Book review of Violeta Allmuca’s book of poetry
“Dance of Breath”, (June 2014, USA)
By Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc, 11.8.2014
“Dance of Breath”, (June 2014, USA)
By Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc, 11.8.2014
Bog života.
U sebi. I ljubavi
Tlo prekriveno ružama sjećanja očekuje konačnu istinu on sebi.
Isprepletenost ludilom ljubavi, sjete i čuđenja blagošću zri.
Uz mnoštvo personifikacija pridjevu što streme, alegorično nižući nisku bisera sopstvene, iskrene...sudbine. Naivnošću istkana, optimizmom se hrani dok suština neumitno raste u njedrima suludih nakana. Suludih? Njenog okruženja koje negira optimizam isključivošću gradeći betonske zidove sivila čudnih, retrogradnih navika da osuđuju. Poeziju smjernosti i ljubavi. Svi oni! A ko su oni? To je bilo ko od svih onih što se ljudima smatraju a da ne razumije poruku otjelovljenja moguće ljubavi sreći što hodi. Ljudski vijek to i jeste. Utemeljenost sreći što hodi. Ne zaustavljajte je. Pustite je. Nada svakako umire posljednja. Dok gradi sjećanje novim generacijama koje dolaze, ni jednoga trenutka ne ostavlja potop iza sebe. Ah, kada bi svi upravo to i radili. Kao Violeta Allmuca. Kada bi svi...Samo pokušali.
Čak i kada gubi svjesnošću obasjana ona ponosno upozorava sve nas što dolazimo da obratimo pažnju na sitne, pažnjom obasjane, nedorasle oblike ljubavne boli koje grade budućnost. U nama i oko nas. Ona to čini i zbog sebe. Ali, najviše zbog nas poruku gradeći. Poruku dobra. Istine. Poezije.
Njeno zaranjanje u prošlost protkanu religioznošću vlastitog bitka rađa nove pretpostavke usmjerene upravo apliciranju najiskrenijih poruka mudrosti što nam ostadoše iz svete(ih) knjiga(e): ljubav, istina, iskrenost. Zar upravo u svim navedenim knjigama ne piše kako je grijeh činiti zlo bilo kome? Zar u njima ne piše da treba ići ka bratstvu ljudi? Zar u njima ne piše „ljubi bližnjega svoga“? A danas smo suočeni sa činjenicom da nikada nismo imali više vjernika a nikada više lopovluka, mržnje, isključivosti. Contradictio in adiecto? Čak i gore od toga. Umjesto da vlastitu budućnost gradimo slušajući stihove ove poetske proročice (from the poem „Structure of Ruin“): „We walk with the sun of hope/Perhaps tomorrow at least/We will not walk as mad/Over the desert of absence“ Samo pročitati...i pokušati realizirati izbjegavajući upozorenja. Mitska, ali i sadašnja.
Njena komunikacija ne prestaje u svakodnevnici već žestoko, istraživački prodire u tkivo smisla, tražeći odgovore. Ne tako davno sam zapisao: „Nije teško pisati. Teško je znati pisati“ i to Violetu Allmucu čini primjerom spisateljskog znalca dok piše (from the poem „In the Nameless Roaad“): „In the extinguished winter neon/Through the nameless roads/The chain of longing separated /Instants scrolling exhausted/In the stomach of the city’s watch“ gdje upotrebom hiperbole, oksimorona i metafora gradi novu sliku realiteta koji živi. Bolno, ali iskreno. Istinito iskreno.
