VIOLETA BOŽOVIĆ-Prijedor, Bosna i Hercegovina

Violeta Bozovic

Biography of Violeta Božović

“In the writing of poetry, the poet is the medium. On the most beautiful stairs of the spirit, having entered the unconscious andbeing preeminent, poets build a house without a plan, and yet the house takes on the form of Divine architecture.” These are the words of Ms Violeta Bozovic, a writer and member of the Association of the Writers of Serbia, the Association of the Writers of Montenegro and the Matica Srpska of Novi Sad.

She has published the following books:

„The Candle of Remembrance, 2ooo,

„The Straps of Monastic Sandals, 2oo2,

„How the Sky is made“, 2oo4,

Novels „A Diary of Sladjana Kobas“, 2006,

and “In the Whirlwind of Love and Death”, 2009

THE PRIEST, 2011,

An anthological selection of the most important writers from the Potkozarje Region, Prijedor, 2010,

Books of Poetry „If I Met You before the Spring“, 2010,

„Love Is a Great Secret, 2013, and “A DREAM IN THE STONE GARDEN”, 2016.

‘A girl  with a song in the desert’  2020

She’s been translated into several languages.

Her special achievements include:

The winner of several literary festivals and poetry marathons, she was awarded the GOLDEN POETIC RING in Subotica in 2001 and the Statue of Branko Miljković at MILJKOVIĆ POETRY EVENINGS and MILJKOVIĆ DAYS in Niš, in 2009.

She is the winner of the 2015 „GOLDEN PEN“, the highest international recognition by the Association of Serbian Natives of Slovenia, and, according to the criteria of the academic jury of the Association of Serbian Writers of Slovenia, her poem „IT’S NOT EASY TO LOVE PEOPLE” was named the poem of the year 2015.

She is the winner of the HONOR POETRY CHARTER in two Italian cities
– Caserta, in March 2018, for her poem „IT’S NOT EASY TO LOVE PEOPLE”, and in Galatone for her poem “MOLITVA”, in May 2018.

The winner of the WORLD POETRY CHAMPIONSHIP in Romania – the city Sinaja, in October 2018.president festa poet Trandafir Simpetru Romania

The winner of special golden award “MESOPOTAMIA”, 2019., Belgrade.

She also writes essays and literary criticism.

She is Acting President of the Association of Writers of Republika Srpska and Diaspora, Prijedor.

• Biografija Violete Božović

U pisanju poezije pesnik je medijum. Na najlepšim stepenicama duha zašao u nesvesno, uzdignut gradi građevinu bez plana,koja dobija oblik Božanske arhitekture.

Kaže književnica Violeta Božović

članica Udruženja književnika Srbije, Udruženja književnika Crne Gore i novosadske Matice Srpske.

Objavila je sledeće knjige-

„Kandilo sećanja 2ooo,

„Remenje monaških sandala 2oo2,

„Kako se pravi nebo“_2oo4,

Romani „Dnevnik Sladjane Kobas“-2006,

/U vihoru ljubavi i smrti 2009

SVEŠTENIK -2011 ,

Antologijski izbor najznačajnijih autora Potkozarja,Prijedor 2010,

Knjigu poezije „Da sam te srela prije proleća „2010“ i“Ljubav je velika tajna“ 2013. godine kao i “SAN U KAMENIITOM VRTU”- 2016 godne.

 “Devojka sa pemom u pustinji  2o2o

Prevođena na više jezika.

Pobednica je nekoliko književnih festivala i maratona poezije .

Dobitnik ZLATNOG PESNIČKOG PRSTENA U SUBOTICI 2001 godine i MILJKOVIĆEVIH VEČERI POEZIJE i dobitnik statue Branka Miljkovića ,na Miljkovićevim danima u Nišu 2009 godine.

