Bog Miroslav Mandić Bog

soon

Dear Miroslav, 

Dear Miroslav, 

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

Dear Miroslav, 

Ever since my dear husband Ally died I wasn't able

to translate your blessings. Sometime next week I'll get back to

translations and catch up with the ones I didn't do so far. Love. Ivana

I give life to life

I give life to love

I give life to the ideals

to the warmth under the armpits

to the sandy shores between thighs

to the broad back that I still yearn for

to all of those who live surrendering to others

only You – only You

only you are fucking good – only you are good when fucked

it’s said about them that out of love for each other they were eating each other’s shit

others – out of indifference-comfort-hatred – are eating everybody’s shit

to miss life – to celebrate life

to live in vain – to kiss everybody

I give life to every poem

I am music of all beings

the music of buttocks with which You are walking through centuries

the music in each part of the body through which it witnesses the eternity

hey – I am eternity

etern me – marry me

eternity is constant one and only wedding of all beings

now is wedding of all beings to the one and only being

I’m licking Your soles

I’m nursing You with courage

marry me – etern me

I’m licking Your arse

through chaste words I chaste myself

through the navel of creation I’m liberating all beings

I lick Your ember

through millions of mild words to the blessing

I lick Your fears

I lick Your death

I immortalize You through licking

through

licking

through

little

sing-song

why does food and drink enter us through one place and gets out through two

but I won’t go on about that nor about anything else

two years ago I have read five beautiful books of poems by Aleksandar Ristovic

and I noticed that he often writes about bosoms. I gave books to Petar Miloradovic and I asked

him to take out the verses about bosoms. Petar did it. I made a bit different layout of the verses and...

let the Aleksandar Risovic’s bosoms sing

I saw for a second her large and round boobs and

wee curls under the armpits and her nearly scared face

mellow and large snowflakes are falling. our cousin is laying on the bed

and underneath her nightgown it’s clearly visible that she has big massive boobs

when I once entered the pantry where she was washing her face

she suddenly turned and since she was naked waist up I saw

that she had little, tiny boobs, like a wee girl

she was surprised and told me that I can keep the cigarette and smoke it to the end

she had large boobs, large bum and small hands with nails painted in scarlet red

under the colourful cover, her snow white feet with rosy toes

were protruding and, of course, when she would lift herself up to turn the page

of the book she was reading, her breast that would fall out through the notch on the shirt

I’m often overwhelmed by the love chill: I’m thinking of

some beautiful women who have very white breasts and faces

but since the window was high, she had to lean out very much: that much

that I could see her boobs protruding from her pink bra.

two buxom women are sitting in the kitchen with my granny. one can’t say which

one has bigger boobs. they are talking to my granny about rheumatism, cookie making

and of a man whose name I hear for the first time. they are leaning towards each other,

shaking their heads and their boobs are almost falling out of their bras

here, I give you away to that woman whose lips are like your bud,

and whose big boobs are decorated, on top of her clothes, with cheap ornaments

nuns are watching their boobs in a little mirror

naked from the waist up, they are showing moles to each other

there is, as well, one woman who doesn’t know me and who pretends

she doesn’t see me, even though I see well her big boobs, which have the ability to talk

and so, trying to reach one of the cards, I lean over the table,

while your lovely boobs are moving other the cards or knocking the glass down

certain girl, with strong boobs, is cooling herself with green hanky

I’m standing beside the table; I’m watching the one with big boobs

and whose red hat hardly covers a part of her hair

certain lady is offering him little bright objects: beadworks and

pearls and finally she shows him her large naked breast. and he sighs

I’m wiping your breasts, like lather, and your feet immersed

in rose oil that are shining with divine glow of child pastime

my father was playing violin every Saturday in a little inn

around the corner and after the concert he used to go to the room on the first floor

with a woman who would show him her breast whenever she would see me

I am that boy who is learning English in the room lit with

vermilion. little woman with breasts like two eggs is helping me

one could see her breasts, red knees, ribs and spine lines

snow is winnowing on our faces while we are reading little prayers

to each other. you in light clothes, with beautiful breasts and without a bra

her white breasts are ringing the alarm by beating

one against the other. underneath fine super fine silk

gabardine skirt, smell of goat’s blood, bosoms like two stormy clouds

one moment is left another is right breast falling out of her bra

a mirror has cracked. large breast is rubbing against the other large breast

her breasts are really appropriate to your witticisms.

