DATE PLACE

BORN May 27, 1868 Mostar

DIED February 2, 1924 Mostar

Biography

Aleksa Santic was a Serbian poet and academic.

He was born in Mostar, to father Risto and mother Mara, where he spent most of his life. His father died in early childhood, so he lived in the family of his uncle Miha called "Adža". Since he lived in a trading family, the family did not have enough understanding for his talent. He finished trade school in Trieste and Ljubljana, then returned to Mostar.

He returned to Mostar from Trieste in 1883 and found an "unusual deadlock" there, which was a consequence of the "recent suppressed Herzegovinian uprising against Austria". At first, Santic was "quite withdrawn", he kept books in his father's shop and read "papers and books that he could find in Mostar". A few years later he began his literary and social work.

Aleksa Šantić created at the turn of two centuries and more than other poets of his generation, he connected the ideological and poetic sufferings of the 19th and 20th centuries. Serbian poets Vojislav Ilić and Jovan Jovanović-Zmaj had the largest share in his poetic maturation, and Heinrich Heine had the most important foreign influence when he translated. Aleksa Šantić reached his greatest poetic maturity between 1905 and 1910, when his most beautiful poems were written. Santic's poetry is full of strong emotions, love sadness and pain and defiance for the socially and nationally disenfranchised people to whom he himself belonged. His muse is at the crossroads of love and patriotism, an ideal darling and a tormented people.

In 1907, Mostar elected him "as one of its four representatives" for the first assembly of the People's Organization. In 1908, Aleksa Šantić "began to get seriously ill, first from kidney stones, and then, after World War II, from toboparalysis." the mood of the Serbian government, as it will repeat in 1912, at the beginning of the Balkan War. " He bought a villa in 1910 in Borci near Konjic, where he lived in 1913 when the Austro-Hungarian authorities expelled him from Mostar.

During the First World War, he was imprisoned as a hostage and "in a repeated lawsuit" accused of his songs. After the end of the war, he was elected a member of the Serbian Board in Mostar.

Patriotic poetry is the poetry of the homeland and the home hearth ("My homeland"). In some of her most moving songs, Aleksa Šantić sings about the suffering of those who leave their homeland forever and go to another world ("Stay here", "Bread"). Santic emphasizes suffering and martyrdom as the most important moments in the historical destiny of the Serbian people ("We know the destiny").

Aleksa Šantić's love poetry developed under the strong influence of the Muslim love song, sevdalinka. The ambience of his love songs is the ambience of gardens, beharas, hammams, fountains. The girls who appear in them are adorned with necklaces, they are fabulous and challenging but still hidden beauties. Such is the song "Emina", and the spirit of that song is so affected that the song entered the people and is sung as a sevdalinka and only a few know that Šantić wrote it. In love songs, the most common motif is longing. The poet observes all his loved ones from the sidelines, so the longing usually grows into sadness due to unfulfilled love and the failure of men's life.

His most famous songs are: "Emina" (1903), "Don't believe" (1905), "Stay here" (1896), "Pre-holiday evening" (1910), "What's wrong with you?" (1897), "Evening at school" "(1904)," Oh my ears "(1910)," My homeland "(1908).

Santic was one of the founders of the cultural newspaper "Zora" as well as the president of the Serbian Singing Association "Gusle". There he met and hung out with famous poets of that time: Svetozar Ćorović, Jovan Dučić, Osman Đikić ... He was elected a corresponding member of the Serbian Royal Academy on February 3, 1914.

Aleksa Šantić died on February 2, 1924 in her native Mostar from the then incurable disease, tuberculosis.

1.If you want

If you want to dawn

I sing you my songs,

oh don't run away from the window

let me see your face!

If you want me to sing to you

about the sun's warm glow,

oh look at me

beautiful, dear paradise!

If you want me to sing to you

that quiet ostrich darling,

develop your thick hair -

fragrant soft silk!

If you want me to sing to you

the smell of a wonderful primrose,

oh, spread your breasts white -

to inhale the scent of flowers!