2015. godine nastupa kao pobednik -ZLATNOG PERA,,najvećeg međunarodnog priznanja Udruženja srpskih književnika Slovenije, a njena pesma “NIJE LAKO VOLETI LJUDE”,po kriterijma akademskog žirija Udruženja srpskih književnika Slovenije, je proglašena za pesmu godine u 2015 godini.

Dobitnik POVELJA ČASTI ZA POEZIJU u dva italijanska grada – u Kazerti, marta 2018 godine, za pesmu NIJE LAKO VOLETI LJUDE, i u Galatoneu maja iste godine za pesmu MOLITVA.

Pobednik SVETSKOG PRVENSTVA U POEZIJI u gradu Sinaja, u Rumuniji, oktobra 2018. godine.

Dobitnik specijalne zlatne nagrade “MESOPOTAMIA”, 2019.,Beograd.
Dobitnik specijalnog priznanja za književnost Fondacije najboljih pesnika sveta Odiseja *Munir Mezyed* Krajova Rumunija 2019
Dobitnik književnog Oskara Rumunija Bukurešt 2019.

Bavi se esejistikom i književnom kritikom.

Vrši funkciju predsednika Udruženja pisaca Republike Srpske i dijaspore-Prijedor.

BAJKA O LEPTIRU KOJI SE PRETVORIO U CVET

„Moja ćutnja je ključ  za tvoju savest”, reče leptir i pogleda u cvet. “Otkud znaš da ja imam savest?”, upitaše ga latice. ”Imaš! Da nijetako, ne bi naglas  smišljala opravdanje za svoje postupke. Sve što danas otćutim, vreme prosto iz tebe otkrije, draga prijateljice,reče joj leptir i nasmešen pogleda u sunce…A sunce je sijalo visoko i milovalo leptiriću krila,dajući mu toplinu da leti, još više i više.Visoko…Visoko…

Cvet je posmatrao leptira i razmišljao: “ Ja sam jedinstven cvet, a ti si samo jedan od 100 leptira koji su leteli livadom.  Sledeći koji se spusti na moju laticu, pomoćiće  mi da te zaboravim!“ Ubrzo potom je došlo nevreme. Umestoleptira, na lattice cveta su se spustili insekti, koji su sletivši na lattice oponašali leptirov let u nastojanju  da pridobijucvet.

Cvet u svojoj oholosti im je poverovao. Ubrzo su insekti, bez ikakvog znaka upozorenja navalili na cvet, i počeli da mu proždiru latice. Od njegove lepote je ostala samo tužna stabljika, koja  stajaše na livadi gola i posramljena. Svi su cvet počeli da izbegavaju i sletali  na druge cvetove...Jednog  dana se pojavio leptir i prepoznao svog prijatelja. Nežno mu sleteo na stabljiku i s a puno ljubavi poljubio jedinu laticu koja mu je preostala…Rekavši: „Svojim krilcima ću da te zaklonim od onih koji su te unakazili.  Doneo sam ti sunca u njima, i moje  sunce će ti pomoći da dobiješ latice. Jer ti si moj cvet. Moj   prijatelj.   Stajaću i štitiću te, dok god ne dobiješ latice lepe i bele kao moja krila!“ Tako je i učinio… Cvet, koji je iz oholosti prezreo ljubav  leptira, je shvatio vrednost prijatelja. Dan za danom je nicala jedna po jedna cvetova latica,a leptir je uprkos  kiši, suncu i insektima, negovao svoj cvet. Jednog dana je cvet ponovo bio kraljica livada. Raširio je latice i sa ljubavlju prigrlio svog leptira. Postali su jedno.I danas čuvaju i štite jedandrugoga, uprkos   nevremenu i insektima.

Kad poželite da naučite šta je Ljubav, posetite korakom moju livadu. Na njoj će vas u zagrljaju latica čekati leptir koji se pretvorio u cvet.

“A ko siti koja si sve ovo napisala?”,poput   radoznale dece upitaše cvetovi rasuti po livadi.

