, Croatia. She finished Comparative Literature and English Language and Literature on the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences in Zagreb with the thesis on Croatian Contemporary Travelogue. She worked as a translator for numerous newspapers and magazines, a radio program and a publishing house. She writes poetry, prose and essays mostly on the topic of travel. She published her work in all relevant literary magazines and newspapers as well as poetry collections and prose anthologies. She took part in different multimedia-literary events in Croatia and abroad. She was awarded on many international literary contests such as international poetry contest Castello di Duino in Trieste, Italy, international short story contestSea of Words in Barcelona, Spain, international literary festival Aprilskisusreti in Belgrade and international literary contest Ulaznica in Zrenjanin, Serbia. She organizes international Activist Poetry Festival Art Attack, the only such festival in the region.


Traveling people

They begin in a land neither mine nor theirs,
Stories like these.
To be born away from home…

People we meet on the road,
Glimpses of better versions of ourselves,
Shine like stars
When in the night we dream of knowing them better.

First time we met
You were strolling down Barrio Gotico,
But Barcelona remained unuttered.
It took you five hundred kilometers to speak to me,
On a fast train Barcelona-Madrid.

On Puertadel Sol we shook hands
And so it became Kilometre Zero[1] of our story,
The place where all our roads depart from.

Time we spent together: indefinable.
Things you’ve thought me, engraved forever in my swirling soul.

From the moment we part
All that is left are letters sent and roads not taken,
Great odysseys we dream of taking together:
Sailing the sea like Captain Ahab,
Chasing the unfathomable beast,
Climbing mountains covered with spotless snow in December,
Exploring the road like Jack Kerouac.

Lunar dreams like
Us taking the Route 66 in rent-a-car across North America
Listening to Randy Travis or John Coltrane.
Dreams like sailing the Mediterranean
And reading Ithaca on our way back.

In my mind you exist
In form of train stations and announcement boards.
But it’s not only the roads that remind me of you,
It’s every place of departure.
Railway stations, ports and airports,
Staring mute at the horizon
Watching ships and sailors like Baudelaire did.
My front door, my parking spot,
The roads I take when riding my bike,
Imagining I was riding through Athens or Amsterdam,
Or any other city, for that matter.

But the roads between us are jammed
With each day we experience something new
And cannot tell each other about it.
I anticipate we will meet hundreds of other vagabonds like us
And share adventures with them…

Wondering would we feel this close
If we weren’t so far away
You remain
Scribbled in the margins of my travel books.

[1]In many countries, Kilometre Zero is a particular location from which distances are traditionally measured.Spain has its Kilometre Zero in the centre of Puertadel Sol in Madrid.

Cortege of prancing horses*

(inspired by Seamus Heaney’s Funeral Rites)

The day my grandparents told us
They wanted to refurbish the old house
I knew something was amiss

It flooded every crevice in my mind
The silence

All I could think about was
My grandmother's old bed linen
And how it always smelled of dust

All I could do
Was to stare at my shoes
All I could hear
Were my father's heavy tears
Falling on the well-worn floor

The silence consumed the air
Around my grandfather's armchair
And his slippers stood still

And when he died
I didn't say a word

All I could say
Later that day was
Yes I guess
This is for the best


So we gathered wreaths in the front yard
And welcomed friends

My grandmother picked black clothing
My father dressed in the only suit he had
The one he wore on his wedding day
And which he’ll most probably wear on mine

Then all of a sudden
A warm southern
Onerous wind blew
Into the lighted bedroom
And uncovered my grandfather’s white hands
The linen disclosed
His bony fingers
And threw me off quite unexpectedly

The people around me disappeared
And once again
I was alone with the thoughts of me as a child
With thoughts of my grandfather
As a pillar and a bulwark of our small family

I knew I was supposed to cry
But I couldn’t
The misty air
Warm and fair
Silenced my farewell
And we began our ride uphill



* Poem “Cortege of Prancing Horses” was awarded on the international poetry contest “Castello di Duino” in Trieste, Italy, 2008.