Or if you want my song

about the source of lush sweetness,

walk, walk on my chest,

to kiss your rotten lips! ...

2.Christmas Eve

Evenings of the world, do I want you too?

to celebrate with a song of joy and happiness?

In my eye, behold, a tear shines,

and my wounds are getting bigger.

Your golden campaign and poor man,

and see God in these hours;

Above me only darkness November ships,

and beats the soul with new unrest.

I am in an empty room, like the shadow of a voucher,

inside I hear the sound of funeral bells

and I squeeze my heart miserably and cowardly.

Evenings of the world, come! Quiet, quiet!

Because no one is waiting for you here anymore -

all my darlings fell asleep a long time ago.

3.Longing

Where are you? ... I'm standing at the window

Leaning his forehead against the glass ... Everything is asleep ...

A bright night, as if through my windows

your blonde hair is slowly rustling ...

In these times of stars and dreams

I came to your garden;

He smelled lilac and called,

and the dark cypress bent over you.

In these hours you were a rose,

I butterfly was what falls on a flower;

Ah, your hair, eyes, dear laughter,

and your body and beauty young

Describe me ... We were in heaven,

sweet apples picking from branches ...

As the nightingale sings and the stars shine

and the scent of lilac wafts.

But everything passed ... Like an apple tree without dew

I'm dying now and I'm standing in longing ...

Night, bright, like silk your hair

it rustles slowly through my windows.

4.Hey Cavalry

Hey faithful cavalry, hey my wing,

where the age is that, where they are given

when was the heart full of rahatluk ?!

Like a light wind that chases the clouds,

you wore your master for a long time

in the morning and in the evening when the sun goes down ...

Everywhere I picked julas and bunches of behar,

my happiness was nowhere to be found -

everything from Banja Luka to Mostar!

Do you know those hours? ... The late sun is warming,

the tops of the minarets like fire above,

and everywhere from the garden the smell of jules wafts.

We vomit from the hunt, from the mountain,

and she stands on the demir-pangers

more beautiful than dinner and sabah-dawn ...

He's waiting for me ... He looks, and counts the hours

when I pass ... And I, when I was close,

I would send her greetings to my kuburlija ... '

And the one from the pan, Jul and Behar Mio

it would spill quickly, and like snow on me

soft flakes fell ti'o,

It was as if the sevdah themselves were silent ...

oh, how much sun there was then! ...

And now? ... Cloudy clouds and darkness everywhere ...

Hey faithful cavalry, hey my wing! ...

5.Elegy

Why are you calling me secretly

when my soul quietly dreams?

And why your eye is bright

great sorrow and grief hides?

Why do you call me through the night,

and what does your poor heart want?

I have nothing to give you,

oh, I am a desolate ashes.

Everything I had I gave,

unbelievably cold my love, -

Everything I called my treasure:

youth and fire of his soul.

So why are you dreaming of me,

what are you doing here in the dead?

This is a cold, cold hand

which sometimes throws at those roses.

Let me go! Let go and don't die!

let me last like this for days,

until my heart burns,

until my soul betrays me.

6.Emina

Last night, when I came back from the warm hammam,

I passed by the garden of the old imam;

When there, in the garden, in the shade of jasmine,

Emin stood with a jug in his hand.

Me as it is, desolate! So my faith,

she would not be ashamed if she were with the sultan!

Even when he is walking and moving his shoulders ...

- Not even the hodja's record will help me anymore! ...

I called her selam. Al 'moga mi dina,

he won't even hear the beautiful Emina,

but into the silver jug she swept the waters

so they watered the jules in the garden;

The wind blew from the branches and let them down his shoulders

unravel those thick braids for her,

smells like hyacinth blue,

and I have a bururet in my head!

I didn't stumble a little, my dune,

but the beautiful Emina does not come to me.

She only looked at me grimly once,

nor haje, alčak, what a church for him '! ...

7.Where is Mnidjah

Where I thought it was

fragrant flower -

There's a poisonous plant,

there's a basement ...

