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Z l a t i b o r L o v e
Oh, what's that Lena of mine from the valleys of Zlatibor like,
even a goddes would feel ashamed beside her.
As red as an apple, as the Sun at sunset, as a howthorn berry in autumn;
it's because of her that I was left without my fields, my cart and my oxen.
I'm loosing my days because of her, I'm getting drunk, I'm collapsing.
And I'm roaming through the fields and the forests at nihts as if i were insane.
She is the cause of my quarrel with father,neighbour and godfather.
But there's no worth knowing it,I can't change anything.
It's not only me that's become crasy of her.
Eh,I know them a lot who are much crasier.
But all of them meant nothing to her,
it's only me who she wanted to give herself to.
Ih,when this Lena of mine starts moving:
there's a wanderful smell like of all the Zlatibor hays.
And her thighs... they are trembling like a swelling vein.
This Lena of mine - for her god's sake!
When the evening lowers its soft head on the forests,
there I go through the plum orchard right to my Lena.
How wouldn't I, when we are deep in love,
the whole village's been talking about for a long time.
The niht. The two of us. The birds. The Moon and the stars are shining.
And she is smelling like a quince, like a deep forest ...
So,tell me how not to became crasy,
it's time when you're giving the whole youth.
I was given this whole night by Lena.
I was in the stars the whole night
drinking the drops of the evening dew from her hair...
Ej,the whole night in a Zlatibor haystack!
I'm going to get drunk again, my word of honour,
and I'm going to fly up there with my arms outstreched widely.
Let him mow, dig and plow whoever wants it to do,
let everything go anywhere,I say.
What about me? Well, I'm going to Lena, it isn't a shame,
and I'm not coming back before dawn again.
(Ćupovi is taking part in almost all cultural happenings of Zlatibor region.
Every friday you can enjoy in listening to his poetry in
"Cigota".)
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C
o m e
He, who likes the stars in the blue horizon,
he, who likes clear water,
he, who learns to understand
the speach of mountains, fields and woods,
let him come to the nature!
The address is here, this one:
A Hundred Blossoms' Street.
By the help of the road sign of tender branches,
it's The Blooming Meadow Square.
When the pearl grains twinkle,
you just follow roe deer's trail in the morning,
on the mountain third floor...
All the rest the birds will say.
He, who learns to understand
the rivers' speech, and that of hills and forest,
to sing a song with birds,
let him come just once
and he'll be coming forever.
The
youngest poet (1987) of this region Dobrosav P.Obradović likes
to write poems and he himself illustrates books.
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