Nevidiljiva, neimenovana ljubav izbija iz svih njenih pora težeći razumijevanju. I, zatim iznenada, imenom ovjenčana rađa se nova/stara ljubav...majka. Da vas podsjetim, to je osoba koja ništa ne traži zauzvrat. Ona vas voli bezuvjetno. I ovom pjesmom. Violetinom, naziva „Majka“. Ne navodim je zbog prostora uz poziv da je ne čitate samo jednom, već najmanje..... jer cjelinom diše. I zna. Dok čekamo, kao Isus/Issae na križu sopstvene sudbine osuđeni kao Adam/Adem i/ili Eva/Hava na vječni pakao besmisla življenja uz poneku, sudbinom ovjekovječenu, nadu. Sjećanju na dobro usmjerenu. Uvijek govorimo o „dobrim starim vremenima“, ni ne shvatajući da će i ova naša, današnja vremena, biti „dobra stara vremena“. Zbog čega? Jer idemo samo ka...gorim, i gorim vremenima. Autorica je toga svjesna i upozorava, vapi upozoravajući nas da se vratimo i jednostavno... postanemo ljudi...bez obzira kojem se Bogu molimo i da li se uopšte molimo, ili samo pretvaramo da to činimo. Kako napisah mnogo godina ranije, vratićemo posuđenu energiju našim odlaskom sa ovoga svijeta i taj 21 gram svijesti (svjesne energije) će ojačati upravo energiju koju teisti zovu Bogom a ateisti Svemirom beskonačnosti. Ja, gnostik kakav jesam, to zovem energijom. I ponosan sam na tako nešto. Zbog čega? Jer ću biti dijelom upravo toga. Baš kako i pravovjernici vele – Božjeg davanja. Zbog čega Bog nije žena? A možda i jeste? Mnogo bi nam ljepše bilo. Ili ne? Ne znam, energiji težeči.
Knjiga poezije Dance of breath je snažna poetska poruka čovjeka – žene. O svijetu bez grijeha. Koji može postojati. Makar u pjesmi i riječima njenim.
Para - erotika samo naizgled čini otklon od njenih poruka, mada, moram priznati, izaziva svojom mističnošću. Nevidljiva ljubav neimenovanih likova snažne odraze ljudskosti čini. I teži ka. Traženju ljubavi. U njemu. I u njoj. Njeni snovi su i naši snovi. Nedorečeni. Ali realitetu usmjereni. Prodajući uspomene koje nikada neće moći prodati. Jer su one zajedljivo i čvrsto vezane za biće svakoga od nas. Ne samo njeno. Zaista!
I, da kada kaže (in the poem: „Party Life“): „We are in this world when love baptizes us/Otherwise we remain a space without trees“ upravo ljudskosti stremi jer „krštenje“ je upravo to...ljubav. Nepatvorena. Istinska. I vice versa.
Da, samo amebe uživaju u ljubavi jer nacijom nisu istkane, obuhvaćene. Ovdje, sada i danas, mi jesmo, ludi, kakvi samo ljudi mogu biti čekamo realizaciju misli koju, griješan kakav jesam, izrekoh prošle godine: „Nacija je historijska kategorija i treba samo sačekati kraj historije.“ Da, „Once upon a time“, kako i pjesma veli, draga Violeta.
Dok opjevava svoje himne...
I dalje tražeći.
Sebe.
U ljubavi.
I u ljudima.
Bivajući sjenom drugih. Postajući Bogom.
Života...sebe.
U sebi. I ljubavi
Tlo prekriveno ružama sjećanja očekuje konačnu istinu on sebi.
Isprepletenost ludilom ljubavi, sjete i čuđenja blagošću zri.
Uz mnoštvo personifikacija pridjevu što streme, alegorično nižući nisku bisera sopstvene, iskrene...sudbine. Naivnošću istkana, optimizmom se hrani dok suština neumitno raste u njedrima suludih nakana. Suludih? Njenog okruženja koje negira optimizam isključivošću gradeći betonske zidove sivila čudnih, retrogradnih navika da osuđuju. Poeziju smjernosti i ljubavi. Svi oni! A ko su oni? To je bilo ko od svih onih što se ljudima smatraju a da ne razumije poruku otjelovljenja moguće ljubavi sreći što hodi. Ljudski vijek to i jeste. Utemeljenost sreći što hodi. Ne zaustavljajte je. Pustite je. Nada svakako umire posljednja. Dok gradi sjećanje novim generacijama koje dolaze, ni jednoga trenutka ne ostavlja potop iza sebe. Ah, kada bi svi upravo to i radili. Kao Violeta Allmuca. Kada bi svi...Samo pokušali.