Where I thought they were

sources of virtue -

They are poisonous springs,

poisonous bitterness.

In what heart I thought

that the heat of justice is smoldering -

That heart is desolate,

blue coward.

What a soul I held

that love breathes -

Satan hates,

it is more than hell.

Who do you think it is?

his faith stanac -

With a bad soul

kind of forging a chain.

Which for the genus were

on the bumper first -

Now here they are - gmile

in dust worms.

8.I watched

I watched the young dawn,

when in the morning the east adorns,

and his rosy face

a cup of sea in waves.

In front of her magical face,

before the rays of mighty power -

tremble, tremble, fall, flee,

the melting of the night disappears.

And me when it gets dark,

when my chest disease breaks -

I look at you, dawn,

and darkness flees from my soul.

The heart burns with hot zeal,

and hope rises in the courts,

and then I click, "Sing, sweetheart,

the dawn is breaking before you! "

9.Miss

I used to kneel on you too,

and brought you sweet candies,

and loved your blue scalp for a long time,

and forehead, and face innocent and lovely.

But the days passed like a sudden river,

like momentary dreams, like empty deceptions;

Now on your face the glow of youthful radiance,

and in my autumn a gloomy fog.

I know, your heart is on fire now,

my cold winter encircles and seas;

Your eyes shine like two blue skies,

and mine are as cloudy as blue mists ...

Youth, love, fire, everything sleeps in the grave -

frostbite ran down my hair ...

10.Hryvnia

I'll buy you a gold bracelet,

wonderful bracelet!

Let it be lower, white rose,

white around your throat,

so when you jump, move easy,

let him do, cika, caka,

cika, caka!

I'll buy you a gold bracelet,

wonderful bracelet!

And there will be letters in the hryvnia

of pearls, alems:

This gift he gave,

what falls before your splendor,

and that he dreams without rest

up to two dear eyes of yours!

I'll buy you a gold bracelet,

wonderful bracelet!

And all dreams, my wishes

let them stand in a golden bracelet,

let them whisper to you gently, you:

"My dawn, my dear,

sweet my paradise,

to the grave I am yours, so yours!… "

11.And Again My Soul Dreams All About You

And again my soul dreams all about you,

and the heart is torn, and it perishes after thee,

and your unbelief is far away;

like a melting cloud when it passes from the sky.

And again you are pure, bright, cheerful to me,

from the ghost of your bliss they warm me,

so I would fall on your bosom again

and look at your eyes laughing sweetly.

Such a twisted dish that lightning strikes

still looking at the sky and waiting for life,

and do not think: the sky to lead the clouds

from which a new echo will thunder ...

12.There are many of you

There are many of you - who could

count,

candle to know ?!

You have many rich gentlemen,

with silver and gold, millions' of money.

Your court rises in height,

but they never, you know, get to heaven, -

Eternity is in heaven, it is not in them,

time will hide them all with dust.

You have a lot of gray falcons!

Your words are stronger than the stormy waves,

but falcons never crawl, they never thrive

not even when lightning strikes them,

And you know, you know, oh "falcons with words,"

crawling like worms, lying in the dust,

leave the brothers to be tormented by the enemy,

just to get the "promised gifts" ...

There are many of you with a milder character,

If you say: do not think of evil to anyone,

They would say: if you were an angel from heaven,

who loves the truth, who glorifies God,

but there is nothing else in your soul

to the black demon, - there he hides viciously.

There are many of you ... What kind of people are there ?!

But there are few of you

who care

to his people

sad, suffering.

There are few of you, few of the honesty that,

with the virtue of your names they speak to you;

There are few of you, few on the defender of rights,

you have few heads, -

There are few of you, few with a heart in your chest,

there are few of you - people!

13.From the Hospital Cell

You are so pretty,

Sister Pavina!

It's midnight, isn't it?

The purpose of the door beats

the clock is old.

It's winding outside

wind, and cuttlefish

in our windows

snowflakes white.

Close the proceedings

so sit closer

by my bed.

