Član
- Učlanjen(a)
- 09.08.2009
- Poruka
- 362
JOVAN DUCIC
Jovan Dučić (Serbian Cyrillic: Јован Дучић) (1871-1943) was a famous Serbian poet, writer and diplomat. The exact date of Dučić's date of birth is still undetermined; it is variously said to have been on February 17 (or February 5 according to the Julian calendar) of 1871, 1872, or 1874, with the latter date most often given. He died on April 7, 1943.
He was born in Trebinje in Bosnia-Herzegovina, where he attended primary school. He moved on to a high school in Mostar and trained to become a teacher in Sombor. He worked as a teacher in several towns before returning to Mostar, where he founded (with Aleksa Šantić) a literary magazine Zora ("Dawn").
Dučić's openly expressed Serbian patriotism caused difficulties with the authorities - at that time Bosnia-Herzegovina was de facto incorporated into the Austro-Hungarian Empire - and he moved abroad to pursue higher studies, mostly in Geneva and Paris. He was awarded a law degree by the University of Geneva and, following his return from abroad, entered the Serbian diplomatic service in 1907. Although he had previously expressed opposition to the idea of creating Yugoslavia, he became the new country's first ambassador to Romania (in 1937). He had a distinguished diplomatic career in this capacity, serving in Istanbul, Sofia, Rome, Athens, Cairo, Madrid and Lisbon. Dučić spoke several foreign languages and he is remembered as a distinguished diplomat. His Acta Diplomatica (Diplomatic Letters) was published posthumously in the United States (in 1952) and in former Yugoslavia (in 1991).
He was born in Trebinje in Bosnia-Herzegovina, where he attended primary school. He moved on to a high school in Mostar and trained to become a teacher in Sombor. He worked as a teacher in several towns before returning to Mostar, where he founded (with Aleksa Šantić) a literary magazine Zora ("Dawn").
Dučić's openly expressed Serbian patriotism caused difficulties with the authorities - at that time Bosnia-Herzegovina was de facto incorporated into the Austro-Hungarian Empire - and he moved abroad to pursue higher studies, mostly in Geneva and Paris. He was awarded a law degree by the University of Geneva and, following his return from abroad, entered the Serbian diplomatic service in 1907. Although he had previously expressed opposition to the idea of creating Yugoslavia, he became the new country's first ambassador to Romania (in 1937). He had a distinguished diplomatic career in this capacity, serving in Istanbul, Sofia, Rome, Athens, Cairo, Madrid and Lisbon. Dučić spoke several foreign languages and he is remembered as a distinguished diplomat. His Acta Diplomatica (Diplomatic Letters) was published posthumously in the United States (in 1952) and in former Yugoslavia (in 1991).
Jovan Dučić
It was, however, as a poet that Dučić gained his greatest distinctions. He published his first book of poetry in Mostar in 1901 and his second in Belgrade, 1912. He wrote prose as well: several essays and studies about writers, Blago cara Radovana (Tsar Radovan's treasure) and poetry letters from Switzerland, Greece, Spain and other countries.
Like Šantić, Dučić's work was initially heavily influenced by that of Vojislav Ilić, the leading Serbian poet of the late 19th century. His travels abroad helped him to develop his own individual style, in which the Symbolist movement was perhaps the greatest single influence. In his poetry he explored quite new territory that was previously unknown in Serbian poetry. He restricted himself to only two verse styles, the symmetrical dodecasyllable (the Alexandrine) and hendecasyllable - both French in origin - in order to focus on the symbolic meaning of his work. He expressed a double fear, of vulgarity of thought, and vulgarity of expression. He saw the poet as an "office worker and educated craftsman in the hard work of rhyme and rhythm".
Dučić went into exile in the United States in 1941 following the German invasion and occupation of Yugoslavia, where he joined his relative Mihajlo (Michael) in Gary, Indiana. From then until his death two years later, he led the Serbian National Defense Council of America, an Illinois-based organization (founded by Mihailo Pupin in 1914) which represented the Serbian diaspora in the US. During these two years, he wrote many poems, historical books and newspaper articles espousing Serbian nationalist causes and protesting the mass murder of Serbs by the pro-Nazi Ustaše regime of Croatia. During this time he attracted some criticism from other Yugoslav exiles for his espousal of Greater Serbian ideas, a position which also attracted the attention of the US Government's Office of Strategic Services (the forerunner of the CIA).