Čak i kada gubi svjesnošću obasjana ona ponosno upozorava sve nas što dolazimo da obratimo pažnju na sitne, pažnjom obasjane, nedorasle oblike ljubavne boli koje grade budućnost. U nama i oko nas. Ona to čini i zbog sebe. Ali, najviše zbog nas poruku gradeći. Poruku dobra. Istine. Poezije.
Njeno zaranjanje u prošlost protkanu religioznošću vlastitog bitka rađa nove pretpostavke usmjerene upravo apliciranju najiskrenijih poruka mudrosti što nam ostadoše iz svete(ih) knjiga(e): ljubav, istina, iskrenost. Zar upravo u svim navedenim knjigama ne piše kako je grijeh činiti zlo bilo kome? Zar u njima ne piše da treba ići ka bratstvu ljudi? Zar u njima ne piše „ljubi bližnjega svoga“? A danas smo suočeni sa činjenicom da nikada nismo imali više vjernika a nikada više lopovluka, mržnje, isključivosti. Contradictio in adiecto? Čak i gore od toga. Umjesto da vlastitu budućnost gradimo slušajući stihove ove poetske proročice (from the poem „Structure of Ruin“): „We walk with the sun of hope/Perhaps tomorrow at least/We will not walk as mad/Over the desert of absence“ Samo pročitati...i pokušati realizirati izbjegavajući upozorenja. Mitska, ali i sadašnja.
Njena komunikacija ne prestaje u svakodnevnici već žestoko, istraživački prodire u tkivo smisla, tražeći odgovore. Ne tako davno sam zapisao: „Nije teško pisati. Teško je znati pisati“ i to Violetu Allmucu čini primjerom spisateljskog znalca dok piše (from the poem „In the Nameless Roaad“): „In the extinguished winter neon/Through the nameless roads/The chain of longing separated /Instants scrolling exhausted/In the stomach of the city’s watch“ gdje upotrebom hiperbole, oksimorona i metafora gradi novu sliku realiteta koji živi. Bolno, ali iskreno. Istinito iskreno.
Nevidiljiva, neimenovana ljubav izbija iz svih njenih pora težeći razumijevanju. I, zatim iznenada, imenom ovjenčana rađa se nova/stara ljubav...majka. Da vas podsjetim, to je osoba koja ništa ne traži zauzvrat. Ona vas voli bezuvjetno. I ovom pjesmom. Violetinom, naziva „Majka“. Ne navodim je zbog prostora uz poziv da je ne čitate samo jednom, već najmanje..... jer cjelinom diše. I zna. Dok čekamo, kao Isus/Issae na križu sopstvene sudbine osuđeni kao Adam/Adem i/ili Eva/Hava na vječni pakao besmisla življenja uz poneku, sudbinom ovjekovječenu, nadu. Sjećanju na dobro usmjerenu. Uvijek govorimo o „dobrim starim vremenima“, ni ne shvatajući da će i ova naša, današnja vremena, biti „dobra stara vremena“. Zbog čega? Jer idemo samo ka...gorim, i gorim vremenima. Autorica je toga svjesna i upozorava, vapi upozoravajući nas da se vratimo i jednostavno... postanemo ljudi...bez obzira kojem se Bogu molimo i da li se uopšte molimo, ili samo pretvaramo da to činimo. Kako napisah mnogo godina ranije, vratićemo posuđenu energiju našim odlaskom sa ovoga svijeta i taj 21 gram svijesti (svjesne energije) će ojačati upravo energiju koju teisti zovu Bogom a ateisti Svemirom beskonačnosti. Ja, gnostik kakav jesam, to zovem energijom. I ponosan sam na tako nešto. Zbog čega? Jer ću biti dijelom upravo toga. Baš kako i pravovjernici vele – Božjeg davanja. Zbog čega Bog nije žena? A možda i jeste? Mnogo bi nam ljepše bilo. Ili ne? Ne znam, energiji težeči.
Knjiga poezije Dance of breath je snažna poetska poruka čovjeka – žene. O svijetu bez grijeha. Koji može postojati. Makar u pjesmi i riječima njenim.
