2003 Lydias artwork Tree of Life

 

Primo Levi

Vi sto zivite spokojni 
Vi u vasim toplim domovima

Vi sto vracajuci se navecer nalazite
Toplo jelo i lica draga:
Razmislite zar je to čovijek:
Koji radi u blatu
Koji ne zna za mir
Koji se bori za krisku hljeba
Koji umire za jedno Da ili Ne.
Razmislite zar je to žena:
Bez kose i bez imena
Bez imalo snage da sjeća se
Ispijenih očiju i hladne utrobe
Poput žabe zimi.

Imajte na umu da je to bilo:
Nalažem vam ove riječi.
Urežite ih u svoje srce;
Boraveći u kući, idući putem,
Liježući, ustajući:
Ponavljajte ih svojoj djeci.
U protivnom neka vam se sruši kuća,
Bolest neka vas zatekne,
Potomci neka okreću lica od vas.

Paul Celan German/English

OFFENE GLOTTIS, LUFTSTROM

der
Vokal, wirksam, mit dem einen Formanten,

Mitlautstöße, gefiltert
von weithin Ersichtlichem,
Reizschutz: Bewußtsein,

 unbesetzbar

ich und auch du,
überwahr-heitetdas augen-, das gedächtnisgierige rollende Waren-zeichen,

der Schläfenlappen intakt,
wie der Sehstamm.

OPEN GLOTTIS, airstream

the
vowel, effective,
with the one
formant,

consonant-thrusts, filtered
by clarity clearfrom afar,

protection shield: consciousness

 uncathectableI and you too,
overtruth-edthe eye-the memory-greedy rollingcommoditysign,

the temporal lobe intact,
like the visionstem.

Love by Ana Akhmatova

Love

A snake, it coils

Bewitching the heart.

Day after day, coos

A dove on the white sill.

A bright flash in frost,

Drowsy night-scented stock…

Yet, sure and secret,

It’s far from peace and joy.

It knows how to weep sweetly

In the violin’s yearning prayer;

And is fearfully divined

In a stranger's smile.

Ana Akhmatova

Great tale by Sir Rickman

Edith Piaf - La Vie En Rose

La Marseillaise, French National Anthem (Fr/En)

BEAUTIFUL EUROPE REFUGEES ARE HUMAN BEINGS. ....

We couldn't ,could we ,should we ......
But we must have accept the fact that refugees are HUMAN BEINGS made from flash and blood just like everybody  else.

How could we explain ignorance to pain of the people fleeing in agony 
searching for safety ?

Recent footage's of dead little boy and his mother, Hungarian bribed  wire and concrete blocks as "border defenders of EU " according to Hungarian official, river of unfortunate  people some of them in wheelchairs some of them on crutches, children, mothers ,elderlies marching on highway towards safety.  Visibly traumatized so unwelcoming people  passing by luxuries car on high speed and looks like just another day causal day no worries . Refugees crisis in EU is not  crisis of refugees it is crises of  Humanities. Day by day hungry unfortunate people are marching within no empathy from officials . 
 How come that all traumatic footage's happens in/from the heart of most civilized continent called Europe?

 MY SILLY QUESTIONS ARE FLOATING UNANSWERED, BUT MY HEART GOES WITH THEM.

Good morning sunshine wherever you are. .....

Pope Francis in Sarajevo

Pope Francis visited Sarajevo with messages of peace love and reconciliation

21st SARAJEVO FILM FESTIVAL Screenings of " The Genizah Of Our Dreams "

Film Festival Of Tolerance Zagreb Croatia 2015

The Genizah Of Our Dreams 

Thanks to all beautiful people and  greatest organizers  of The  Film Festival Of Tolerance Zagreb Croatia 2015 L.L.H.

Cinema Europe 

http://festivaloftolerance.com/

Empire of Dreams Charles Simic

Empire of Dreams

by Charles Simic

On the first page of my dreambook

It’s always evening

In an occupied country.

Hour before the curfew.

A small provincial city.

The houses all dark.

The storefronts gutted.

I am on a street corner

Where I shouldn’t be.

Alone and coatless

I have gone out to look

For a black dog who answers to my whistle.

I have a kind of Halloween mask

Which I am afraid to put on.

Immigration  exile ......

To B. Breht from P.Celan

EIN BLATT, baumlos,
für Bertolt Brecht:
Was sind das für Zeiten,

wo ein Gespräch
beinah ein Verbrechen ist,
weil es soviel Gesagtes
mit einschließt?

Paul Celan

A leaf  treeless,
for Bertold Brecht:

What times are these
when a conversations is nearly a crime,
because it includes so much being spoken.


Vjecnost
Kora stabla noci ,nozevi rodeni iz hrdze
spasava ti imena ,vrijeme i srca 
Rijec koja spasavase kad smo je culi
zavlaci se pod lisce
rijecita bit ce jesen
rijecitija ruka sto je pokupi
svijeza kao mak zaborava usta koja se ljube.

Poetry translations by Lydia Lida Hrgic Vjetar u ludackoj košulji /Wind in straight jacket

1.

Umorio sam se od sebe kao žrtve.

Skladište praznih flašica of parfema preraslo je

gomilu promašaja koje sam napravio,

a gigantska olovka sa srcem od kreča

nadrasla je moju običnu potrebu da bilježim

malog sebe.