Waiting for Godot [2]



You’ve changed the linen because you want the room to smell of laundry detergent.
You’ve changed all the broken light bulbs and the batteries in the TV remote.
You’ve even washed the refrigerator leaving only his favorite food inside.
You’ve thrown away the food that went sour since the last time you did that.
You’ve put on a CD with his favorite music and made a little mess on the kitchen table
So it wouldn’t look like you’ve been preparing too much.
You start at every sound, you wince and you adjust your freshly washed hair.
You sit back, realizing it was just neighbors returning home.
You wonder how long have you been waiting but you don’t want to look at your watch
Afraid it might say that it has been more than only a couple of minutes.
You don’t want to look through the window
Afraid you might find nothing but an empty street
But you find an excuse to do it nevertheless.
Like an addict, you keep saying
One more minute, just one more and then I’ll stop waiting
But still you can’t seem to detach yourself from the armchair.
Suddenly the anxiousness turns into anger and you think
Didn’t I have a life before this?
The one that was only mine and nobody else’s
Before this fruitless apartment cleaning and hapless welcome dinners?
Weren’t I just fine before?
But you discard the thought
Refusing to tackle the issue of happy independence again.
The clock strikes three and it’s already too late.
You change into more comfortable shoes and light a cigarette.
It doesn’t matter now if the living room smells of matches and cigarette butts,
The smoke will clear till tomorrow.

[2]A play by Samuel Beckett

Mitko Gogov aka kihuPotru

youth worker that works with young people from everywhere, push for social inclusion and volunteering. ..as youth trainer provides different creativity workshops as: forum theater, multimedia, stick art, street art, graffiti, use of organic and recycled materials in contemporary art, handmade ..and social aspects as PEER & non-formal education, EVS, youth participation etc..

Conceptual/ multimedia artist with few expos, performances and art installations behind, showed in France, Norway, Italy, Serbia, Bulgaria, Macedonia.. published poet and short stories writer, translated on English, Serbian, Croatian, Italian, Indian [telugu] and Bulgarian.

Active graffiti painter and word as a [dj] with the name Dzamski, specializing in psychedelic trance, dark forest, experimental and ambient sounds.

Blogger, open for communication. #culture #art #media

Prelude. Rebirth

In the traces of the shadows
the tranquility of their silent voices
is vibrating.
Like lost leaves
we are pushing ourselves toward the sky,
…actors that are playing with the wind.

Prelude of the fear
to be still alive.

Decay, earth, ash,
bottles at the end of the coast,
without stopper,
without message

we transforming into particles
somewhere into the Ocean.



Anatomy of warmth

. .
because the codes are scrambled,
because the real thought is replaced by
some seemingly important.
Because we are generated Patriots
of the unwritten history.

That's why we are crumbed dust
forgotten dying star
- Mayan desire to be reborn

Somewhere in the holes of the arteries
we act warm-up
- Such as bricks and glass wool
in electric furnace.

Anatomy of warmth.

I identify myself in every single pore
of the trees,
and look for the center of my home
in the burst dry fields
Then from the lumps I create the planetary system
the universe of hidden groundwater
- My Cosmos.



Dragon and Light


Old dragons are passing away,
new stars are born.

The souls are levitating
between sounds of timelessness.
In our bodies, a universe is hiding,
ready to give a life to the light.

Moments of silent spilling of tranquilly,
the sources are being filled with new dreams,
in the mind, new horizons are germinating.

Crystal dust of the wings
is playing with the humanity.



Dijana Klarić (25) finished Marketing on the Faculty of Economics in Zagreb. She is in photography for approximately 4 years. She won second prize on the Contest for Amateur Photography “Island motifs” with her photo “A slow afternoon on an island”. She exhibited within a common photo exhibition in Trieste during the International Poetry Festival “Castello di Duino”. On the Festival of pop literature Kliker! in Zagreb, May 2008, she presented her project “Poetical postcards” into which she integrated her photographs and the poetry of her sister, Maja Klarić. She published her photography from St. Marco Square in Venice “Fighting for the crumbs of bread” in a travelogue magazine of Croatia Airlines. In the year 2009 her photo collage “Sublime” was published in a prestige photo magazine in London, “Shots Directory Photography”. The same year she had her first independent photo exhibition “Green Odyssey”. Second exhibition “No Direction Home” followed in 2010 as a part of the project of two Klarić sisters “The art of travel”. In May 2011 she opened her third exhibition “450 000 steps to the end of the world” in Zagreb and Šibenik where she presented her pilgrimage “Camino de Santiago” through Spain.