Para - erotika samo naizgled čini otklon od njenih poruka, mada, moram priznati, izaziva svojom mističnošću. Nevidljiva ljubav neimenovanih likova snažne odraze ljudskosti čini. I teži ka. Traženju ljubavi. U njemu. I u njoj. Njeni snovi su i naši snovi. Nedorečeni. Ali realitetu usmjereni. Prodajući uspomene koje nikada neće moći prodati. Jer su one zajedljivo i čvrsto vezane za biće svakoga od nas. Ne samo njeno. Zaista!
I, da kada kaže (in the poem: „Party Life“): „We are in this world when love baptizes us/Otherwise we remain a space without trees“ upravo ljudskosti stremi jer „krštenje“ je upravo to...ljubav. Nepatvorena. Istinska. I vice versa.
Da, samo amebe uživaju u ljubavi jer nacijom nisu istkane, obuhvaćene. Ovdje, sada i danas, mi jesmo, ludi, kakvi samo ljudi mogu biti čekamo realizaciju misli koju, griješan kakav jesam, izrekoh prošle godine: „Nacija je historijska kategorija i treba samo sačekati kraj historije.“ Da, „Once upon a time“, kako i pjesma veli, draga Violeta.
Dok opjevava svoje himne...
I dalje tražeći.
Sebe.
U ljubavi.
I u ljudima.
Bivajući sjenom drugih. Postajući Bogom.
Života...sebe.
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| knjizevni_osvrt_violeta_allmuca_sabahudin_hadzialic_za_eurasia_review..11.8.pdf |
EURASIA REVIEW, 11.8.2014
God lives. In itself. I love
The ground covered with roses of memories expect the final truth about itself.
Interweaved with madness of love, sadness and surprise it matures with gentleness.
With a multitude of personifications aspiring towards adjective, allegorically beaming the pearls of its own, sincere ... destiny. Woven with naivite, optimism is fed while the essence inexorably rising in the bosom of the insane intentions. Crazy ones? Of her environment that denies optimism through building exclusivity with concrete walls of weird gray, retrograde habits to condemn. Poetry of humility and love. All of them! And who are they? It was all of those that are considered humans and not understood the message of an embodiment of possible love, that walks towards the happiness. Human life is that. The foundation that walks towards happiness. Do not stop it. Let it be. Certainly hope dies last. While building memories for the new generations to come, not even for one moment leaves the flood behind. Ah, if everyone would do just like that. As Violeta Allmuca. If all ... Would just try.
Even when she loses illuminated with consciousness she proudly warns us (who are arriving) that we pay attention to the small, carefully veiled, immature forms of love pains that build the future. In and around us. It also does this for herself. But most because of us because through the building of the message. Message of good. Of truth. Of poetry.
Her diving into the past, inwrought through religiosity of own being, born new presumpions aimed precisely for applying most sincere messages of wisdom that stayed for us from the sacred book(s): love, truth, honesty. Is it exactly in all of these books written that is a sin to do harm to anyone? Is it exactly written in the book(s) that all should go towards the brotherhood of humans? Is it exactly written in the book(s) "love thy neighbor"? And today we are faced with the fact that we have never had a more believers and never more thievery, hatred, exclusions. Contradictio in adiecto? Even worse than that, rather than build our own future through listening to the lyrics of this poetic prophetess (from the poem "Structure of Ruin"): "We walk with the sun of hope / Perhaps tomorrow at least / We will not walk as mad / Over the dessert of absence" Just read that and ... try to realize that avoiding warnings. Mythical, but also present ones.
Her communication does not stop in everyday life but severely, in research kind of way penetrates into the fabric of meaning, looking for an answer. Not long ago I wrote: "It is not difficult to write. It's hard to know how to write" and it makes Violeta Allmuca as an example of literary connoisseur when she writes (from the poem" To the Nameless Roaad "):" In the winter extinguished neon / Through the nameless roads / The chain of longing separated / Instants scrolling exhausted / In the stomach of the city's watch" where, through the use of hyperbole, metaphor and oxymoron builds a new picture of reality that she lives. Painfully, but honestly. Trully honestly.