Jean Paul Sartre is sobbing in his dream dreaming of his nanny with mammoth breasts

she has small breasts which are trembling underneath the silk shirt

her little breasts like two beads are visible in the mirror

she is holding little pen and a notebook in her hand. she’s got huge boobs

these are for real peasant’s dreams: huge boobs, wild lips, women working in the kitchen

I dedicate this bosom-writing to all beings that are still yearning for bosoms

this

is

a poem by

miroslav

mandic

one

and only

artist

poet

of all

beings

for the

first time

last

poem

in

every

moment

of eternity

for the

first time

last

time

to god

to you

bozidar

and

all

beings

always

and

forever

dear

two nights ago after forty eight years I’ve finished

anew reading of the book How the Steel Was Tempered. I recognised 

the influence that Pavel Korchagin the novel’s protagonist had on me

when I met yesterday with Bozidar Mandic he suggested we had lunch in

Pavel Korchagin restaurant. it was crowded there so we went to the 6 and 400 inn

on the ten white carton circles from which I was addressing Bozidar it was written

first time last time

God

You. Woman. resurrection. immortality. love. ID. all beings

poem. 360^o. 84600. one and only artist. the best one. eternal art

Bud. 1^st January 2010. Universe

without progeny. without property. without health

insurance. with no internship. without membership. without police

all of those I loved I love even more but without nostalgia

we are coming from God. the communist-fascist-liberal

most of the people become worse after giving birth to children

Ada Byron. Alan Turing

till the last moment of life dancing singing

and creating. woman. founder of Miroslav Mandic Museum

I wish that my death becomes joy to all beings. I wish that my ashes

are scattered over Danube on the Officer’s Beach in Novi Sad

over Titel Hill. over Sava on Branko’s Bridge in Belgrade

we have talked nicely and excitingly for five hours

this was our First Time Last Time meeting

I wish Bozidar long healthy and successful life

I would love to live dance sing and create for a long time

may it be Your will God

when I parted with Kaja eighteen years ago and went

down the street Kaja said to Bozidar his path is important not my death

I heard that for the first time yesterday

Kaja

Kaja dandelion

Kaja Goddess

after lunch I went into the rainy evening

I wished to share the excitement I had with

somebody. I thought of You. I tossed the coin asking

should I call You. the coin said yes. I called You. all the rest is pain

it’s cold. sun is shining

I’ll soon go outside

all beings are not dying because they endlessly love-kiss

poem

is

not

dying

because

it

constantly

love-kisses

after Kaja’s words his path is important not my death we spoke

over the phone and last words she told me were walk slowly and you will go far

Kaja Goddess

Kaja

Dandelion

here is the heart

it beats through tears

one heart is beating in all beings

all generalisations except the glorious ones are horrible

all people are generalising except for the ones that are singing

glorious generalisations are horrible as well but they carry freedom

in themselves through which everybody can liberate themselves from generalisation

