About the poet:
Doc. dr. Naida Mujkić was born in Doboj, Bosnia and Herzegovina, in 1984. She received her PhD from the Faculty of Philosophy, and she teaches literature for many years at University. She published over 30 scientific articles. She is also a poet. Her work has appeard in literary journal and anthologies around the world. So far, she published five books of poetry and one book of lyrical prose and she is also an editor of several books. She has participated in international poetry and literature festivals. She is a member of the Writers’ Association of BiH, as well as the PEN Center of BiH. She received her PhD from the Faculty of Philosophy, and she teaches literature. She is currently writing a “Paths” column in the literary magazine Publishers Weekly in Sharjah, UAE. She is an active member of the Center for Civil Society Development in Bosnia and Herzegovina, where she participated in several projects aimed at promoting peace in BiH. She is also the author of the documentary “Men and the mountain”.
Ode to lighthouses
The first lighthouse. Red and white stripes,
It flows off into pupils, into shadows
Of pastel dresses lifted by the wind
It empties out into tiny spaces between bystanders
There’s a rock in the landscape from which
Ropes are scattering and falling on cliffs
A dandelion defying the wind
His agony captivates me.
The second lighthouse. It has its oldest
Lighthouse keeper. He’s lying and I know, he
is glancing at it with his left eye. I first sprinkled the mound
With chamomile, and then with crumbled
Mimosas, and finally the fire
Came. Dark grass and iron ore rocks.
We are making longs strides on the rocks.
Where can the sea go when the lighthouses say nothing.
And false reflections.
Ships are passing, ships and hopes
Like little trees in the dark grass. I’ve unbuttoned
My shirt. After numbness. In front of a man who was crying.
The third lighthouse. It follows God’s path
Though it’s made of sand bricks. It’s terrifyingly alone.
But it used to be crazy with love. And it was drawing
Houses on the ashy sky, as living proofs of himself.
Prvi svjetionik. Crvene i bijele pruge,
Otječe u zjenice, u sjenke
Pastelnih haljina koje podiže vjetar
Prazni se u sićušne prostore između prolaznika
U krajoliku je litica s koje se osipaju
Konopci i padaju po hridima
Jedan maslačak što odoljeva vjetru
Zarobljava me njegova agonija
Drugi svjetionik. Ima svog najstarijeg
Svjetioničara. Leži i znam, lijevim
Okom ga gledne. Humku sam prvo
Posula kamilicom, zatim izmrvljenim
Mimozama, a naposljetku je stigla
Vatra. Crna trava i kamenčići željezne rude.
Pravimo drugačke korake po stijenama.
Kuda će more kad svjetionici ćute.
I lažni odsjaji. Brodovi prolaze, brodovi i nade
Kao mala stabla u crnoj travi. Ja sam otkopčala
Košulju. Iza utrnuća. Ispred čovjeka koji je plakao.
Treći svjetionik. Slijedi put božiji
Iako je od pješčanih cigli. Zastrašujuće je sam.
A nekada je bio lud od ljubavi. I po
Pepeljastom nebu crtao kuće, kao žive dokaze sebe