Invisible, unnamed love emerges from all her pores seeking fot the understanding. And then suddenly, garlanded with the name is born a new/old love ... mother. Just to remind you, this is the person who asks nothing in return. She loves you unconditionally. And with this poem. From Violet, titled "Mother". I do no type it because of the space given with a invitation to read it not only once, but at least ..... as it breathes with the whole..of dance. She knows. While we are waiting, like Jesus/Issa on the cross of our own destiny condemned as Adam/Adem and /or Eve/Hawa to eternal hell of meaninglessness living along with a few, fate perpetuated, hope. Focused towards the memory of good. We always talk about the "good old days", not even realizing that and this is our, our times, be "good old days". Why? Because we're going towards just ... worse and worse times. The authores is aware of that and she sends warnings, even cries, warning us to go back and just...become humans... no matter to whose God(s) we pray, or just pretending to do so. As I wrote many years ago, we will give our borrowed energy going out from this world and that 21 grams of consciousness (energy of consciousness) will just strengthen the energy that theists call The God and atheists the Universe of infinity. Myself, gnostic as I am, I call it energy. And I'm proud of something like that. Why? Because I will be just part of it. Just as the true believers says - God's giving. Why God is not a woman? And maybe The God is the woman? It would be nicer for us. Or not? I do not know, striving towards the energy.
The Book of poetry Dance of breath is a powerful poetic message of human - women. About the world without sin. That may exist. At least in the poem and her words.
Para - erotica just seemingly deviate from her messages, although I have to admit, provokes with its mystique. Invisible love of unnamed characters makes strong reflections of humanity. And striving for... searching for love. In it. And in her. Her dreams are our dreams. Incompleted. But oriented to the reality. Trhough selling memories that will never be able to sell. Because memories are pointedly and strongly related to the being of each of us. Not just hers. Really!
And, that when she says (in the poem: "Party Life"): "We are in this world when love baptizes us / Otherwise we remain a space without trees" just strives to the humanity because "baptism" is just that ... love. Unmixed. True one. And vice versa.
Yes, just amoebas enjoy the love because amoebas are not woven with the nation, covered, encircled. Here, now, and today, crazy as we are, just what humans may be, are waiting for the implementation of thought that, sinful as I am, wrote last year: "A nation is a historical category and we need only to wait for the end of history." Yes, "Once upon a time" as the poem says, dear Violet.
While reads her national anthems ...
Still seeking.
Herself.
In love.
And within the humans.
Being in the shadow of others. Becoming God.
Of Life ... herself.
The ground covered with roses of memories expect the final truth about itself.
Interweaved with madness of love, sadness and surprise it matures with gentleness.
With a multitude of personifications aspiring towards adjective, allegorically beaming the pearls of its own, sincere ... destiny. Woven with naivite, optimism is fed while the essence inexorably rising in the bosom of the insane intentions. Crazy ones? Of her environment that denies optimism through building exclusivity with concrete walls of weird gray, retrograde habits to condemn. Poetry of humility and love. All of them! And who are they? It was all of those that are considered humans and not understood the message of an embodiment of possible love, that walks towards the happiness. Human life is that. The foundation that walks towards happiness. Do not stop it. Let it be. Certainly hope dies last. While building memories for the new generations to come, not even for one moment leaves the flood behind. Ah, if everyone would do just like that. As Violeta Allmuca. If all ... Would just try.
Even when she loses illuminated with consciousness she proudly warns us (who are arriving) that we pay attention to the small, carefully veiled, immature forms of love pains that build the future. In and around us. It also does this for herself. But most because of us because through the building of the message. Message of good. Of truth. Of poetry.
Her diving into the past, inwrought through religiosity of own being, born new presumpions aimed precisely for applying most sincere messages of wisdom that stayed for us from the sacred book(s): love, truth, honesty. Is it exactly in all of these books written that is a sin to do harm to anyone? Is it exactly written in the book(s) that all should go towards the brotherhood of humans? Is it exactly written in the book(s) "love thy neighbor"? And today we are faced with the fact that we have never had a more believers and never more thievery, hatred, exclusions. Contradictio in adiecto? Even worse than that, rather than build our own future through listening to the lyrics of this poetic prophetess (from the poem "Structure of Ruin"): "We walk with the sun of hope / Perhaps tomorrow at least / We will not walk as mad / Over the dessert of absence" Just read that and ... try to realize that avoiding warnings. Mythical, but also present ones.
