Sneak peek… Issue #1

A sneak preview of the first printed issue of The Still Point journal that will feature my poem Reveries about language / Rêveries autour de la langue / Sanjarenje o jeziku. Come and join us at the Launch party on the 8 November, 7 pm, The Gallery Cafe, Bethnal Green.

The Still Point Journal

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After a long gestation, the first print edition of The Still Point Journal is almost in your grasp.

Issue #1 is a sleek 50 pages, gathered within a soft cover and standing at an elegant B5. Here is a glimpse of her riches.

Issue #1 will make her debut at 7pm, Sunday 8th November, at the Gallery Cafe in Bethnal Green. Please join us.

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Iznutra

Vani kiša –
Kiša, u njoj,
Kišne kapi
Klize ka zemlji –
Suze na licu
Dopiru do usana –
Slani okus,
Vrijeme stoji –
Vani kiša –
udara
anonimna lica
prolaznika u žurbi.
Otkada se desilo to,
Stoji nepomično,
Kip od soli –
Tanak profil,
kosa podignuta
visoko unazad,
Iza pogleda
njenih očiju,
prostranstva,
tamnoplava –
život pada
kao kišne kapi
na tlo,
propada u
tamnu zemlju.
Ona kraj prozora,
Nepomična,
uvijena
u tišinu –
Vani, kiša –
Kiša – u njoj.

Au-dedans

Elle se tient debout
face à la fenêtre
dehors, la pluie qui pleure
dedans, la pluie qui pleure en elle,
les gouttes de pluie s’écoulent
comme les larmes s’écoulant
le long de ses joues,
leur goût salé sur ses lèvres –
le temps en arrêt –
dans le vent, la pluie
fouette les visages anonymes
qui se pressent –
Depuis que c’est arrivé
elle se tient là, immobile,
une statue de sel –
profil fin, cheveux tirés en arrière
le bleu foncé derrière le regard
de ses yeux –
elle voit sa vie tomber
comme des gouttes de pluie
sur le sol, disparaissant
sous la terre humide
en-dessous.
Elle se tient debout,
face à la fenêtre,
avec son silence en elle,
dehors, la pluie –
dedans, la pluie, en elle.

Inside

She is standing
by the window,
outside, the rain,
the rain – inside her,
the sound of raindrops
falling down – like tears
falling down her face,
further down,
onto her lips –
the salty taste of teardrops –
time stands still –
the rain in the wind,
battering anonymous faces
of passers-by in a hurry
Since it happened
she is just standing there,
like a statue of salt –
her profile, fine
her hair, pulled up high
behind the stare of her eyes –
a colour deep blue –
her life falling in front of her
like raindrops falling
on the ground,
into the cold dark earth
beneath her.
She is standing by the window
with her stillness inside –
outside the rain,
the rain – inside her.