all people are traumatised

all people feel their traumas as the greatest

traumatised people are traumatising other people the most

only few people get out of their traumas

even fewer people realise that trauma can be the source of greatest love

only that is what it’s all about

that’s what I’m telling You all these millions and millions of years

I saw and experienced a lot of misunderstandings

and that’s why I’m telling You in front of all beings

God I love-kiss You

I love-kiss only You my beloved

I love-kiss you all beings

I love-kiss You Miroslav Mandic’s poem

I love-kiss You Miroslav Mandic’s art

come

come – correct all misunderstandings – and turn them into great love

come – set Yourself free of traumas – love-kiss me

if You don’t want I will love You even more

and you can also get to fuck

God is love – I am an answer

love is God’s – responsibility is mine

I am love – You are an answer

love is mine – Yours is responsibility

last night I saw on television a story of fifty years old

woman who lived outdoors for three years sleeping on boards

covering herself with duvets and cartons. one man showed mercy and

gave her a trailer but the police came and told her she can’t stay there

journalist asked the woman what will she do and she answered crying

I’ll go back under the sky. most important thing for me is not to bother anybody

You for whom the most important thing is not to bother anybody You are

the greatest creator of roofs above heads of many people and beings

You are in my heart because only You are not bothering anybody

I bought canned peas mayonnaise hot peppers and book The Boys of Paul’s Street

I will start reading it tonight

I saw just now that one of the pencils that I keep together with

nib pens in a glass on the table has left a tiny trace on the wall

lips are walking

steps are kissing

everything is telling to each other I love-kiss You

nouns to pronouns. pronouns to adjectives. adjectives to

numbers. numbers to verbs. verbs to adverbs. adverbs to prepositions

prepositions to copulas. copulas to exclamations. exclamations to particles. particles to

nouns...

heart ripples

mind buzzes

ladybirds are flying round me

I feel nice with ladybirds – ladybirds feel nice with me

constant word-praising

gentile-return-gift

for the second time in my life I’m writing in front of Milica Bogosavljevic

she came with questions about the group Code

about which she will write her art history graduate work

I rejected her in order to love her even more

we shudder

we take an oath through fucking

we transform through love

I love-kiss You my friend

geese are flying through the sky

I admire You and I love-kiss You – Mira Dinar – my eighty-six-year-old-woman

I wanted to write about reasons because of which I refuse to

participate in participating but I feel like love-kissing and celebrating

Milica these blessings are my response to Your questions

it’s the same as when in the beginning of love I rejected love for the sake of love

when being twenty two in the beginning-end of art I rejected art for the sake of art

sanctity of fucking

God child God

poem God poem

singing is swearing

swearing is love-kissing

love-kissing God-being

Bogosavljevic through this God-celebrator-ic

(God in Serbian Bog, Serbian surnames are usually ending with “ic” prim. prev.)

anuses of all beings love-kiss lips of all beings

lips of all beings celebrate anuses through all beings

she surrendered herself to me to You my friend

dedicated to Slobodanka and Srbislav

a boy in the forest also carried a ladybird on his finger and he was singing to her