Her communication does not stop in everyday life but severely, in research kind of way penetrates into the fabric of meaning, looking for an answer. Not long ago I wrote: "It is not difficult to write. It's hard to know how to write" and it makes Violeta Allmuca as an example of literary connoisseur when she writes (from the poem" To the Nameless Roaad "):" In the winter extinguished neon / Through the nameless roads / The chain of longing separated / Instants scrolling exhausted / In the stomach of the city's watch" where, through the use of hyperbole, metaphor and oxymoron builds a new picture of reality that she lives. Painfully, but honestly. Trully honestly.
Invisible, unnamed love emerges from all her pores seeking fot the understanding. And then suddenly, garlanded with the name is born a new/old love ... mother. Just to remind you, this is the person who asks nothing in return. She loves you unconditionally. And with this poem. From Violet, titled "Mother". I do no type it because of the space given with a invitation to read it not only once, but at least ..... as it breathes with the whole..of dance. She knows. While we are waiting, like Jesus/Issa on the cross of our own destiny condemned as Adam/Adem and /or Eve/Hawa to eternal hell of meaninglessness living along with a few, fate perpetuated, hope. Focused towards the memory of good. We always talk about the "good old days", not even realizing that and this is our, our times, be "good old days". Why? Because we're going towards just ... worse and worse times. The authores is aware of that and she sends warnings, even cries, warning us to go back and just...become humans... no matter to whose God(s) we pray, or just pretending to do so. As I wrote many years ago, we will give our borrowed energy going out from this world and that 21 grams of consciousness (energy of consciousness) will just strengthen the energy that theists call The God and atheists the Universe of infinity. Myself, gnostic as I am, I call it energy. And I'm proud of something like that. Why? Because I will be just part of it. Just as the true believers says - God's giving. Why God is not a woman? And maybe The God is the woman? It would be nicer for us. Or not? I do not know, striving towards the energy.
The Book of poetry Dance of breath is a powerful poetic message of human - women. About the world without sin. That may exist. At least in the poem and her words.
Para - erotica just seemingly deviate from her messages, although I have to admit, provokes with its mystique. Invisible love of unnamed characters makes strong reflections of humanity. And striving for... searching for love. In it. And in her. Her dreams are our dreams. Incompleted. But oriented to the reality. Trhough selling memories that will never be able to sell. Because memories are pointedly and strongly related to the being of each of us. Not just hers. Really!
And, that when she says (in the poem: "Party Life"): "We are in this world when love baptizes us / Otherwise we remain a space without trees" just strives to the humanity because "baptism" is just that ... love. Unmixed. True one. And vice versa.
Yes, just amoebas enjoy the love because amoebas are not woven with the nation, covered, encircled. Here, now, and today, crazy as we are, just what humans may be, are waiting for the implementation of thought that, sinful as I am, wrote last year: "A nation is a historical category and we need only to wait for the end of history." Yes, "Once upon a time" as the poem says, dear Violet.
While reads her national anthems ...
Still seeking.
Herself.
In love.
And within the humans.
Being in the shadow of others. Becoming God.
Of Life ... herself.
| review_violeta_allmuca_sabahudin_hadzialic_for_eurasia_review_11.8.2014.docx |
| review_violeta_allmuca_sabahudin_hadzialic_for_eurasia_review_11.8.pdf |
Sabahudin Hadžialić, Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo (i/ili Dr. Wagnera 18, 70230, Bugojno), Bosna i Hercegovina. Kontakt +387 63 111 052 i/ili [email protected]
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Istaknuti samostalni umjetnik Rješenjem (Broj: 12-40-12388/13)
Ministra kulture i sporta Kantona Sarajevo od 1.1.2013. |
Prominent self sustained artist through Decision (No: 12-40-12388/13)
by the Minister of culture and sport of Canton Sarajevo since 1.1.2013. |
