Matriculation

The kisses on the quay
Are no longer our
Kisses
And the lips dried
By the wind
Have been healed a long time

When the spring comes
Longing is its traveling companion
And high heels pierce through
The asphalt
More mercilessly

I never went
To my prom
Because I never had one
As with each tedious occasion
I overslept it

In expectation
Of a genuine thrill
And the world which will
Change
On its own.



On High Cliffs

In the most incredible of places
I was seeking God
Were the final words
Of Dan Osman
A cliff-climber
Before the invisible
Glue
Was completely washed off
His palms.



Stereo Memories Club

Today at the market place
I bought a book
Of stereo lyrics
An old greasy shabby
Anthology of rock poetry

For years I had been seeing it
On the shelves of people
Whose book collections
Generally
Didn't contain
More than ten volumes

Yesterday in a bar
Over a beer
After many years
I was sitting
With an old friend
A writer

We were talking about writing
And times past
In which not everything was
So gloomy

Or it was that
With every
Successive round of drinks
The reality
Looked different

Today on the balcony
Comfortably seated
I'm leafing through the low-price
Book
Singing the lyrics
Unaccompanied by music

Piled up memories
Are like books
Some irreparably good
Some irreparably bad

Sometimes
They are better
Left alone.



Memories Exist For Those Particular Reasons

You see
Now high-school kids
Are shooting porn clips
With their mobile phones
Of the latest generation

In toilets
Classrooms
Country houses
Passageways

When we were their age
Things were simpler for us
We had no
Money
Unless we surreptitiously
Took out a thing from the house
And sold it on the street

But all night long
We would be
Lying on the floor
In semi-darkness
Close to each other
And smoking
Staring at the ceiling



Neon Insomnia

All that was necessary
Was but a moment
Between two blinks
Of a neon ad
Beneath our window
So you could pronounce
What both of us
Had known for long:

This land
Will never again
Be ours.

All it had ever
Given us
Were two
Damn possibilities

To shoot ourselves
In the head
With water pistols

Or
To go ASAP

And leave it
While it's still dreaming
Of a better future
Which will surely come.

Those were the words
I'd been expecting to hear from you
All those years
And
I held you tight
Because I didn't know
What else to do

At night
While blood was gushing out in the ring
On TV

In Italy
Bogdan Mitic
(But not our son
Bogdan Mitic)
With a shameful decision
Lost
A match that was already won.



Pale, But Not Dead

Through the glass
I'm watching
The rain falling.
Only 40 more days to spend here:
It's good—
I've survived the war.

The phone isn't working
The radiator is heating perfectly
While I'm playing
With my duty gun
Watching the flies
Dying of age.

They didn't make it.



Wine in a Carton

One more time
I'm having a sip from the bottle
Six Euros a piece
Too much
But it's not a blasphemy
Like wine in a carton

I'm waiting for my wife to return
From work
While on TV
A politician
Is reading his poems
They say that
Poetry
Is what nobody understands

On another TV channel
A monk is explaining how
Women will have an issue with God
If they wear pants

In a movie
A girl
Is offering cigarettes
To a guy with a crew-cut
I don't smoke, he says,
I have asthma
And she
Blows some smoke into his face
Probably because of some unsettled accounts

I'm thinking about
Paul Schrader
A hero
Of contradicting genres

Similar to
Soft porn
Too much sweat
Without
An obvious reason.

If we really
Like
This city
Let us
Give it
The only thing we have

Those tiny tracks
We're leaving behind
When we finally
Set out.

Ekleksographia:
Wave Two

October, 2009

Poems

Zeljko Mitic translated by Zeljko Mitic, Jr.

Zeljko Mitic born in 1976 in Nis, Serbia.

Grew up on pop culture and underground literature.

Changed two primary schools, two high schools, two faculties, served in the army twice, celebrated two wedding anniversaries, had two sons.

After thirteen years of writing, received recognition for his work in the form of a book of poetry entitled Neon Insomnia, published by Matica srpska in 2007, in the "First Book" edition.