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Slavko Janevski Poems
There the hungry wolf with his teeth has ripped out the hot entrails.
Let's go and dance a little, Death, you and me. He'll dig a well,
This race, this wonderful race! Here it kisses the hangman
Looking For An Answer
It left his skin on a stone and turned into stone. A viper. It grunted from rifle shots
Breakfast With Death
He doesn't come the way you thought from rose-coloured glaciers with a dead stag in his arms.
Comments about Slavko Janevski
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
There the hungry wolf
with his teeth
has ripped out the hot entrails.
There the fugitive convict
stone by stone
has dug his grave.
There the naked dead
on a table of their bones
have chopped up the moon.
There the rutting stags,
their antlers entangled,
have turned into skeletons.
There on hard arid ground
sorcerers have woven
a wedding feast banner from their veins.
The groom is the wind,
the bride is the mist.
Amazingly in their cradle
(a handful of earth and hope)
a nameless flower opens. ...