303 books
—
581 voters
Avi
https://www.goodreads.com/dancewithfae
“Pati bez suze, živi bez psovke,
i budi mirno nesretan.
Tašte su suze, a jadikovke
ublažit neće gorki san.
Podaj se pjanom vjetru života,
pa nek te vije bilo kud;
pusti ko listak nek te mota
u ludi polet vihor lud.
Leti ko lišće što vir ga vije,
za let si, dušo stvorena.
Za zemlju nije, za pokoj nije
cvijet što nema korijena.”
― Igračka vjetrova
i budi mirno nesretan.
Tašte su suze, a jadikovke
ublažit neće gorki san.
Podaj se pjanom vjetru života,
pa nek te vije bilo kud;
pusti ko listak nek te mota
u ludi polet vihor lud.
Leti ko lišće što vir ga vije,
za let si, dušo stvorena.
Za zemlju nije, za pokoj nije
cvijet što nema korijena.”
― Igračka vjetrova
“Svet nestaje polako. Zagledani svi su
u lažljivo vreme na zidu: o hajdemo!
Granice u kojima živimo nisu
granice u kojima umiremo.”
―
u lažljivo vreme na zidu: o hajdemo!
Granice u kojima živimo nisu
granice u kojima umiremo.”
―
“I simply want to be dead.
Weeping she left me
with many tears and said this:
Oh how badly things have turned out for us.
Sappho, I swear, against my will I leave you.
And I answered her:
Rejoice, go and
remember me. For you know how we cherished you.
But if not, I want
to remind you.
]and beautiful times we had.
For many crowns of violets
and roses
]at my side you put on
and many woven garlands
made of flowers
around your soft throat.
And with sweet oil
costly
you anointed yourself
and on a soft bed
delicate
you would let loose your longing
and neither any [ ] nor any
holy place nor
was there from which we were absent
no grove [ ] no dance
]no sound
[”
― If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho
Weeping she left me
with many tears and said this:
Oh how badly things have turned out for us.
Sappho, I swear, against my will I leave you.
And I answered her:
Rejoice, go and
remember me. For you know how we cherished you.
But if not, I want
to remind you.
]and beautiful times we had.
For many crowns of violets
and roses
]at my side you put on
and many woven garlands
made of flowers
around your soft throat.
And with sweet oil
costly
you anointed yourself
and on a soft bed
delicate
you would let loose your longing
and neither any [ ] nor any
holy place nor
was there from which we were absent
no grove [ ] no dance
]no sound
[”
― If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho
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Avi’s 2025 Year in Books
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