See how

the fire is burning,

and hukti, and bukti

in that furnace.

Look how hers

coral stripe

cheerful game

up the wall!

Trust me, that's it

and my heart

hukti i bukti,

play and rage,

crazy, crazy -

he doesn't know what he's doing

quite boldly;

And here, here, the whole burns,

burn even!

And do you know why

is it crazy?

In my heart

you come in tonight,

so he left him

all the pain of darkness,

and you fire him

light yourself -

because the sparks themselves

they beat you

more beautiful than all

angel of paradise,

which rustles gently,

who cares

in a warm word

your prayers.

Look: wide

our cells

those bright sparks

your beauty

how they wind,

how they swarm

and spoil

on each side,

kô inflamed

necklaces themselves!

And everywhere, there,

where which pan,

one gold each

kandilo plane ...

Lay the proceedings

on the table there,

and mani now

whole angels,

so sit here

by my bed,

Until dawn white

to watch only:

You are so pretty,

Sister Pavina!

14.One Tear

It's midnight. I'm lying down, and I'm thinking of you all -

I saw you in your garden yesterday,

where you pick up big cracked grenades.

Mila like a golden sky sends hail,

in the quiet shade of the old pear one,

your children sit and learn their homework.

Butterflies are chased over the fountain

and shiny drops, with countless rubies,

they dissipate as they slowly sink

Autumn sun ... And like from above

a leaden cloud fell on my soul

the blackest cover of pain and bitterness.

And the fatal thought of killing me began:

that you are not mine, and that you calm the day

does not bring me stars, but jade?

That my garden was left without branches

and a sweet fruit, which bears and ripens

on the fire of the heart? ... Where are the lilacs

wreaths blue? ... Where is the curse, where is it? ...

Wow, the wind is blowing ... and I'm thinking of you,

and I look at you all, through the tears that flow,

where you pick sweet, cracked grenades.

15.Dishes

When he sprinkles your pieces, Eat,

who dews your face white?

"I was standing under a lilac this morning,

so the dew buried me from the branches. "

Tell the truth, not lie to me,

where, daughters, are the necklaces from the throat?

"Why should I swear to you, mother?"

I sang lilac this morning.

A dewy branch stuck to my necklace,

so they spilled under the lilacs. "

My daughter, my sorrow, alas,

and who unbuttoned your bosom?

"Early in the morning, don't scold me, mother,

I went to the garden to pick roses;

a timid wind blew from the sevlia

so we, mother, spread all our bosoms ".

What are your blurred eyes like?

"I didn't sleep at all tonight,

Somewhere a nightingale was singing from a branch

so I listened to him until dawn. "

And why is the flame beating in your face?

Alas, my daughter is not feverish?

"She's not a mother! What would I hide from you!

I was at the fire a while ago.

"A faint fire strikes my face,

so my cheeks burn. "

Let's go to the spring, cool down, Eat,

wash your face and that throat is white.

"I want a mother! ..." My heart is pounding,

thick lilac young guy hiding ...

16.Autumn

The storm passed, the passions subsided,

and love with them is nearing the end;

Your eyes are different now -

there is neither power nor authority in them.

I hear: our hearts beat quieter,

Your handshake is not the first;

Cold, without soul, without fire and blood,

as if to say to me: there is no more summer!

We used to care about society,

we only talked about ourselves for a long time;

But today, dear, everything is, everything is different:

Now we are wise and talk a little ...

It's summer! A cloudy autumn reigns.

In our hearts no nightingale;

There the cold wind sways the fresh roses,

and dead leaves fall on the mounds ...

17.Love

Oh, that I have something to be a river,

so that I may run in front of your little house;

Singing to you to break the waves

about the thresholds where your foot stands soft.

So when you go down the thresholds with an ibrik,

to catch water, to grab your hands,

I hug you in my hats,

and not to give you to anyone, dear.

On the mattress of grass and my emeralds,

like my nymph, to rest always,

and that no one knows where you are.

Just my eyes to look at you,

just my all the depths and all the angles

may your beauty shed and warm.