Umorio sam se od samokažnjavanja, od izvinjavanja

zbog pigmenta kože koji može podnijeti samo mjesečinu,

od mene koji ličim na psa koji ponekad zaurla poput vuka

u kartoteci Biroa za Izbjeglice.

Korice zabranjenih knjiga uselile su se u mene

u formi ostataka hrane

na papirnim tanjirima demonstranata u parku.

Pretvorio sam se u kič,

u slatku nakazu koja više ne sakriva svoj vjenčani prsten

od bodljikave žice.

Postalo me je stid što sam sebi dozvolio

da po mome krvnom pritisku bankarski službenici

naštimavaju brojeve za proizvodnju sirotinje,

što se moja tuga može staviti na vagu i upakovati

u one iste šarene kutijice

koje su ostale neotvorene ispod prošlogodišnje

novogodišnje jelke.

Sam sam kriv što sam u stablo javora urezao ime domovine

koja se potom počela sušiti

i sad skupljam lišćne da bih napunio makar jednu jastučnicu

za moje pretke koji me ne prestaju mititi ampulama svoje krvi.

Leđa su mi se pretvorila u grudi,

niski podrumski plafoni napravili su me grbavim.

Kupujem cipele na odjeljenjima za djecu,

zaboravljam kako to izgleda isprsiti se pred metcima

i kakva je razlika između vojnika i heroja.

Umorio sam se od poruka koje šaljem sam sebi

iz zemalja za koje nikada nisam ni upamtio ime,

iz gradova koji mi naplaćuju porez na velike oči,

sa plaža na kojima iste stare kronjače sa podsmjehom pregaze

novog starca zatrpanog u pjesku.

Nema na tim porukama adrese pošiljaoca,

nema ni imena.

Tek u daljini zvuk kamiona za smeće

koji melje flašice od parfema tako da podsjeća na himnu

tamo, par ulica dalje,

gdje počinje moja tuga.

Thankful to Canadian Council for the Arts for awarding my translations from English to Bosnian Serbian Croatian

With great pleasure I posted photo of the book . As the author  I am thankful to Canadian Council for the Arts for awarding my  poetry translations with grant  and giving me opportunity to travel to my hometown Sarajevo for promotions.I am deeply moved and inspired by generosity and convinced that art and culture have no borders.
Lydia Lida Hrgic-Simic, PhD

Sa velikim zadovoljstvom objavljujem fotografiju knjge .Kao autorica posebno sam zahvalna Kanadskom ministarstvu za kulturu i umjetnost koji su mi dodijelili nagradu i omogucili mi potovanje u moj rodni grad Sarajevo  gdje cu promovisati zbirku pjesama . Jako sam dirnuta i inspirisana ovom plemenitom gestom i ubijedena da umjetnost i kultura ne poznaju granice .
Lidija Lida Hrgic -Simic

On December 2012 Canada Council for the Arts awarded my translations with grant  for  two poetry books .

As war victim ,refuge and immigrant my only source of solace and survival was my love for life and later skills which I learned; languages of countries that hosted me for shorter or longer-term. Finally I came up with my closure expressing my thoughts and feelings in different languages and considering myself citizen of planet Earth.

I am thankful to CCA .

Award come within responsibilities my would be to write and translates meaningfully in many years to come .

Author of the best poetry book in Canada for 2012 /Sunrise in the Eyes of the Snowman

Alan Rickman read poetry

Out Off Remote

We sheltered our souls out of remote
where empty vine glasses smells like grape
All broken objects
sorrows and depths
driven from the past in lost suitcase
made me a coil in love with a flame.
Growing in distances by guarding solitude alone
He dare to ask the question:
Will you loneliness shine different if my solitude light your way ?
Lydia Lida Simic

Jedan korak

Ako te proslost nadvlada
Pricaj o svojim porazima
uzdignute glave i otvorenih ociju
Ako te navika nadvlada
Zaboravit ces da voljeti ne znaci oslanjati se
A drustvo ne znaci sigurnost
Shvatit ces tek onda da poljupci nisu ugovori
A  sva obecanja se vrlo vjesto pretvore u robu
spremnu za novog kupca na marketu
Svi putevi se grade danas jer sutrasnje
suvise je nesigurno za planiranje
Dovoljan je jedan korak 
i nada da si tu
da shvatis
da si snazan
I da uistinu vrijedis  

Lydia Lida Simic

From My Pillow

Silently looking for the exit sign
In these unreadable desert that inhabit my left
and his right boot
abandoned somewhere on the way to the creek
I found

There is nothing on the left
There is nothing on the right.

I suddenly turn in to the shape of shoelace.

Stretched from my pillow to his bare foot
I was trying to learn the language in which
dark rainy cloud whisper to the grain of a sand .
What have been said before some lousy cactus
become desert rose
And how long it takes to learn more about that
punctuation already tattooed in my skin
by invisible ink.

I did not learn much decoding signs on the crossroads
that like my palms was useful more to the fake prophets,
than to me
not far from my own grief,
too close to my solitude

What I wanted was to be just one shoelace
that will make two empty boots
walking towards the end of the desert
where my pillow looks like
two desert roses
chirping about simple love
in the language I still try to learn.
Lydia Lida Simic
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx