Sunday, February 6, 2011

That heart is dead


Above image - Srečko Kosovel (About this sound pronunciation (help·info)) (18 March 1904 – 26 May 1926) was a Slovene expressionist poet who evolved towards avant-garde forms. Since the 1960s, Kosovel has become a poetic icon, in the league of the most prestigious Slovene literates like France Prešeren and Ivan Cankar. Together with Edvard Kocbek, he is considered as the most important Slovene poet of the post-WWI period. He produced an impressive body of work of more than 1000 poems with a quality regarded as unusually high for his age. Most of his works were published almost four decades after his early death.

<<.....Rad bi povedal ljudem lepo, dobro besedo, svetlo besedo, kakor je svetlo novembrsko sonce na Krasu. Toda moja beseda je težka in molčeča, grenka kakor je brinova jagoda s Krasa. V njej je trpljenje, za katero ne boste nikoli zvedeli, v njej je bolest, katere ne morete spoznati. Moja bolečina je ponosna in molčeča in bolj nego ljudje jo razumevajo bori na gmajni in brinjevi grmi za skalami.....>>.
(Pesmi, izdan l. 1927.)

<<.....I would like to tell people nice, good word, a bright word, bright as the November sun in the Karst. But my word is heavy and silent, bitter as berries from the Karst. In it there's suffering, of which you'll never know, in it there is grief, which you cannot know. My pain is proud and silent and, more than by their people, it is understood by the pinetrees in the barren land and by the juniper bushes behind the rocks.....>>.
(Poems, published year 1927.)

Srečko Kosovel, Sežana 18. marec 1904 – Tomaj 27. maj 1926

Srečko Kosovel was the heart of the Primorje.

Now that heart is dead.

Killed by Narodna Zabavna Glasba.

Killed by the Slovenes.


Tuesday, February 1, 2011

An new Human Typology in Amber Path south replaces the previous one: The "Slovitalian"

Your heart is white

since ancient ages,

It is like a piece of stone. -

It is white, white

at the moonlight.



from your eyes

in the quite evening

and, watch,

we are the remains of a fire,

ancient cemetery,

within us it shines

only chaos.

"Dialogue with Trubar" - by Srečko Kosovel (§)

(Sežana 18th March 1904 - Tomaj 26th May 1926).

(As I have no time, no resources, no money, no support at disposition, it is clear that what I wrote is affected by many errors and uncorrectness. I am not a prostitute lay journalist of this dirty Vatican 'tollerant' regime called 'democracy'. I have not the 51% of the Bank of America supporting my writings. I don't control the Casinò of Ostenda and neither Citroen and Peugeot as the General Superior did at least in 1958. So corrections and additions could appear in the future)

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