The Warning

That the following should come with a warning is the result of the war we've had. Now we have to warn our countrymen we merely like - all good men and all good poetry.

(Actually, there's this portal I'm a member of and this guy jocularly noted his ambition is to emigrate to the Caribbean, smoke cigars, drink rum and - write bad poetry. Here's to that!)

Anyways, if there was an error I can identify anywhere, it's that the Communists failed to arrest Milošević. Early on. From there it's all downhill.

But who cares? The following is my favourite Serbian poem. (In a whisper: it's about me.)


Desanka Maksimović: A Warning

Listen, I'll let you in on my secret:
never leave me alone
when somebody plays.

I might start seeing
any eyes
as deep and soft
when they are very common.

I can start thinking
I'm falling into music,
so I'll reach
for just anybody.

It might seem to me
loving briefly,
for a single day,
is beautiful and sweet.

Or I can just give away
at the moment this miraculous,
so dear a secret
of how much I love you.

Oh, never leave me alone
when somebody plays.
It will seem to me somewhere in forest
all my tears flow once again
as some sprouting fountains.

It will seem to me there's a dark butterfly
that writes with its wing on heavy water
what some fear to tell me at times.

It will seem to me somewhere in night
somebody is singing and is touching my wound
with his bitter, bloody heart.
Oh, never leave me alone,
never alone,
when somebody plays.




Existing translation I found - here.