“Ja sam ćutnja .Moja ćutnja je ključ   za tvoju savest!“,

Reče leptirica i raširi krilca.

U zagrljaj je dočeka sunce.

Violeta Božović

A FAIRY TALE ABOUT A BUTTERFLY THAT TURNED INTO A FLOWER

by Violeta Bozovic

„My silence is the key to your conscience,“ said the butterfly, and looked at the flower. „How do you know I have a conscience?“, the petals asked him. „You have it! If it weren’t so, you wouldn’t be devising aloud a justification for your actions. Whatever I keep to myself today, time will simply reveal, my dear friend”, the butterfly said to her and looked at the sun with a smile… And the sun shone high and caressed the butterfly’s wings, giving it warmth to fly ever more. High … High. …

The flower watched the butterfly and thought, „I am a unique flower, and you are just one of 100 butterflies that flew about the meadow. The next one that lands on my petal will help me forget you!“ Soon afterward, a storm came. Instead of butterflies, insects landed on the petals of the flower and imitated the butterfly’s flight to win the flower. In its arrogance, the flower believed them. Soon, the insects, without any warning signs rushed at the flower, and began to devour its petals.All that remained of its beauty was a sad stalk, which stood in the meadow naked and ashamed. All began to avoid that flower and land on other flowers. One day the butterfly appeared and recognized his friend. It gently landed on its friend’s stalk and kissed with a lot of love the only petal that still was there, saying: „With my wings, I will protect you from those who mutilated you. I have brought you the sun in them, and my sun will help you  recoveryour petals.  Because you are my flower, my friend, I will stand and protect you until you get the petals as beautiful and white as my wings!“ And it did so.The flower that out of arrogance despised the love of butterflies, understood the value of a friend. Day after day, flower petals sprouted one by one, and the butterfly, despite the rain, sun, and insects, nurtured its flower. One day, the flower was the queen of the meadow again. It spread the petals and embraced its butterfly with love. They became one. And today they guard and protect each other, despite storms and insects.When you may wish to learn what Love is, visit my meadow step by step. There, in the embrace of petals, a butterfly that has turned into a flower will be waiting for you.  “And who are you who wrote all this?”, like curious children, asked the flowers scattered about the meadow.“I am silence. My silence is the key to your conscience!“, said the butterfly and spread its wings. The sun welcomed it in its embrace…

. . .

Violeta  Bozovic

5. TESTAMENT

            Vaša tela su meni data al ne i vašeduše. Posmatrao sam vas kad ste odrastali,tražeći sličnost sa mojim roditeljima, kojih sam ostao željan, a koji meni, zbog teškog  života koji su živeli, nisu pružili, što sam ja vama.

            Video sam,deco moja,da ste vremenom  naučili da najviše volite sebe.  Kraj vas je stario i bivao odbačen i usamljen vašotac, koji to zbog ponosa nikad nije dozvolio da vidite. Posmatraosam vas. Video da ste svoji ljudi. Ljudi,kojima roditelj služi da napokon  umre, da jednog dana podelite,to što sam odričući se sebe i svog života, štedeo, a što se godinama, kao prazan nepotreban papir  povlačilo po banci, dok sam pritešnjen  brigama, postajao sve  bolesniji.

Vaša majka se odavno nada da će me nadživeti, jer bi tako  dokazala da vam je ona sačuvala novac, kojeg i samiveć previše imate.  Vaša majka vas je učila praktičnoj dobroti  samoljublja.  Da volite novac, a ne  ljude.  Zapravo,da volite onog ko vam  pruža  novac, dok ne prestane da vam daje.

            Sećam se dana kad ste primetili da samsretan. Blistaosam i bivao ozaren  posebnimsjajem. Tada je u kući nastala panika. Posumnjali ste da sam  zaljubljen. Užasnuli ste se mogućnosti da bih mogao da odem i da ovo  malo  života  budemsrećan.  Pratiliste me,  špijunirali, kontrolisali račun uz pomoć vaše  majke, koja se pravila da nema  pojma  ni o čemu.