He died on April 7, 1943 and was buried in the Serbian Orthodox monastery of Saint Sava in Libertyville, Illinois. He expressed a wish in his will to be buried in his home town of Trebinje, a goal which was finally realized when he was reburied there on October 22, 2000 in the newly built Gračanica church.
It was, however, as a poet that Dučić gained his greatest distinctions. He published his first book of poetry in Mostar in 1901 and his second in Belgrade, 1912. He wrote prose as well: several essays and studies about writers, Blago cara Radovana (Tsar Radovan's treasure) and poetry letters from Switzerland, Greece, Spain and other countries.
Like Šantić, Dučić's work was initially heavily influenced by that of Vojislav Ilić, the leading Serbian poet of the late 19th century. His travels abroad helped him to develop his own individual style, in which the Symbolist movement was perhaps the greatest single influence. In his poetry he explored quite new territory that was previously unknown in Serbian poetry. He restricted himself to only two verse styles, the symmetrical dodecasyllable (the Alexandrine) and hendecasyllable - both French in origin - in order to focus on the symbolic meaning of his work. He expressed a double fear, of vulgarity of thought, and vulgarity of expression. He saw the poet as an "office worker and educated craftsman in the hard work of rhyme and rhythm".
Dučić went into exile in the United States in 1941 following the German invasion and occupation of Yugoslavia, where he joined his relative Mihajlo (Michael) in Gary, Indiana. From then until his death two years later, he led the Serbian National Defense Council of America, an Illinois-based organization (founded by Mihailo Pupin in 1914) which represented the Serbian diaspora in the US. During these two years, he wrote many poems, historical books and newspaper articles espousing Serbian nationalist causes and protesting the mass murder of Serbs by the pro-Nazi Ustaše regime of Croatia. During this time he attracted some criticism from other Yugoslav exiles for his espousal of Greater Serbian ideas, a position which also attracted the attention of the US Government's Office of Strategic Services (the forerunner of the CIA).
He died on April 7, 1943 and was buried in the Serbian Orthodox monastery of Saint Sava in Libertyville, Illinois. He expressed a wish in his will to be buried in his home town of Trebinje, a goal which was finally realized when he was reburied there on October 22, 2000 in the newly built Gračanica church.
Ljubavna pesma
Ti si moj trenutak i moj san
i sjajna moja rec u sumu
i samo si lepota koliko si tajna
i samo istina koliko si zudnja.
Ostaj nedostizna, nema i daleka
jer je san o sreci vise nego sreca.
Budi bespovratna, kao mladost.
Neka tvoja sen i eho budu sve sto seca.
Srce ima povest u suzi sto leva,
u velikom bolu ljubav svoju metu.
Istina je samo sto dusa prosneva.
Poljubac je susret najlepsi na svetu.
Od mog prividjenja ti si cela tkana,
tvoj plast suncani od mog sna ispreden.
Ti bese misao moja ocarana,
simbol svih tastina, porazan i leden.
A ti ne postojis, nit' si postojala.
Rodjena u mojoj tisini i cami,
na Suncu mog srca ti si samo sjala
jer sve sto ljubimo - stvorili smo sami.
Love poem
You are my moment and my dream,
My glorious word within the sounds,
You are as beautiful as you are the secret,
You are the truth as much as the lust.
Stay unreachable, silent and far,
As for dream of happiness is more than happiness itself.
Be one time flame, as youth.
Let your shadow and echo be all to be remembered by.
Heart is writing its history on a falling tear,
On an immense pain that love marks its target.
The truth is only dreaming of the soul.
Kiss is the most beautiful meeting in the world.
You are the image of my apparition,
Your sunny décor knitted through my dream.
You were the fascination of my thought,
Symbol of all conceits, defeated and icy-cold.
But you don’t exist, neither you ever did.
Born within my silence and despair,
From the Sun of my heart you were shining
Because everything we worship – we have created ourselves.
Морска врба
Сама врба стоји над морем, врх света,
Расплела је косу зелену и дугу,
Наличи на нимфу која је проклета,
Да постане дрво и да шуми тугу.
Слуша песму гора када јутро руди,
Агонију воде у вечери неме,
Непомично стоји тамо где све блуди:
Облаци и ветри, таласи и време.
И ту шуми с њима, дајући, полако,
Мору коју грану, ветру листак који:
И, ко срце, себе кидајући тако,
Тужно шуми живот. - Сама врба стоји.
The willow by the sea
The willow stands alone, aloft, above the sea,
High on the cliff, and far its long green tresses flow;
Like some poor nymph, by curst enchantment to a tree
Transformed-and she can only murmur of her woe.
The willow hears the mountains sing at blush of day,
Hears the dumb evening, hears the waters moan and die;
And motionless it stands, where all things shift and stray,-
Time, and the waves, the clouds, the wind that fill the sky;
The tree their murmur joins, and gently gives the sea
Some bough, or casts unto the wind some leaflet blown.
Even as a heart that breaks asunder, like the tree
Life murmurs and repines. The willow stands alone…
PESMA ZA NAS DVOJE
Znam, mora biti da je tako:
nikad se nismo sreli nas dvoje,
mada se tražimo podjednako
zbog sreće njene
i sreće moje.
Po obrazima vetar me mlati.
Čupa drveću žutu kosu.
U koji deo grada da svratim?
Dan je niz mutne ulice prosut.
Vucaram okolo dva prazna oka,
gledam u lica prolaznika.
Koga da pitam,
smešan i mokar,
zašto je nisam sreo nikad?
Il' je već bilo?
Trebalo korak?
Možda je sasvim do mene došla,
Ai' ja,
u krcmu svratio,gorak
a ona
ne znajuci - prosla.
Ne znam.
Možda smo celu jesen obišli
u žudnji ludoj, podjednakoj,
a za korak se mimoišli?
Da. Mora biti da je tako.
A Poem For The Two Of Us
I know,
it must be like that:
the two of us have never met,
although we keep searching for each other
because of her happiness
and my happiness.
Drunk rain whips and strikes,
wind pulls willows’ hair out.
Where am I going?
Which town should I stop by?
The day is spilled over opaque fields.
I’m dragging around two empty eyes
staring into faces of passerbys.
Who should I ask, hungry and wet,
why have we never met?
Or it already happened?
Missed a step?
Maybe she came all the way next to me.
But me,
stopped by a pub, bitter,
and she
not knowing - passed by.
I don’t know.
We’ve been around the world
in passion, crazy
even,
and we missed each other for a step.
Yes, it must’ve been like that….
PLAČI VOLJENA ZEMLJO
Plači, Voljena Zemljo* i Suzama osvetli
Misao koja tinja u svakoj našoj želji
Od svih Suza koje sad kaplju po Planeti
najtužnije su Dečje Suze u Mojoj Zemlji.
Ko će, i čime, da plati tolike Dečje Suze
Strah, Nesanicu i Radost odletelu u nepovrat
Ko će Deci da vrati sve ono što im uze
ovo zlo, stalo svo u kratku reč - rat?
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, oljagana i sama
Suze su Tvoje davno ušle u Pesmarice
Još nisi sve Dečje Kosti ni povadila iz jama
a već ti opet bacaju Decu u jame bezdanice.
Vi što nam rušite Crkve, kućerke i palate
ratnici fanatici, ljudomrsci i suncožderi
za koga Novi život i Novi Svet stvarate
kad Deca beže od vas u šume, među zveri?
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, Suzama Mališana
što uče školu u vučjim i lisičijim jamama
Očevi i Majke im se gledaju preko nišana
a Stričevi i Ujaci na njih palacaju kamama.
Neka se skamene pogledi i nišani uprti
u Dečja Srca, u Bele Ptice nad rovovima
Kakav to Život može da nikne iz Dečje Smrti
Kome će svanuti dan na Dečjim Grobovima?
Nijedna Zastava na ovom trulom svetu
makar od same svile i kadive satkana
ne zaslužuje da se zavijori na vetru
ako je i Dečjom Krvlju pokapana.
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, u čeljustima ale
(neka Te bar u Suzama što više bude)
sve dok se sva tri Boga na Tebe ne sažale
i ne preseku pomor bačen međ pse i ljude.
Pogledaj svoju Decu sa staračkim licima
Mladiće na štakama što uče prve korake
Uvelu Novorođenčad u invalidskim kolicima
Bezimene Grobove, Raspamećene Majke
i Starce beskućnike u tuđim šljivicima
što zure u Nebo, nalik na ugašene ugarke.
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, i Suzama osvetli
Svoje Srce što kuca u svakoj našoj želji
Od svih Suza koje sad kaplju po Planeti
najslanije su Dečje Suze u Mojoj Zemlji!
(1992)
* Naslov sam uzeo iz jedne stare knjige,
reči od naroda, suze od dece, a tuga je moja.
Cry, the beloved country
Cry, the Beloved Country*, and light with your tears' powers
the thought smoldering in the desire that can never rest.
Of all the tears that are shed now on this Planet of ours,
it's the tears of My Country's children that are the saddest.
Who shall, and what with, for all those Children's Tears pay,
for fear, no sleep and happiness which into the unknown soar?
Who shall give back the children everything taken from them away,
by this evil, contained within one single and short word - war?
Cry Beloved Country, lonely and stigmatized unfairly.
Your tears have long entered the Collections of Poems true.
You have lifted all your Children's bones from the pits barely,
When your Children are being thrown into bottomless pits anew.
You who are destroying Churches, huts and palaces all,
you fanatic warriors, man-haters, sun-eaters wild,
who are you making now this New Life and New Word for,
when children from you in the forest, among the beasts hide?
Cry, Beloved Country, the tears of the bereaved Mother
of children who in wolves' and fox' lairs underground school.
With their fathers and mothers pointing guns at one another,
while their uncles the knives at them and at one another pull.
Let the looks and the guns pointed now at all Children's hearts
and at the White Birds above all the trenches turn to stone.
What kind of life can there be when a Child from this Life parts?
From whom shall the dawn break above Children's Graves, all alone?
There is not a Flag in this rotten world, and there should not be,
no matter what it's made of, pure silk or the velvet soft,
deserving the wind fluttering it for the world to see,
if with drops of Children's blood it's sprinkled so very oft.
Cry, Beloved Country, in the jaws of the dragon mean,
(and let there be more of You, at least in the Tears you shed),
until All Three Gods take pity on You, till they have seen,
and cease the death thrown among men and dogs, among the dead.
Take a look at your Children, at those old faces of theirs,
youngsters with crutches, learning to walk now, like their fathers,
helpless and withered Infants all sitting in their wheelchairs,
graves with no names, with no tombstones,
and the grief Crazed Mothers,
and homeless Old Men, in plum, orchards, alone or in pairs,
burnt out sticks, staring into the sky, like many others.
Cry, Beloved Country, and light with your tear's powers
your heart beating within the desire that can never rest.
Of all the tears that are shed now on this Planet of ours,
it's the tears of My Country's children that are the saltiest.
(1992)
*I borrowed the title from an old book,
the words from the People
and the Tears from the Children:
the Anguish is all mine.
Ti si moj trenutak i moj san
i sjajna moja rec u sumu
i samo si lepota koliko si tajna
i samo istina koliko si zudnja.
Ostaj nedostizna, nema i daleka
jer je san o sreci vise nego sreca.
Budi bespovratna, kao mladost.
Neka tvoja sen i eho budu sve sto seca.
Srce ima povest u suzi sto leva,
u velikom bolu ljubav svoju metu.
Istina je samo sto dusa prosneva.
Poljubac je susret najlepsi na svetu.
Od mog prividjenja ti si cela tkana,
tvoj plast suncani od mog sna ispreden.
Ti bese misao moja ocarana,
simbol svih tastina, porazan i leden.
A ti ne postojis, nit' si postojala.
Rodjena u mojoj tisini i cami,
na Suncu mog srca ti si samo sjala
jer sve sto ljubimo - stvorili smo sami.
Love poem
You are my moment and my dream,
My glorious word within the sounds,
You are as beautiful as you are the secret,
You are the truth as much as the lust.
Stay unreachable, silent and far,
As for dream of happiness is more than happiness itself.
Be one time flame, as youth.
Let your shadow and echo be all to be remembered by.
Heart is writing its history on a falling tear,
On an immense pain that love marks its target.
The truth is only dreaming of the soul.
Kiss is the most beautiful meeting in the world.
You are the image of my apparition,
Your sunny décor knitted through my dream.
You were the fascination of my thought,
Symbol of all conceits, defeated and icy-cold.
But you don’t exist, neither you ever did.
Born within my silence and despair,
From the Sun of my heart you were shining
Because everything we worship – we have created ourselves.
Морска врба
Сама врба стоји над морем, врх света,
Расплела је косу зелену и дугу,
Наличи на нимфу која је проклета,
Да постане дрво и да шуми тугу.
Слуша песму гора када јутро руди,
Агонију воде у вечери неме,
Непомично стоји тамо где све блуди:
Облаци и ветри, таласи и време.
И ту шуми с њима, дајући, полако,
Мору коју грану, ветру листак који:
И, ко срце, себе кидајући тако,
Тужно шуми живот. - Сама врба стоји.
The willow by the sea
The willow stands alone, aloft, above the sea,
High on the cliff, and far its long green tresses flow;
Like some poor nymph, by curst enchantment to a tree
Transformed-and she can only murmur of her woe.
The willow hears the mountains sing at blush of day,
Hears the dumb evening, hears the waters moan and die;
And motionless it stands, where all things shift and stray,-
Time, and the waves, the clouds, the wind that fill the sky;
The tree their murmur joins, and gently gives the sea
Some bough, or casts unto the wind some leaflet blown.
Even as a heart that breaks asunder, like the tree
Life murmurs and repines. The willow stands alone…
PESMA ZA NAS DVOJE
Znam, mora biti da je tako:
nikad se nismo sreli nas dvoje,
mada se tražimo podjednako
zbog sreće njene
i sreće moje.
Po obrazima vetar me mlati.
Čupa drveću žutu kosu.
U koji deo grada da svratim?
Dan je niz mutne ulice prosut.
Vucaram okolo dva prazna oka,
gledam u lica prolaznika.
Koga da pitam,
smešan i mokar,
zašto je nisam sreo nikad?
Il' je već bilo?
Trebalo korak?
Možda je sasvim do mene došla,
Ai' ja,
u krcmu svratio,gorak
a ona
ne znajuci - prosla.
Ne znam.
Možda smo celu jesen obišli
u žudnji ludoj, podjednakoj,
a za korak se mimoišli?
Da. Mora biti da je tako.
A Poem For The Two Of Us
I know,
it must be like that:
the two of us have never met,
although we keep searching for each other
because of her happiness
and my happiness.
Drunk rain whips and strikes,
wind pulls willows’ hair out.
Where am I going?
Which town should I stop by?
The day is spilled over opaque fields.
I’m dragging around two empty eyes
staring into faces of passerbys.
Who should I ask, hungry and wet,
why have we never met?
Or it already happened?
Missed a step?
Maybe she came all the way next to me.
But me,
stopped by a pub, bitter,
and she
not knowing - passed by.
I don’t know.
We’ve been around the world
in passion, crazy
even,
and we missed each other for a step.
Yes, it must’ve been like that….
PLAČI VOLJENA ZEMLJO
Plači, Voljena Zemljo* i Suzama osvetli
Misao koja tinja u svakoj našoj želji
Od svih Suza koje sad kaplju po Planeti
najtužnije su Dečje Suze u Mojoj Zemlji.
Ko će, i čime, da plati tolike Dečje Suze
Strah, Nesanicu i Radost odletelu u nepovrat
Ko će Deci da vrati sve ono što im uze
ovo zlo, stalo svo u kratku reč - rat?
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, oljagana i sama
Suze su Tvoje davno ušle u Pesmarice
Još nisi sve Dečje Kosti ni povadila iz jama
a već ti opet bacaju Decu u jame bezdanice.
