Davorka Črnčec

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Davorka Črnčec, Međimurje, R Hrvatska

 

Davorka Črnčec živi u Međimurju, u  Nedelišću, rođena je 1975. u Čakovcu,  inženjer je tekstilne kemije, radi u Varaždinu kao voditelj laboratorija i bojadisaone u talijanskoj tvornici za proizvodnju čarapa (Calzedonia), majka je i supruga..

Piše dugo, objavljuje po književnim portalima u regiji, pretežno ljubavnu i refleksivnu poeziju iako se okušala i u drugim formama. Sudjeluje na mnogim kulturnim manifestacijama gdje joj poezija na standardu i na kajkavštini  redovno biva zapažena i pohvaljena.  Aktivna je članica je nekoliko  književnih udruga (Varaždinsko književno društvo, Impuls poezija, Hrvatski sabor kulture).

Pjesme su joj do sada tiskane u mnogim zajedničkim zbirkama, a krajem 2017. iz tiska izlazi „Boja meda“, prva samostalna. „Aritmija tišine“ druga joj je samostalna zbirka poezije izašla iz tiska u ožujku 2020.

Poezija upravo iz zadnje spomenute (Aritmija tišine):

KOLAČ

 

 

Jedna šutnja može roditi slatko
kad se iza karte gužva noć
i ne troše riječi za najdraži desert.
Misli zaslađuju
kuhinju bez granica.

 

Jedna šutnja može roditi gorko
kad se iza noći zbroje dani
i oni kolači koje nismo kušali.
Bez okusa  obale smo čijim osekama
nedostaje tajnih sastojaka.

 

Naša šutnja traje jedan život
i izgladnjela je već nekoliko smrti.
Njome te milujem
dok u slastičarni biraš
mene.

 

Tiho otvori prozore
da izađe muk
dok listam
recepte onih kolača
koje ćemo odšutjeli.

 

 

 

 

MJERA

 

 

Mi
od onih smo što već dugo
ne postavljaju pitanja Bogu.
Ne čekamo utorke,
uzimamo četvrtke i nedjelje.

 

Nebitno je koji je dan
dok želja  proguta strah,
a tama kao po narudžbi guta naš grad.
Upaljen mjesec, u dodiru ugašena glad.
Opet i svaki put
prvi.

 

Bude začudnih mjera dan.
Osmjesi dječaka, plač djevojčice.
Zora i dan.

Čudesna mjera.

 

Gledam te.
Orah u dvorištu zaklanja ogromni mjesec.
Lipanj je, a jesen pod prstima želju ziba.
Znakovi uz cestu zbunjuju.
Ne putujemo južno.
A morali bismo. Već u ponedjeljak.

 

PAUČINA

 

 

Medenjak na istoku dok naviješta dan
čaplja pod krilom mir potoka donosi.
Noćas je kišilo. U vrtu jutros
toplom ljetnom  kupkom umivene
višnje i rane kruške mirišu.

Sreća se danas
na niti paukove mreže njiše.
Zaplela se u kose jutra.
Prije klatna dana njome je lako

zagrliti razigrane bumbare i pčele.
Rastegnut ću je
preko ruba pjesme
da zadrži miris meda i
sačuva okus prvih kupina.
Možda na prozor dovede
srebrnjak noćnog neba.

Kupila bih njime zavežljaj vremena

i malo one paučine s početka pjesme.

 

……………………………………….

Davorka Črnčec, Međimurje, R Croatia

 

Davorka Črnčec lives in Međimurje, in Nedelišće, she was born in 1975 in Čakovec, she is a textile chemistry engineer, she works in Varaždin as the head of a laboratory and dyeing room in an Italian factory for the production of socks (Calzedonia), she is a mother and wife.

She has been writing for a long time, publishing on literary portals in the region, mostly love and reflective poetry, although she has tried in other forms as well. She participates in many cultural events where her poetry in the standard and in Kajkavian is regularly noticed and praised. She is an active member of several literary associations (Varaždin Literary Society, Impulse Poetry, Croatian Parliament of Culture).

Her songs have been printed in many joint collections so far, and at the end of 2017, « Boja meda » will be published, the first independent one. « Arrhythmia of Silence » was her second independent collection of poetry published in March 2020.

Poetry just from the last mentioned (Arrhythmia of Silence):

CAKE

 

 

One silence can give birth to sweet

when the night is crowded behind the map

and don’t waste words on your favorite dessert.

Thoughts sweeten

kitchen without borders.

 

One silence can give birth to bitterness

when the days add up after night

and those cakes we haven’t tasted.

We are tasteless of the coast whose tides

lacking secret ingredients.

 

Our silence lasts a lifetime

and has starved to death several times already.

I caress you with it

while in the patisserie you choose

me.

 

He quietly opened the windows

to come out silent

while leafing

recipes for those cakes

which we will silence.

 

 

 

 

MEASURE

 

 

Me

we are of those who have been for a long time

they do not ask questions to God.

We’re not waiting for Tuesday,

we take Thursdays and Sundays.

 

It doesn’t matter what day it is

while desire swallows fear,

and darkness swallows our city to order.

The moon is on fire, hunger is extinguished by touch.

Again and every time

First.

 

There will be amazing day measures.

The boy’s smiles, the girl’s cries.

Dawn and day.

A miraculous measure.

 

I’m looking at you.

A walnut in the yard obscures a huge moon.

It’s June, and autumn is under your fingers the desire to rock.

Roadside signs are confusing.

We are not traveling south.

And we should. Already on Monday.

 

COBWEB

 

 

Gingerbread in the east as it heralds the day

the heron under the wing brings peace to the stream.

It was raining tonight. In the garden this morning

washed in a warm summer bath

cherries and early pears smell.

 

Happiness today

on the threads of a spider’s web sways.

She was tangled in the hair of the morning.

Before the pendulum day it was easy for her

hug playful bumblebees and bees.

I’ll stretch it

over the edge of the song

to retain the smell of honey and

preserves the taste of the first blackberries.

Maybe bring it to the window

the silver of the night sky.

I’d buy him a bundle of time

and a little of that cobweb from the beginning of the song.

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