18.Mother, Mother

Mother, mother, dear mother,

oh, that I just know

to express my love

to you what shines on me!

She would see that it was hotter

from the sunshine that shines,

and from tears to be purer,

gentler than violet.

But, again, it is not so

sublime, lush, strong,

hot, warm, strong, hot,

mother my milena,

as it is in your breast

according to your son be,

non-stop where he ores

happiness dawn blushes.

So what am I going to do to you, dear mother,

for that holy love to give?

What will they give you

a good son of yours?

How to pay you -

oh yes he just knew! -

My dear, good mother,

around him labor sweat?

19.We Know Destiny

We know destiny and everything that awaits us,

but fear will not freeze our chests!

Oxen suffer the yoke, not men -

God gave freedom to man.

Strength is our mountain river,

no one will ever stop her!

The people are these dying svikô -

in his death to find a cure.

We know our way, the way of the man of God,

and mighty as a mountain river,

we will all go over the sharp dagger!

Everything like that, there to Golgotha,

and when men take our lives,

our graves will fight with you!

20.My Neighbor

There's been a longing for me for a while,

all my heart sighs and burns;

Well, brother, I have no peace or rest,

than long nights I watch without a sledge

And I silence the heart and suffer with it,

so until dawn I teach him so wisely;

But a crazy heart doesn't hear what I'm saying,

but everything suffers me with burning blows,

and tremble and tremble, like a leaf from a rod,

and he calls me there right across the street,

under a wide mulberry tree from centuries ago

where the house stands painted with lime,

as if the winds had caused the snow -

against the bright sun she turns white,

and at night, when the clear moon branches,

under the wide pacifier all the flashes fit ...

There it is, there is what entices my heart,

from which I watch at night until dawn alone, -

there is that treasure, the beauty of Mostar,

I swear to you, people, all over the world,

which is a clear dew on a mountain flower,

no one could find one lid

so sweet, shiny, and pure and chaste!

I swear to you, since the bright sun has warmed,

no one remembered his eyes;

Beautiful and wise, bright and black,

full of living fires where my soul deer!

And I swear, what is jula and behara,

Mara would embarrass everyone with her face, -

and more soft hair, that crow's hair

ointment would be the most severe wounds! ...

From morning to night I look at her from the window,

so I sigh, longing and pale,

and the mother's treasure works and works,

he puts a yellow sheboy in a wide sofa,

to šeboja đurđic and carnation mio,

with the red carnation fesliđen bent,

so when the wind blows through the mulberry branches,

marine flowers smell all sides.

Now I see her, there on the thin canvas

on the girdle he easily ties a golden branch

and with a small binding, on the doxa, he agrees

that sweet song that is the heart says:

"Oh, bright sun, go to your calm!

Oh my dear, you come under my windows! "

So the way of heaven often leaves a kind look,

as if he can't wait to get down tonight ...

And yet, sick fellow, when Sunday dawns,

to the courtyard door when Mara stops,

bih, by God, the mosque percent,

in the tavern he drank without a penny!

Because, just to see, in the beautiful Mare,

what are they, desolate, smokes of hara!

What a wave of fabric on it,

which hides her breasts with two joules of wounds!

What is the one over the crooked crow

let go of the red fez with the pearl branch!

So that you can still hear the sound of gold hryvnias

when a beautiful girl throws a yellow orange,

and to see her smile and her sweet mouth,

I would separate you and your mother from the desert!

And those eyes that offer all grace!

Blessed is he whose bride is!

21.My love

Here I buried my love -

into this sea blue and transparent,

where the shells lie. She is calm now

rests at the bottom ... In quiet rest

They kiss and hug her with their branches

corals ore ... Her grave is always

shed a glow of pure emerald,

and rustles with the voice of longing of the undead.

Look at the rays of the morning as Joyce dives!

And each one trembles, penetrates and sinks,

and it is scattered like a ruby, like a rainbow ...

As it burns here, more her grave,

flashing and circling bono, any time,

I am a black butterfly - my sorrow.