Vi što nam rušite Crkve, kućerke i palate
ratnici fanatici, ljudomrsci i suncožderi
za koga Novi život i Novi Svet stvarate
kad Deca beže od vas u šume, među zveri?
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, Suzama Mališana
što uče školu u vučjim i lisičijim jamama
Očevi i Majke im se gledaju preko nišana
a Stričevi i Ujaci na njih palacaju kamama.
Neka se skamene pogledi i nišani uprti
u Dečja Srca, u Bele Ptice nad rovovima
Kakav to Život može da nikne iz Dečje Smrti
Kome će svanuti dan na Dečjim Grobovima?
Nijedna Zastava na ovom trulom svetu
makar od same svile i kadive satkana
ne zaslužuje da se zavijori na vetru
ako je i Dečjom Krvlju pokapana.
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, u čeljustima ale
(neka Te bar u Suzama što više bude)
sve dok se sva tri Boga na Tebe ne sažale
i ne preseku pomor bačen međ pse i ljude.
Pogledaj svoju Decu sa staračkim licima
Mladiće na štakama što uče prve korake
Uvelu Novorođenčad u invalidskim kolicima
Bezimene Grobove, Raspamećene Majke
i Starce beskućnike u tuđim šljivicima
što zure u Nebo, nalik na ugašene ugarke.
Plači, Voljena Zemljo, i Suzama osvetli
Svoje Srce što kuca u svakoj našoj želji
Od svih Suza koje sad kaplju po Planeti
najslanije su Dečje Suze u Mojoj Zemlji!
(1992)
* Naslov sam uzeo iz jedne stare knjige,
reči od naroda, suze od dece, a tuga je moja.
Cry, the beloved country
Cry, the Beloved Country*, and light with your tears' powers
the thought smoldering in the desire that can never rest.
Of all the tears that are shed now on this Planet of ours,
it's the tears of My Country's children that are the saddest.
Who shall, and what with, for all those Children's Tears pay,
for fear, no sleep and happiness which into the unknown soar?
Who shall give back the children everything taken from them away,
by this evil, contained within one single and short word - war?
Cry Beloved Country, lonely and stigmatized unfairly.
Your tears have long entered the Collections of Poems true.
You have lifted all your Children's bones from the pits barely,
When your Children are being thrown into bottomless pits anew.
You who are destroying Churches, huts and palaces all,
you fanatic warriors, man-haters, sun-eaters wild,
who are you making now this New Life and New Word for,
when children from you in the forest, among the beasts hide?
Cry, Beloved Country, the tears of the bereaved Mother
of children who in wolves' and fox' lairs underground school.
With their fathers and mothers pointing guns at one another,
while their uncles the knives at them and at one another pull.
Let the looks and the guns pointed now at all Children's hearts
and at the White Birds above all the trenches turn to stone.
What kind of life can there be when a Child from this Life parts?
From whom shall the dawn break above Children's Graves, all alone?
There is not a Flag in this rotten world, and there should not be,
no matter what it's made of, pure silk or the velvet soft,
deserving the wind fluttering it for the world to see,
if with drops of Children's blood it's sprinkled so very oft.
Cry, Beloved Country, in the jaws of the dragon mean,
(and let there be more of You, at least in the Tears you shed),
until All Three Gods take pity on You, till they have seen,
and cease the death thrown among men and dogs, among the dead.
Take a look at your Children, at those old faces of theirs,
youngsters with crutches, learning to walk now, like their fathers,
helpless and withered Infants all sitting in their wheelchairs,
graves with no names, with no tombstones,
and the grief Crazed Mothers,
and homeless Old Men, in plum, orchards, alone or in pairs,
burnt out sticks, staring into the sky, like many others.
Cry, Beloved Country, and light with your tear's powers
your heart beating within the desire that can never rest.
Of all the tears that are shed now on this Planet of ours,
it's the tears of My Country's children that are the saltiest.
(1992)
*I borrowed the title from an old book,
the words from the People
and the Tears from the Children:
the Anguish is all mine.
Svejedno, neprevaziđen filozof, rado ga čitam... "Blago cara Radovana" - za sva vremena.