Camino de Santiago

El tiempo pasa_Camino de Santiago

Natural Blues

АСТЕРФЕСТ - Струмица, отвореност, креација

Програмата за реализација на седмото издание на интернационалниот филмски фестивал „Астерфест“ во Струмица се подготвени за почеток.   Селекторката Астрид Бусинк од Амстердам ги одбираше документарните филмови според темата „Блиско, а далечно“. За одбраната селекција самата нагласи: „Од Шпанката која ги брои луѓето што поминуваат до љубовното писмо читано од туѓинци или средбата со Хитлер, годинашниот избор на документарни филмови е разнобојна мешавина која патува низ време, места и емоции. Без разлика дали ја гледаме емиграцијата на семејството Туарези, старите нацистички снимки, шивачките или обезбедувањето на врата на ноќен клуб, колку и да е тоа далеку или одамна, во овие филмови се е лично“.

Омар Абу ел Руб од Белград, селектор на кратките играни филмови одбрани под темата „Љубов и отуѓување“, за својата селекција нагласи дека од „Станка која си оди дома“ преку „Комшијата“ до „Патувањето без враќање“, авторите од Далечниот Исток до северот на Запад, ни прикажуваат колку е кревка човечката љубов и колку брзо се отуѓуваме. Промислувањето за поголема хуманост, е и во самите наслови. Желбата да го направиме тој „Еден чекор“ кон блискоста, да излеземе од „Кафезот“ на предрасудите и да престанеме да се „Чувствуваме дека не ни е до танц“ – е смислата на овие кратки филмови. Тоа и не’ потсетува дека сите ние, од „Љубов“ сме постанале, со „Жар“.

За наградите Златна, Сребрена и Бронзена потковица, изработени од Ричард Климеш, ќе се натпреваруваат филмовите: „Без љубов“ на Биргит Стермос (Данска), „Геринговото жезло“ на Пиа Андел (Финска), „Драга Ана-Марика“ на Ана-Марика Графманс (Холандија), „Пандора“ на Виргил Верниер (Франција), „Пат на Туарег, во еден правец“ на Фабио Скарамачи (Италија), „Патот на Марија“ на Ане Милне (Шпанија), „Трикленд“ на Изабел Толенаре (Белгија), „Тусилаго-астроцвет“ на Јонас Одел (Шведска) и „Шивачките“ на Билјана Гарванлиева (Македонија/Германија).

За наградата за најдобар краток игран филм во компетиција ќе бидат „Еден чекор“ на Фариз Ахмедов и Наргиз Багирзаде (Азербејџан), „Жарче“ на Томи Алексов (Македонија), „Збогум, комшија“ на Роберт-Јан Вос (Холандија), „Кафезот“ на Адријан Ситару (Романија), „Не ми се танцува“ на Јоаким Долхорф и Еви Голдбринер (Германија), „Патување без враќање“ на Гуцлу Јаман (Турција), „Станка си оди дома“ на Маја Виткова (Бугарија) и „Страст“ на Гунхилд Енгер и Мариус Екведт (Норвешка).

Во натпреварувачката категорија за наградата за најдобар анимиран филм се филмовите: „Венди-момата“ на Еми Александер (Австралија), „Излегуваш“ на Макс Либих (Австрија), „Иглмановиот елен“ на Мики Плиз (Велика Британија), „Парада“ на Пјер-Емануел Лиет (Франција), „Татковина“ на Хуан де Диос Марфил (Чешка) и „Хансел и Гретел“ на Гоце Цветановски (Македонија).

Членови на меѓународното стручно жири ќе бидат д-р Сашко Насев (македонски сценарист и драмски писател), Соња Хенричи (предавач и продуцент во Шкотскиот документарен институт) и Кимон Цакирис (автор и режисер од Грција).