            U dobro skrivenom notesu  pronašli  ste  moje  pesme. Predložili ste  majci da me odvede psihijatru.

Mislim da je vama potrebnija pomoć  jer  ste  postal  ljudi bez duše  koji  na svet  gledate  kroz  interes.

            Hteo sam da vas   napustim, ali ne da zauvek  odem.  Samo da vam dam do znanja, da imam pravo  na  svoje  odluke.   Počeliste da me salećete,odjednom  ste smišljali  porodične  ručkove, dolazili, odlazili,  sve pod inteligentnom  režijom  vaše  majke, koja se zarekla da sam njeno  vlasništvo, sve sa mojim  računima,  I   kad umrem.

 Iako  teško bolestan,  posmatrao sam vas i bilo mi vas je žao.  Iako sam bio sam, bio sam u duši sretan  jer sam čisto  zavoleo  jednu  divnu  ženu i ona  mene,   ta ljubav me je držala da se nadam, da ću preživeti teret  bolesti  koja me pritisla. Vi niste nikad doživeli  ljubav i ne možete da shvatite, da izvan vas i vaših  pogleda na  život,postoji svet duhovan, ljudski,svet  u koji mogu da uđu  samo  oni  koji zasluže.

            Ona je moj život i mojedisanje.  Sa njom se osećam sretno, mlado i voljeno.

Sa njom sam poželeo imati decu, onakvu  kakvu sam sanjao da vi budete. Nikad niste shvatali, iako samvamobjašnjavao, da sreću ne čini matematički  račun, koji se svakog  meseca oplođava u banci. Sreću čine nečije oči  koje te vole, miris trave,besane noći i tiha razneženost kad posmatraš voljenu ženu, dok kraj tebe diše.  I kad je nema,osećaš da je tu. Tražiš je i nalaziš u svim  stvarima oko sebe.  Najveća je ona kad svakog časa  kaoRuža procveta u tebi.

            Tek sad sam video, da sam,  iako sam vam želeo dobro, promašio život.

Jednog dana ću umreti.Skupićete se oko mog kovčega, u tišini, bez glasa me spustiti u raku.

 Doterati se kad bude čitanje mog testamenta, ubeđeni da sam vas dovoljno  volio, da vam celog sebe ostavim. Vašu  majku ćete posle  odvesti  na  ručak u neki  restoran,a onaće  se vratiti svom svakodnevnom  životu.  Sve  će biti isto  kao da sam  tu.  Jednako će biti  sama, kao kad je bila samnom.Samo će imati  tanjir  manje da pere  posle  ručka. Sešće u kola i vratiti se starim  navikama.

            Vi ćete tad sigurno znati da posle njene smrti nema nikog da vam smeta u nasledstvu.

Kad bude iznemoćala od   starosti, nju  ćete baciti u neki  dom,gde će provoditi  svoje  poslednjedane.  Zato samodlučio da vam    ostavim TESTAMENT

            Jedinim naslednikom  mojim  proglašavam  vreme  koje sam  izgubio  boreći se da vas pretvorim u ljude.

U tom vremenu sam otkrio neka  bića od kojih sam, iako star, mnogo  naučio.

            Dve trećine svega  što sam stekao   darujem   deci  koja  nemaju  oca kakav   sam   j a bio.

            Jednu  trećinu  ostavljam  vama, pod uslovom da me sahranite  uz mojeroditelje, pred  koje ću kad prođem  kapiju  vremena, stati i pitati  gde  sam to u vašem  slučaju   pogrešio.         

Mnogo  ste  me razočarali  svojom  sebičnošću i željom da nikad   ne proživim,  da ostanem biljka, koja će svenuti, izolovana od svojih  potreba.  Šteta samo što vam nisam   ostavio   da nasledite  dušu.

Tela stedobili od nas, vaših  roditelja, a dušu  daruje  Gospod.

