We recommend that writers from the Balkans




 … I don’t know well enough neither my mother nor my father

nor my own brother, nor my closest relatives. Neighbours.

Blood relations are terrible.

Artificial ones have more sense, they are more justified

And more desirable. Chosen!

Bitter cold has covered everything.

God beholds all, he sees all.

I was ailing, I was bound

By something invisible

For almost two weeks.

God exists and acts through good people.

The hand sticks to frozen door knobs.

Horoscope writers had been right

I have exposed the works of Vlach magic

For God wished it that way.

Here lies my royal throne

Utterly modest.

Here where my Spirit has taken root.

Here, where in my absence

Fig leaves have commenced drying

Of Christ’s wreath .

Plants here are not watered and fed

By water and refuse

But by my spirit.

Many of the people I had known

Lie in the graveyard – Potocic.

Misljenovac, the entire homeland is

Covered by snow, in the graveyard.

Drivers steal petrol

From buses – pour in water.

Buses cough

And stop by the grove, covered in snow.

Serbia sinks like a ship run aground

Into immense darkness, into its reverse side

Not into what I had dreamt about and what I dream…

 (Wednesday, January 9, 2002. Belgrade, 22, Jovanova Street)

 (………………….) *

Miroslav LUKIĆ

 Note – recommendations S.Ig. Mitrović

 (…)Miroslav Lukich, a poet, a novelist, an essayist, a literary critic, an anthologist, an editor of  the Almanach for  live tradition, literature and alchemy  and testament, had  different life and  literary  destinu  of all other  Serbian novelistst of the second half  of the XX  century: from  Ivo Andrich to Milorad Pavich. In a shelter for wunderkinds where he was  shut when he was almost twenty  , he met the whole world, experiences rare poet glory thanks to his first published poems. In a store house he learned well  the tragic history  of the Balkans and his own country  Serbia and the world . In  narrowness of one  increadable  quarantine, he cried  out  in the middle of  ninetees with  the cries of  the best poets of  the Balkans. In  one little Belgrade attic  surrounded with the whole archives of the Southeast Europe, he created a great literary work – firstly poetic, essayistic revealing series of extraordinary   novels, anthologies, book of  creative criticism.

 If it somehow seemed, that, on the Balkans and in Europe world, that the time of poetry has passed ,  we  suggest to doubting  Tomas to dive in great poetic opus of  Miroslav  Lukich  whose verses numbered more than of  20. 000  rhymes at  the and of  the last decade of XX  century!  The time  of the original, persuasive, as much as ancient so as modern poetry has never  passed, and  never will! Lukich did not come from the ambus of socialistic metaphysics, but from golden long ago forgotten ambusses of old Balcanic heritage, Old  Europe, disorder and muth, and under wing of the most vital  streams of  Europian and  world  poetic tradition. The peaks of  Lukich’s poetry  belong to  the peaks of  Serbian  poetry   , but also to  the peaks of  Europian and world poetic art at the turn of  two millenium.

This poet  was not supported  by  the governament  publishers either  from  Tito’s, or from Slobodan Miloshevich’s  time. For  them, we know  that , this poet  does not  exists! It is  necessary that  this be knowvn  in the world.

            … I  believe  Lukich’s liteary  glory  will begin with  this  book, which is  being published  now  at the time  when there have  been  already  published, his seven  books from his  voluminous  opus THE ART  OF MAHOGANY;  these are  extraordinary  shamanistic, prophetic poems, and they  represent  the whole Lukich’s poetry  and  the  stronges  marks of  this poet :  brilliance  and the power of his  intellect, sensibility, consisatnce, nobility, and thruthfulness.

So Lukich was a poet in his eighteen, nineteen, and  he did not  end up with contarversal  withdraw  like  Artir Rimbaud. (…) Balanced  creative development Nature, Destinu or  God  gave to Lukich everything  that is desirable. That  kept him on surface, that kept him and has been keeping him  ON THE WIND, ON THE HEIGHST, ON THE CLEARING. Lukich iz not only   the poet of the  two, three or five extraordinary   poems ( like Laza Kostich) or poet of  only   one , two , thre wonedrful  books (like J.  Duchich, M. Rakich, M. Crnjanski, Rastko Petrovich, Vinaver; Vasko Popa, Miodrag Pavlovich, S. Raichkovich, M. Bechkovich, Ljubomir  Simovich…) ; he is the poet of the the deepest personal poems and verses in all Serbian poetry  ;  and that defines , or  will define  his place in the thrue hierarchy   of  contemporary   Serbian poetry   and  in his history  of  Serbian poetry   of  XX century.

   When  one gives a deep and  long look  at everything that has been created in poetic art in whole, that ‘s to say, conquered and  granted to the eternety, every  ( sensible person)  free spirit, can  clearly  and without anu  doubt realise that the whole art ( poetry also !)  from DARKNESS and NOTHINGNESS bit  one little bite. (…) (…) his  book is  incorruptable report, persuasive, about unknown, other Serbia strengled  disappeared in  fires of  history, the one which rises from ashes. And because this book  is a  feast where all  the hearts open , at which  the best  wines is  offered . He is the writer who belongs to the most rare race from the time immemorial, Dichter, as Borhes would  say with  the best meaning of the world. Through  these poet a spirit of the climate  which  created  him  speaks, that ‘s to say  the spirit of the best  and the most typical in  the part of the world . It  seems  as if prophecies and a voice of  shaman speak trhrough  him . But to this poet Christ helped  the most  giving his sole nobility and  freedom. This poetry  anouncens  and confirms  alman and  altime, it is  for all man kind and altimes.

A mother  of  perfection gave  birth  to these poems , a  great loneliness,  and they  are turned to millions  of  soles desirious the real  freedom  and return of  all  things  to their natural places. This poet will , from this moment , start to  gain  enormous , immense army of  his invisible allies,  readers, on the Balkans and also in the world.  Miroslav Lukich is not the poet sinked  in politics; he is the poet who , beside other, anounces the epoc which  is destroyed. Maybe, considering everything  else that has been  created  by  a  genius, the way  another French  poet desribed him a hundred uears before Lukich was born …

2000.          S. Ig. M.

   (Translation : Olivera Stojanovic – Maksimovic )

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