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JAGODA KECMAN

JAGODA KECMAN, Omiš – Split, R Hrvatska

 

JAGODA KECMAN rođena je 5.svibnja 1952. u Ravnicama, radničkom poslijeratnomnaselju kraj Omiša i s pet godina seli za Split.

Osnovnu školu i gimnaziju pohađa u Splitu gdje upisuje ek. fakultet, te da bi po završetku posloženih svih životnih prioriteta 1998.g. upisla studij slikarstva pri švicarskoj ASSENZA akademiji iz Basela i 2002.g. diplomirala (apstraktno slikarstvo) u klasi profesora Uda Gross Klausa.

Oduvijek vezana uz pero i riječ tijekom cijelog školovanja pojavljuje se u časopisima proze i poezije, a danas  njene se pjesme nalaze na stranicama mnogih zbornika regije.

Objavila je zbirke stihova:  „Akvarelom u predvorje srca“ (1998.), „Ne preskači moje stihove“ (2001.), „Tebi“ (2012.) i zbirku pripovjetki „Štorije moga ditinjstva“ (2017.).

Imala je 48 samostalnih i preko 100 skupnih izložbi. Od osnutka je u Umjetničkoj likovno-književnoj Uniji „Vlaho Bukovac“ iz Splita i kao predsjednica zadnjih godina vodila je više od stotinjak njezinih poetsko-likovno-glazbenih programa.

Piše predgovore, oslikava naslovnice zbirki, predstavlja pjesnike i književnike iz regije, a pored svega je i voditeljica volontersko-humanitarnih,likovnih i kreativnih radionica u Splitu.

Danas uz svoje društvene obaveze piše, slika i živi u Tugarima, malom mjestu iznad Omiša.

 

 

 

FRIŽI ŽIVOTA

 

Friži života žujaju

dok u jednu ruku nosin

ovi raspali krtol života

pun ušuškani radosti i liposti,

nike vele i male oproste

i krcatu škatulu nesvršeni besid,

a u  drugu ruku obilata demejana

ka minjera nabacana života sovuron,

ingropana vecon i crnilon.

…Noge mi nabotile, tilo kalmalo,

a ja lizen,

sporo gren tamo put

nikega malega svitla.

I dok joko slidi svitlo

u kosti me, sve manje teplo…

 

 

SPREMICA

 

 

U dovor, u ponistru malu,

ma onu šta ponistra i ni,

a jopet, more bit i da je,

meknija bi did sve

ča iz poja donija je.

Stavi bi otot kosirić, brtulinić,

komad stare krpe, šudarić balavac,

botiju, šuferine i gamelu o užine.

Ota ponistra ni ni bila ponistra,

vengo prin sprema mala

di bi mu trudnemu potla poja

sva sitnež iz žepa i ruk stala.

A onda bi se uzodala,

sve oto kupila, spremala

i po  stoti put,

zlamenovala moja baba…

 

KUŽINA

 

 

Gledan je,

A ona likarion liči.

Svon forcon

vrisne mi u dušu

i ka lanterna

obasja žunte života.

Ota kužina stara

brez krova, vrata i škura

zaresla u kupinu i draču,

još na isto misto stoji.

Samo jon fumar cil,

a pod ponistru

kurdila o tiramole

cimba se i visi

i ka da još mrvu

života i vrimena prosi…

 

 

PONISTRA

 

Na ponistri moga ćaće

Samo buža.

Ni cakala,ni telerea nima.

Za škure se ni ne zna

koliko su visile,

ni kad su pale,

u sto bokuna raspale.

Samo buža,

mala škura buža stoji

tamo di ponistra strajon ćiri.

A unutra  još toko vonji

na starinu, babu,dida i mendulu,

na beštimju, barilo i mišinu,

posteju, sukanac, lepušinu…

Kroz ponistru noga ćaće,

sto i jedan život,

ka da sad izaće!

………………………………………

JAGODA KECMAN, Omis – Split, R Croatia

 

JAGODA KECMAN was born on 5 May 1952 in Ravnice, a post-war workers’ settlement near Omiš, and for five years moved to Split.

He attended elementary school and high school in Split, where he enrolled in eq. faculty, and that upon completion of all life priorities set in 1998. enrolled in painting at the Swiss ASSENZA Academy in Basel in 2002. degree (abstract painting) in the class of Professor Udo Gross Klaus.

Always associated with pen and word throughout her education, she has appeared in prose and poetry magazines, and today her poems are featured on the pages of many of the region’s collections.

She has published poetry collections: « Watercolor in the Lobby of the Heart » (1998), « Don’t Skip My Verses » (2001), « To You » (2012) and a collection of short stories « Stories of My Childhood » (2017).

She has had 48 solo and over 100 group exhibitions. Since her founding, she has been at the Artistic and Literary Union « Vlaho Bukovac » in Split and as president of the last years she has directed more than a hundred of her poetry, art and music programs.

She writes prefaces, paints the covers of collections, presents poets and writers from the region, and is, among other things, the head of volunteer-humanitarian, fine arts and creative workshops in Split.

Today, with his social obligations, he writes, paints and lives in Tugari, a small town above Omiš.

 

 

 

FRIES OF LIFE

 

Fries of life chew

while on one hand a nosin

these burst the tuber of life

full of joy and grace,

nike veil and little forgiveness

and a packed box of unfinished talk,

and on the other hand abundant demeans

towards the miners of the blurred life of Sauvron,

ingropana vecon and inkwell.

… my legs swollen, tullo kalmalo,

and I’m a lick,

slow way there

nobody’s little whistle.

And as he yanks lightly at the light

in my bone, less and less warm …

 

 

Spremić

 

 

To the trust, to the little pony,

no matter what it does, neither

and again, the sea is,

softer would do anything

the chai from the song is lower.

Put an otot kosiric, brtulinic,

a piece of old rag, a bobblebird,

botry, tuffin and gamel about snacks.

This monster was not a monster,

vengo prin prepares small

to give him a pregnant sweat

all the little things out of pocket and hands stopped.

And then she would be swayed,

bought everything, saved it

and for the 100th time,

abused by my grandmother …

 

KUŽINA

 

 

Watching,

And she likarion looks like.

Svon forcon

he screams into my soul

and ka lantern

it shines the yellows of life.

This kitchen is old

without roof, doors and skins

cut into blackberries and blackberries,

still stands on the same misto.

Just jon fumar cil,

and under the monster

tyrannical curds

shimmer and hang

and say they are still crumbling

life and time beg …

 

 

PONISTRA

 

On my jelly’s ponytail

Just a pumpkin.

No waiting, no telerea.

The skeletons are not known

how much they hung,

not even when they fell,

in one hundred bokunas burst.

Just a pumpkin,

a small bush boar stands

there di ponistra stryon jury.

And there is still a slight smell inside

on antique, grandma, dida and mendula,

on barbecue, dye and mouse,

bedding, thread, bun …

Through the ponytail the foot will reap,

one hundred and one lives,

like come out now!

 

 

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