Свеченото отворање на седмиот „Астерфест“ ќе се одржи на 27 мај во големата сала во НУЦК „Антон Панов“ при што ќе има свечени обраќања на покровителите и доделување на наградите на тројцата лауреати Лаила Пакалнина од Латвија, Тимоти Бајфорд од Англија и нашиот Салаетин Билал. Веднаш потоа ќе следува македонската и фестивалска премиера на краткиот игран филм „Жарче“ на Томислав Алексов, како и проекцијата на австрискиот анимиран филм „Излегуваш“ на Макс Либих и на финскиот документарец „Геринговото жезло“. Истата вечер ќе се одржи и филмски маратон на седум ексклузивни кратки филмови кои ќе се прикажуваат до полноќ.

Годинашното фестивалско мото „Струмица, отвореност, креација“ ќе се реализира во НУЦК „Антон Панов“ и во новата летна амфитеатрална сцена во Градскиот парк, каде ќе се одржуваат проекции од 20,30 часот. Во дворот на Манастирот на „Пресвета Богородица“ во Вељуса на 28 мај ќе се одвиваат „Тивериополските беседи“ во чест на тројцата годинашни специјални гости. Секојдневно ќе се одржуваат средби со авторите, а на 29 мај е планиран и Мастер клас со Лаила Пакалнина.

На „Астерфест“ годинава вкупно ќе се прикажат 50 филмови од дваесетина држави, меѓу кои повеќето се претставници на европските кинематографии, а има филмови и од САД и Австралија. Ќе бидат претставени и блокот „Мувиленд“ со неколку современи хрватски кратки филмови, ќе се промовира Шкотскиот краток блок од Единбург, како и блокот на наградени филмови од Швајцарскиот фестивал за едноминутни филмови. Фестивалот ќе се одржи од 27 до 31 мај.

Митко Гогов

:bio, 7 questions & message:::Slobodan Nikolić [poet, novels & short stories writter, photographer..]

A bio about Slobodan Nikolić:

Slobodan Nikolić, born in Pančevo, Vojvodina, Serbia in 1980. as a Gemini. Used to live in Belgrade, near Pančevo, but now is finally back home, nobody knows for how long. Graduated from Navy Academy in Belgrade, but received (mostly) honorable discharge from the Serbian Navy. Interested in Psychology, finishes Dream Interpretation and Analysis Course and is soon to became licensed Dream interpreter. Falls in love easily with cities and women. In cities mostly because of women. Used to be in love with Trieste, Zagreb, Subotica. Currently is emotional immigrant in Budapest, Hungary. Writes poetry, short stories and novels. His work was translated in Italian, English and Hungarian. His first novel is to be published this yeas in Croatia.

THE NIGHT, THE WAKE

In clocks’ throats
I am residual bit
Stuck between
The hands

I am waterfall on guard
To prevent the spark of daybreak
From igniting the pyre
Underneath our bodies

With wax from my lips
I put a seal on your eyelids
To protect the treasury
Beneath them

On the bridge of my arm
Your dreams walk freely
Between the banks
Of dusk and dawn

Pančevo, 2011

What would u say encouraged u to start writin' poetry?

I'd say it was the need to express myself. Ivo Andrić says: Personally, I always wanted only two things: to be able to describe everything I see and to be able to express everything I feel. That's the need I mentioned. Reading always encourages me to make a "dialogue" with poets I read and to continue to explore the possibilities of words, simply to try to make a step further. Also I get motivation when I see people's reactions when they read my poem, the way it reaches them and sometimes transforms them and makes them understand themselves better.

rosso-nero by: Slobodan Nikolić

READING NERUDA

You are reading Neruda
At 6 o’clock in the morning
After sleepless night
In somebody else’s apartment
In which you already feel at home
In the city you have been calling your own
For a long time
Though you know it is not
Neruda, which you don’t even like to read
(And you refuse to admit
That today, you even
Like some of his poems)
And you know you could write
The most beautiful verses this morning
The greatest love poems of all
And the saddest ones, too
Only to defy Neruda
But you are wondering if it’s worth doing
Without knowing
If you’ll ever get the chance to read them
To Her

Zagreb, 2011.

What inspires ur writing ?

