JOVICA IVANOVSKI: TEN POEMS
Escape from yourself, that’s what poetry is.
In the meantime you search for yourself –
that’s poetry, too.
The garbage in the streets, the neon lights,
the pavements – it’s all poetry.
Then reality breaks apart like a fire-cracker.
You don’t like the sparklers for they sparkle
joy that lasts only too briefly.
You don’t like the candles either, neither
on birthday cakes nor on graves.
The overwrought poems are like
whores with too much makeup, or raped
That’s why the poets (and the no-poets) get
horny on simple things.
One should hide from humanity
to find the human being in himself,
and then escape from it
as far as possible.