Ljubomir Micić (1895 -1971)
bim bam bom
:: Serbian :: Macedonian :: German ::
From the red roofs of love
The free towers of the first floors to the sky
In all continents to the proletarians a poem with greeting of my eyes
INSTEAD OF THROWN BOMBS POURED TEARS
Snakes are my tears
You comrades of prohuman turmoil and celestial blood
The sky is green grass
The sky roars in the desert of the Christian Easter day
Earth you ape planet with horns of the gods take note
Today the factories of our souls howl cry after cry
The sirens of screams are echoing from the red spearheads
of the new spirit
All the streets flow dirty as the entrails of European capital
In our cities instead of human millions
The tramways travel red as flags
Rushing through driven by the deadly electric revolution
Adorned with mud is the bourgeoisie
The bourgeoisie strolls through the rich parks of the golden calf
And prepares to celebrate Easter Day with booze for that Christ
Whom they passionately crucified so many years ago
Only the black dogs bear pure love in their eyes
The cars, speeding machines on four rubber wings
Carrying man-eaters
I’m sure they run over some melancholy pedestrians today too
In the Balkans, the pedestrian is still the only human being
Pedestrians – zenithists – poets – proletarians suffer
And know: freedom is a coward asleep on the rotten branch of Europe
There are the radio cruisers of our antennas and the bundles of spitted ideals
Romping on the blue tits of Avala
Shackled in the chains of freedom my barbarian nations
By the achievement of the Četniks of the Invalids and the Komits
Rage like straw men those fighters wedded to glory
In the winds of stock market-political speculation
Orthopaedics is for humans death-long in the bosom of wars
The prosthesis is the shiniest sash of all victories that are always defeats
Above the bushes of human calamity and the gallows flaunt
people’s banks
people’s trades
people’s politics
people’s arts
people’s corruptions
The bullet sermons bloom in our chests
While we with skeletal nails chime rebellious thoughts through the mountains
While the cursed centuries with rusting daggers
Scratching the dirty ass of Serbian Rome
Roar from the dark caverns of our raging skulls
The Janissaries of the Revolution
For the new to humanity all in a whirl.
Belgrade, May 01, 1926 (published in Zenit No. 41)
Translation from the Serbian :: Elizabeta Lindner
Jamesdin :: Maulwurfshügel :: Krtičnjak :: Molehill