What inspires me the most is people: interacting with people, feeling people, understanding people, getting to know people. I find poetry very personal, very intimate, although nowadays it doesn't necessarily have to be. Love inspires me, pain inspires me, beauty inspires me. Every moment needs to be described. Every description is just an attempt of verbal presentation, but that is what I do - attempting. My greatest wish is to find the unity between the world in us and the world outside, because it is one and the same.

tell us about ur last award UNESCO and some other of them important for u?

I was awarded UNESCO award on Castello di Duino poetry competition in 2011. This is the competition for young poets(under 30) and is considered one of the most important literary competitions in Italy and in the World. Around 1200 poems from more than 80 countries. The award is important only for one reason: it helps you to reach people, it makes people pay attention to what you have to say. After the prize giving ceremony I wrote a short poem which explains my attitude toward awards:

ABOUT UNESCO AWARD


I listened carefully to the explanation
About the award I had received
I didn’t understand a word
Because it was in Italian
But it left me assured that I am protected
By the UNESCO plate
As the cultural monument
And that no one is even allowed to touch me
But it also left me worried
Because the only real danger that threatens me
Is of collapsing
From the inside


Zagreb, 2011 

Fly until it's too late by: Slobodan Nikolić

What are one or two characteristics of ur poetry that you would want people to grasp?

I put emotions vs frustrations! In most of modern poetry you can find only frustration, dissatisfaction and lack of emotions and warmth.
If showing emotions means to be pathetic, as they often say, I gladly choose pathos over intellectual coldness and negativity. People understand emotional messages better than intellectual ones. If you deny poets the right to be emotional, you throw away several centuries of poetry. I want people to grasp on that, on emotions. And I want them to use my words to go deeper into their own souls.

some events and festival that are part of ur close future agenda:

As I am getting older, beside the pain in my back, I compete less and I am being given the opportunity to evaluate more. I have been the president of the jury in Art Attack engaged poetry festival in Croatia. The topic of the competition was: Children. We received more than 100 hundred poems from all over the world and we have chosen 15 of them to be published. I am personally very satisfied with the choice of the poems and i am very proud of that selection. I had help from two wonderful poetesses and friends - Ana Zupčić and Maja Klarić. We are all looking forward to the festival in October, because many of organizations got interested in becoming part of the festival. UNICEF is one of them.

THE FOURTH DAY


It’s the third day already
That the Sun doesn’t come out.

It’s the third day already
That the whole tribe is standing
Focused on the scar
Dividing Heaven from the Earth.

Yesterday I heard gunshots from the forest! –
Somebody said –
The Sun was shot down!

A girl cried:
I saw it as well, I saw...

The sky went red! –
Mother said.

And everything grew silent anew.

And on the fourth morning
There came out from the forest
Unknown armed men
Bearing coins of gold.

Each apiece! -
They said.

We placed them on our tongues
As wafers of the Sun
And swallowed them with satisfaction
Before they slew us
With black blades.


2010 ~ Maja Klarić, translation

Ciganče.GypsyBoy

interest and hobby photography? few words about it:

Ah, so many people make good photos nowadays, the competition is really extraordinary. I don't consider myself a photographer really, although my works have been exhibited in Italy and Croatia. I carry my big camera with me and I try to capture the moments with a bit of technical knowledge. My favorite motif is portrait, but captured in natural and non-posing way.

Words of wisdom to someone just beginning:

Read as much as you can, but you don't have to read everything. And you don't have to like everything. Choose books wisely and always have in mind that the right ones for you will find their way to you. And write! Try to let go of the influences and follow your inner need to write. Don't try to follow tendencies and styles that are modern, think for yourself and be honest with what you do.

inspiring message for onestoppoetry readers :)

They say that the word is mightier than the sword. A Serbian poet says that he has been killed by the word too strong. My only fear is to be killed by the word too weak .


:by_@kihuPotru

Julijana Velickovska-Dimoska

Butterfly

I drew a butterfly

on my right thigh

using blue ink

a bit darker

than the sky.