            Pitaću ga gde je u vašem  slučaju  pogrešio.

            Voli vas VašOtac.

. . .

LAST WILL

            Your bodies are given to me but not your souls. I watched you grow up and looked for a resemblance to my parents, whom I missed a lot because, due to the hard life they lived, they could not support me as I have supported you.

            I have seen, my children, that over time you have learned to love yourself the most.

Beside you, I, your father, grew old, rejected, and lonely. Out of pride, I never allowed you to see it. I watched you. I have seen that you have become your own people, the people for whom the purpose of parentsis to finally die so that one day you share what, depriving myself of my life, I have saved, and what over the years dragged around the bank like a blank unnecessary piece of paper, while,pressedwith worries, I became increasingly ill. Your mother has hoped for a long time that she will outlive me, because that would prove she has saved you money, which you already have in excess.Your mother has taught you practical goodness of self-love. To love money, not people. In fact, to love the one who gives you money, until they stop giving it to you.

            I remember the day you noticed I was happy. I shone and was radiant with a special glow. It caused panic in the house.You suspected I was in love. You were horrified at the possibility that I might leave and be happy this little bit of life still left to me. You followed me, spied on me, controlled the account with the help of your mother, who pretended to have no idea about anything.

            You found my poems in a well-hidden notebook. You suggested to my mother that she should take me to a psychiatrist.I think it is you who need help because you have become soulless people who look at the world through interest.

            I wanted to leave you, but not forever, just to let you know that I have a right to my decisions. You started teasing me, suddenly you were planning family lunches, coming, going, all under the intelligent direction of your mother, who treated me as her property, all with my bills, and will do so when I die. Although seriously ill, I watched you and I felt sorry for you.

            Although I was alone, I was happy in my soul because I purely fell in love with a wonderful woman, and she with me. This love kept me hoping that I would survive the burden of the disease that oppressed me. You have never experienced love, and you cannot understand that outside of you and your views on life, there is a spiritual, human world, a world that only those who deserve it can enter.She is my life and my breathing. With her, I feel happy, young, and loved. I wanted to have children with her, the kind I dreamed you would be. You never understood, although I explained it to you, that happiness is not made up of a mathematical calculus, which is fertilized every month in a bank.Happiness consists of someone’s eyes that love you, of the smell of grass, sleepless nights, and quiet tenderness when you watch your beloved woman, while she is breathing next to you.And when she’s gone, you feel she’s there. You look for her and find her in all the things around you. She is the greatest when she blooms in you every hour like a Rose.

            Only now have I seen that, even though I wished you well, I have missed my life.One day I will die. You will gather around my coffin, in silence, to lower me into the grave without a voice. You will dress up for the reading of my will, convinced that I loved you enough to leave you the whole of myself. Later, you will take your mother to a restaurant for lunch, and she will return to her daily life.Everything will be the same as if I were here. She will be alone, just like when she was with me. She will just have a plate less to wash after lunch. She will get in the car and return to her old habits.

            You now know for sure that, after her death, there will be no one to bother you in the inheritance. When she becomes exhausted from old age, she will be thrown into a home, where she will spend her last days. So, I have decided to leave you a WILL

            I declare my only heir the time I lost fighting to turn you into people. During that time, I discovered some human beings from whom, although old, I have learned a lot.

            I leave two thirds of everything I have gained to the children who do not have a father like me.

            I leave one third to you on the condition that you bury me alongside my parents, in front of whom I will stand when I pass the gate of time and ask them where I went wrong in your case.

            You have disappointed me a lot with your selfishness and your desire that I never live a full life, but to remain a plant that will wither isolated from my needs.Too bad I didn’t let you inherit my soul. You received the bodies from us, your parents while the soul is gifted to you by the Lord.

            I’ll ask him where he went wrong in your case.

            Your  Father loves you.

. . .

* prevod  sa srpskog na egleski  jezik* Milomir Ilić London

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