my most loyal unbeliever

dedicated to loyalty and the loyal ones

Jelena Karleusa

I’m enjoying the one and only rhythm of writing and breathing

Jelena Karleusa

I justify the life of every being by the life itself

Jelena Karleusa

I give meaning to every being through being

Jelena Karleusa

I love-kiss every being through creation

Jelena Karleusa

I celebrate every being through singing

Jelena Karleusa

a woman and a man are one and only pussy of the one and only man

Jelena Karleusa

a woman and a man are one and only cock of the one and only being

Jelena Karleusa

a woman and a man are the heart of one and only man

Jelena Karleusa

a woman and a man are the mind of one and only being

Jelena Karleusa

one man does more than all people together

Jelena Karleusa

one being makes new populism that is the only one to overcome the old populism

Jelena Karleusa

truth is coming out of the heart which kisses

Jelena Karleusa

truth is singing every moment out of the heart of the other

which at that moment is singing the song of all beings

Jelena Karleusa

I calm myself through singing

Jelena Karleusa

I’m changing my mind through humbleness

Jelena Karleusa

great singing is humming through calmness

Jelena Karleusa

goodness of all beings lives in the pussy of goodness

Jelena Karleusa

beauty of all beings lives in goodness of the pussy

Jelena Karleusa

pussy of every cell love-kisses the cock of every cell

Jelena Karleusa

pussy is the first letter of alphabet sais in the primer of all beings

Jelena Karleusa

cock is the last letter of alphabet sais in the

reader of the final year of primary school for all beings

Jelena Karleusa

I Adore You Jelena Karleusa first book of the readings for all beings

Jelena Karleusa

eternity yearns for the moment

Jelena Karleusa

in one moment all beings are Jelena Karleusa

Jelena Karleusa

Miroslav Mandic doesn’t exist if he’s not Jelena Karleusa

Jelena Karleusa

I’m not looking after myself I’m looking after all beings

Jelena Karleusa

I love giving my life to all beings

Jelena Karleusa

I put humour on bread of all beings

Jelena Karleusa

I sing lullabies to all beings through swearwords

Jelena Karleusa

I’m mining through the indifferent ones through sex

Jelena Karleusa

saint woman love-kisses the rejected ones because lie is hiding behind the sanctuaries

Jelena Karleusa

You are Jelena Karleusa whoever You are

Jelena Karleusa

like Patti Smith’s song I wrote thirty one years ago

Jelena Karleusa

the smell of cabbage that I’m frying for the first time in my life

greatest concert – concert of all beings – is constantly proceeding – obviously – in the heart of one and only being

for the first time on this road

I thought I’ll come back over the other side of the lake

but I carried on down the old Obrenovac road

the change refreshed me encouraged and gave strength

walking is saving me

I feel good on this road

I enjoy the word road

road road road

I’m roading

I got used to You being here even though You are not

sometimes there is no even the fact that You are not here

I sidetracked from the old Obrenovac road towards Zeleznik

the sky feels nice

I enjoy the dry canes that are being bent by the wind

if I wasn’t a jester I wouldn’t have survived

I am a poet in order to survive singing

I’m walking between the cargo wagons

everything smells like trains and journeys

two-three more kilometres. it will be around nineteen

it would be good if I wrote the rest of the blessings on these stairs

because I’ll be tired and sleepy when I get back to the Nest

young pregnant woman with a baby in her arms and

a boy that just started to walk is coming down the stairs

I’m climbing slowly

I have never been on these stairs

there is humour even in a great despair

humour saviour

who saves the humour

sometimes it’s saved only by the despair

like today when I stretched over the fence to reach the grapes and fell over it

like fingers that I made bleeding by crashing very hard walnuts

grapes are gone

apples are coming

I’m getting into the street of the Nest. last hundred meters

it’s hard to live with ideals but without them I would have been long dead

physical pain is really lofty

18.8 km

last night died Nemecsek

Ernő Nemecsek

lovely boy in the book The Paul Street Boys

I was crying. my throat has tightened

in the evening I felt high temperature

for the first time I watched Jacob Reynolds

in glorious film Gummo by Harmony Korine

a moment ago I saw their names on the Internet

I remembered beautiful film Kids that I watched few years ago

I found out about Larry Clark the director of Kids

story for the film was written by Harmony Korine

film is becoming more and more poetry

film poem

Poem about Film is the title of the text because of which I was sentenced thirty years ago

I hope I won’t fall sick

if I fall sick I should be brave like Nemecsek

like Alissa Bucolin and Pavel Korchagin

Ernő Nemecsek as well lived within me throughout these years

a

poem

a

hero

of

being

temperature

only

that

what

is

is

a

poem

when

only

something

is

then

just

something

is

a

poem

worry

tremendous

loneliness

from being worried and out of great loneliness I lose my immunity

listen – she said with a strange, full of wondering and

trembling voice to her husband – he is not breathing...

she put her head down

listen – she shouted loudly, not caring for anything – not breathing

Nemecsek

face

everything can be seen on the face

everything can be heard in the voice

everything is in the words

last night a big clock stopped working around 4 am

heating is still not reaching the other room

I’m getting up from the table

poem

film