[in my daddy's shoes]

I had a dream

                                                  I wanted
                                                  Meter and seventy
                                                  Black heels
                                                  And a Bug
                                                  Blue
                                                  Metallic
                                                  Cabrio
                                                  White legs
                                                  Long hair
                                                  And big tits
                                                  like Monica Belluci
                                                  blue dress with white dots….
                                                  In front of the steering wheel
                                                  A white rose
                                                  And red light
                                                  On the traffic-lights…

                                                  I have no Bug
                                                  no white rose
                                                  nor a dress
                                                  not even blue…
                                                  just some white dots
                                                  into my eyes…

[fairy]

Open book

                                                 You’re an open book,
                                                 He said,
                                                 You’re a cactus shaped in a heart,
                                                 You’re a cat
                                                 Alone and wet from the October rains…
                                                 You’re a book,
                                                 He said,
                                                 Beautiful, special book,
                                                 Which I read only when it rains,
                                                 while listening to jazz …
                                                 You’re a book,
                                                 That I love to read,
                                                 That I choose to read
                                                 For holydays
                                                 For special occasions,
                                                 You’re a book
                                                 standing on my FB Books - Tab
                                                 You’re an illustrated book
                                                 Illustrated book of poetry,
                                                 You’re a wet book,
                                                 Dowsed by the October rains
                                                 And frosted
                                                 at dawn…
                                                 You’re a crumpled, lone, sad special book
                                                 Standing by yourself on the bookshelf
                                                 I bought it just for you,
                                                 He said,
                                                 I bought the shelf in London.
                                                 You’re a book
                                                 For special occasions
                                                 I read you when I like to treat myself
                                                 But you won’t leave me alone…
                                                 You have that scent…
                                                 That smell of rotting flower
                                                 Wet paper…
                                                 You call me,
                                                 You want me to read you on a regular day?!
                                                 I took you from the shelf
                                                 And you were soaked
                                                 But there was no rain today?!
                                                 My dear, salty lonesome book
                                                 I’ll open you
                                                 tomorrow…
                                                 I’ll read you
                                                 the day after tomorrow…
                                                 I’ll read you
                                                 in two
                                                 or three days…
                                                 And then, my book…
                                                 I’ll just return you
                                                 at the library…

* When u start with poetry?
- what were the first things that inspire you to write? -what started your journey in the arts and poetry ?

I started writing when I was about 11, 12 years old. It’s the age when you start thinking about who you are, what is the meaning of life and things like that and some thoughts and feelings were born and were wondering in my head till I wrote them down.
I get inspired by many things, the world and people around me, my inner world, my emotions and thoughts of life.
The biggest influence that I had back then, was the rock music.
My love towards drawing dough, was born at early age, since I could hold a pencil by myself!


*Do you think that the poetry is strong weapon in the hands of person who know how to use it to bring his message between the people?

Well I do think that poetry can be a very useful and powerful media so one can bring his message between the people, but I don’t like the expression weapon, because weapon is destructive and I’m a constructive person, so I like to think that my poetry can touch other people and it can lead to other creative ideas and actions, to build a better world.

*You are published poet, who have his first book. how's the feeling/ does it helps in the future promoting of your poetry?
- on which languages till now ur poetry is translated on?

The fact that I am a published poet helps a lot. When you are published people approach you more seriously and read your work more carefully, they don’t take you for granted. And that is sad I think, because there are a lot of good writers out there that didn’t had the opportunity to be published and the world doesn’t even know about their work and the big loss in the world of culture because of that. It is hard to do art and be appreciated, it is now and it always was.
But when you are a published writer it is like you’ve crossed an initiation rite and as a reward you get the feedback from your readers and share your poems and thoughts and feelings with them, and that is just wonderful, pure love.
My poetry so far has been translated in to English, Chinese, Dutch and Serbian and soon it will be published in a literary magazine in Spanish.



...besides writing poetry, u draw illustrations that actually took part of your book and were the graphic solution/ design for. .. which came first - the art or the poetry?

Well in my life first came the drawing and then years after the writing. The drawings I used as illustrations in my poetry book “Mosquitoes” occurred in parallel in the same period of time and they are not directly connected to the poems, but they do have the same messages and ideas as the poems in my book so I decided to wrap them up together and complete the story.


@kihuPotru