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Dušan Nonković

Dušan Nonković-Teodorović, Nemačka

Rođen sam1940. u Subotici. Poeziju sam počeo da pišem u svojoj mladoj sedamdesetoj godini. Pokazala se kao veoma efektivna terapija pa što sam stariji kažu da pišem sve bolje. Osnovnu sam završio u Subotici kao najgori učenik svih generacija, to nije šala već čista istina. Potom mašinsku poljoprivrednu školu, a posle studija na Biotehničkim fakultetu u Ljubljani. Živim u Nemačkoj gde sam i posle teške srčane bolesti propevao pa mislim i ozdravio. Sa radosti i pouzdanjem idem u osamdesetu! Imam dva sina; kapetana i mašinskog inžinjera i ćerku učiteljicu, a imam i jednu unuku i dva unaka. Sa suprugom sam već 50 godina. Ona me svesrdno podstiče da pišem poeziju i ako ne razume ni reči. I ono malo što je znala godinama je zaboravila, nije ni čudo, jer je rođena Nemica a meni je svejedno bilo na kojem jezikom da se sporazumevamo, bitno je samo da se razumemo- ili to tako barem mislimo. Autor sam više stručnih članaka, nekoliko knjiga poezije kao i  Tragom Srba I-II-i III u pripremi.

 

SREĆA

 

Za sreću nisu potrebne

kule ni gradovi a niti

automobili a još manje

vile i fijakeri

Niti je potrebno imati

tridesetak kvadrata

nekog šatora il stana

niti djeram nekoga salaša

Sreći je Dovoljan i samo

jedan prokisli kišobran

ako su pod njim dvoje

koji se istinski vole

Dovoljno je i manje,

dovoljna su i samo

dva u očima zalutala

pogleda bez povratka!

 

 

KLOŠAR

(Posvećeno poslednjem Ljubljanskom klošaru,

mojih studentskih dana)

 

Klošara nema više

za njim

ne proli niko suze

niko se ne upita

dali je ikada

bio sretan

zaljubljen i mlad

ludo voleo

il dal je oduvek

bio tako

star i sam

 

Klošara starog

više nema

nestaju

utabane staze

i grad je sada

bez klošara

za anciskartu

vredan manje

 

Svakog dana

sve nas je manje

gubi se sve

ostaju boli i rane

sve postaje tudje

i nas je sve manje

na put spremnih

za ponovno vidjenje

 

U stroj su svrstani svi

sve će morati ostaviti

i krenuti put večnosti

slavni i neslavni i oni

zlatne krune na glavi

i ti što sve imaju

siromašni i bogati

da ih sve odreda

pred vratima večnosti

stari klošar pozdravi

 

 

 

PRUŽENIH RUKU

 

 

Kada od more i silne tuge

Sjaj oka u pepelu nestane

Tužna suza od boli usahne

Tminama zenice beskrajne

Suza suva niz obraz klizne

Tihim šumom čiste poezije

Jeseni smilje duša mi diše

Sećanjima na minule dane

Žudne bolne i tolko srećne

Silnu mladost punu čežnje

Pružam joj ko suncu ruke,

I ako se nikad vratiti neće

Nikada se više vratiti neće!

O, da li će jesenji vir života

Dočekat moć miris proleća

I leptira od cveta do cveta

Cvrkut tica i pesmu cvrčka

Okrenut životu prolaznosti

Pruženih ruku sjaju sunca

Vuče me od večnosti tama

Mrkla memla bez povratka

A meni se još uvek živi voli

Žudi pati nada ljubi i sanja

I sve mi se čini da mi duša

Neku tajnu mladosti skriva

Ko da mi batom srca šapće

Ljubićeš još dugo dugo brale

A kada ugledam cvetna pоlja

U san mi dodje Srbija moja

I pružene ruke, pra dedova

Prvi korak detinjstva moga

 

…………………….

Dusan Nonkovic-Teodorovic, Germany

I was born in 1940. in Subotica. I started writing poetry in my early seventies. It has proven to be a very effective therapy, so the older I get, the better I write. I finished elementary school in Subotica as the worst student of all generations, this is not a joke but the true truth. Then mechanical engineering school, and after studying at the Biotechnical Faculty in Ljubljana. I live in Germany where even after a severe heart disease I sang so I think and healed. With joy and confidence I go into the eighties! I have two sons; captain and mechanical engineer and daughter a teacher, and I have one granddaughter and two granddaughters. I’ve been with my wife for 50 years. She wholeheartedly encourages me to write poetry even if she doesn’t understand a word. And what little she had known for years had forgotten, no wonder, because she was born German and I do not care in any language to communicate, it is only important that we understand each other – or so we think. I am the author of several professional articles, several books of poetry and the Trail of the Serbs I-II-i III in preparation.

 

HAPPY

 

They are not needed for happiness

towers are neither cities nor cities

cars and even less

fairies and fairies

Neither is it necessary to have

thirty squares

some tent or apartment

nor do I touch someone with salas

Happiness is enough and only

one sour umbrella

if there are two under it

who truly love each other

It’s smaller and smaller,

they are sufficient and only

two stray in the eyes

views without returning!

 

 

KLOŠAR

(Dedicated to the last Ljubljana cloister,

of my student days)

 

The cloister is gone

after him

nobody shed tears

no one asked

did she ever

was happy

in love and young

crazy loved

il has always been

was so

old and alone

 

The old man’s lock

gone

they disappear

paved paths

and the city is now

without the cloister

for anciskart

worth less

 

Every day

there are fewer and fewer of us

everything is lost

pain and wounds remain

everything gets weirder

and there are fewer and fewer of us

on the way ready

to see again

 

Everyone is put into the machine

he will have to leave everything

and embark on the path of eternity

celebrities and infamous ones too

gold crowns on the head

and you who have everything

poor and rich

to fix them all

at the gates of eternity

the old cloister greets

 

 

 

OF THE HANDS

 

 

Bathtub from the sea and great sadness

The glow of the eye in the ash disappears

A sad tear of pain dried up

The darkness of the pupil is endless

The tear dry down her cheek slides

The quiet murmur of pure poetry

In the autumn, my soul breathes

Memories of days gone by

Craving painful and so happy

Huge youth full of longing

I give her like the sun with her hands,

And if they never come back they won’t

She will never come back again!

Oh, will autumn be a source of life

You will find the power of the scent of spring

And butterflies from flower to flower

A tweet and a song tweet

Turning to a life of transience

Hands outstretched by the sun

It drags me away from eternity of darkness

A dark meme with no return

And I still love being alive

She longs for the hope she loves and dreams

And everything seems to my soul

He hides some of the secret of youth

Like a heartbeat whispers to me

You will love a long time bro

And when I see the flower fields

My dream comes to me in Serbia

And hands extended, great grandparents

The first step of my childhood

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