LJUBICA MILETIĆ [10.696]

Ljubica Miletić 

Nació en 1948, en Belgrado, SERBIA. Terminó la escuela secundaria en Split. Se graduó en la Facultad de Filología de Belgrado. Es editora de la editorial "Prosveta". 

Sus poemas han sido incluidos en numerosas antologías y traducida al rutenio, eslovaco, turco, rumano, polaco, Inglés, italiano, búlgaro, portugués, griego, ruso y esloveno. 

Premios: "¡Lázaro Vuckovic" y "Risto Ratkovic"

Los antepasados

Ellos no tienen sombra

Ellos no tienen vоz

Еllos perdieron el corazón

Y a pesar de todo

Están con nosotros

Ellos están hechos de sombras

Ellos están hechos de voces

Están vestidos con el tiempo

Ellos viven en nuestro fuero interno

Ellos dejaron las palabras y las cartas

Para responder a toda pregunta nuestra

Dejaron lo mejor

Para estar siempre con nosotros

Aguas blancas

Detrás de siete lejanas puertas 

Siete mundos blancos

Detrás de siete obras escritas 

En el aire

Siete días se pesan y miden

Cada uno de ellos es un siglo

O acaso mucho más

Lo que aquí está lejos

Allí es siempre cercano

Detrás de ello hay otros días

Otros años y otros tiempos

Allí todo es luз

Y una semilla mejor

Desde las alturas

Sobre nosotros cae

Un puñado de polvo

Para proteger el nombre 

Del signo inverso

NOVA KUĆA 

To nije kuća iz mog sna 

Od tračkog mermera 

Boje zore 

Ta kuća nema istočna vrata 

Ni ustreptalo srce 

Ni vidik-pružen u polje 

To nije kuća mojih predaka 

Bela i prostrana 

S pogačom i vinom u putiru 

To je kuća brojeva propisa 

I zabrana-kuća nemira 

Kuća bez ukućana 

U slepoj ulici od ničeg zidana 

To je kuća opsene 

I varljive nade da je prava 

Možda bolja od kuće iz mog sna. 

PRETEČA 

Znao si sveti da će loza 

Da zasvetli 

Da će ime od iskoni 

U reč preći 

Da će mnogi na strah svikli 

U po dana u po noći 

Tebe zvati da svedočiš 

I prekineš silu zala 

Mrtvo zrno u hleb nikne 

Posle žetve 

a tebi je večnost dala 

Da se vineš u visine 

JESEJEVA LOZA 

Mi smo ta vita loza. to zrno svetlosti. 

Što kroz vekove sja. 

Mi smo to seme drevno. na visini sazrelo. 

Voljom Gospodnjom. 

Mi smo taj stub beli. ispisan očevim pismom. 

Ilinskim. 

Mi smo sjaj vekova. daljina vremena. 

I uspon nesavladiv zlu. 

Mi smo čuvari vremena. osmog Jesejevog sina. 

I njegovog hrama večnog. 

Mi smo to što smo. i vi to znate. 

Hordo Zlog. / Poezija SCG 

ORANJE 

Opet vetar kroz lobanju poje 

Tropar duši koja ne hte muku. 

Seljak ore. Izorava kosti, 

Možda svoje, možda svetog Luku. 

Ore seljak. Izorao pretka. 

Možda kneza, možda nekog sebra. 

Ikonica trula čelo glave leži, 

Zamrljana para sa onoga sveta. 

Stade seljak iznad drama srebra. 

Gleda slova nevešte kovnice. 

Gleda njivu što je možda groblje. 

Vidi sebe, a ne vidi lice. 

Opet vetar kroz lobanju poje 

Tropar duši koja ne hte muku. 

Seljak vraća zemlju gde je bila: 

Svojom rukom prepokriva ruku! / Projekat Rastko

IT WAS LIKE THAT, MY LORD

Lord, we were with knives, daggers

In fields, on enclosed fields. We were with fire

And knots. In Constantinople, in Pest...

We were with iron needles in the eye. With a sickle in the spine.

We were with the heteredox cross. With buckshot. We were 

Lord, tied, exchanged, sold, cut...

We were taken away on horses, sacrificed to turbid whirpools

We were mislead with silk and gold. We were

With rich swearing when we refused 

To be slaves.

And we erected churches to Thee, Lord.

Baptized our children, sang songs, we sowed

Bloody bread Lord. At the shoulder blade looked

And prayed to distant God not to reject us.

To ascend us to His heights. Into our sight

Light to place! Not even the dead to abandon,

Under the cross. We looked for the path among

Stars, Lord, while this poor soil,

Instead of with water, with blood watered!

Out of dust, Lord, we stood up on our feet!

With broken ribs rode our horses.

Carried banners with a wounded arm. And at times,

Only at times, after all the battles,

On the backs of our dead, we drank a glass of wine. 

We have always been the same. For centuries in the straw

And glory! For centuries neither right nor wrong!

Lighted the last candle to ourselves.

And never cursed anything God had given us.

Only defended the landowner's name.

And there were times we barefoot on ice, nude in the sunshine 

Carried a stone round our necks even when we were not to.

And we stood, and stood upright

While they deceived us with salted fish and deprived us of

Water. Then we sailed into darkness.

Out of it again,to struggle for what we dreamt of.

And they again deceived us. And cursed us.

And in vain we replaced our wasted extremites 

with wooden ones

And did not moan, firm in our faith.

We only sang while dying.

Even nowadays we sing. It's difficult for us to

Change, Lord. They know that, as well.

Even centuries can't simply crush us, false knowledge,

Lord, lasts short, since our bones are

Full of lead, and knives and our heads full of weeds

Growing tamely above them.

Nevertheless we do not form the roofs touch

The nests made by and form afar arrived

Wild swallows.

And remember this, Lord, centuries old wounds 

Speak out of myself... This is what the dead, through my mouth,

Silently speak about themselves and the ancestors

If anyone anywhere mentions this country,

I want Thee to know everything