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Oranges and Snow: Selected Poems of Milan Djordjevi: Selected Poems of Milan Djordjevic
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles Simic has done more than anyone since Czeslaw Milosz to introduce English-language readers to the greatest modern Slavic poets. In "Oranges and Snow," Simic continues this work with his translations of one of today's finest Serbian poets, Milan Djordjevic. An encounter between two poets and two languages, this bilingual edition--the first selection of Djordjevic's work to appear in English--features Simic's translations and the Serbian originals on facing pages. Simic, a native Serbian speaker, has selected some forty-five of Djordjevic's best poems and provides an introduction in which he discusses the poet's work, as well as the challenges of translation.
Djordjevic, who was born in Belgrade in 1954, is a poet who gives equal weight to imagination and reality. This book ranges across his entire career to date. His earliest poems can deal with something as commonplace as a bulb of garlic, a potato, or an overcoat fallen on the floor. Later poems, often dreamlike and surreal, recount his travels in Germany, France, and England. His recent poems are more autobiographical and realistic and reflect a personal tragedy. Confined to his house after being hit and nearly killed by a car while crossing a Belgrade street in 2007, the poet writes of his humble surroundings, the cats that come to his door, the birds he sees through his window, and the copies of one of his own books that he once burnt to keep warm.
Whatever their subject, Djordjevic's poems are beautiful, original, and always lyrical.
Djordjevic, who was born in Belgrade in 1954, is a poet who gives equal weight to imagination and reality. This book ranges across his entire career to date. His earliest poems can deal with something as commonplace as a bulb of garlic, a potato, or an overcoat fallen on the floor. Later poems, often dreamlike and surreal, recount his travels in Germany, France, and England. His recent poems are more autobiographical and realistic and reflect a personal tragedy. Confined to his house after being hit and nearly killed by a car while crossing a Belgrade street in 2007, the poet writes of his humble surroundings, the cats that come to his door, the birds he sees through his window, and the copies of one of his own books that he once burnt to keep warm.
Whatever their subject, Djordjevic's poems are beautiful, original, and always lyrical.
- GenresPoetry
128 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2010
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30 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
September 24, 2021
In a photograph from Japan, swarming with snow,
there are monks in orange robes
under umbrellas made of bamboo.
They were caught walking past a garden wall
and some black pine trees arrested forever
in a silence solidified by the falling snow.
This silence is eternal and never to be repeated.
She has the gentleness and softness of bird feathers,
the bliss of October afternoon the color of honey.
She's the dust from wooden bookshelves,
the yearning of an old man for the freedom
and the endless sweetness of childhood.
there are monks in orange robes
under umbrellas made of bamboo.
They were caught walking past a garden wall
and some black pine trees arrested forever
in a silence solidified by the falling snow.
This silence is eternal and never to be repeated.
She has the gentleness and softness of bird feathers,
the bliss of October afternoon the color of honey.
She's the dust from wooden bookshelves,
the yearning of an old man for the freedom
and the endless sweetness of childhood.
October 30, 2021
The Rain Wants to Kill Itself
With its fingers the rain stains your window and mumbles.
It wants to come in and kill itself.
I see you are in bed and couldn't care less.
In the dark. Naked. Couldn't care less.
Your hair loose. Your thighs spread open.
And there, in plain sight, black moss!
Your left middle finger busy, busy!
Villain, searching for the red crest.
While golden honey already oozes.
You call me from your delirium tremens.
Me already changed into a crow.
I fly down into your lap and peck, peck.
And then in my beak carry the caught fish away,
to go play cards and drink.
While the rain with its fingers
makes stains over your windowpanes and mumbles,
counts its beads,
wants to come in and kill itself.
With its fingers the rain stains your window and mumbles.
It wants to come in and kill itself.
I see you are in bed and couldn't care less.
In the dark. Naked. Couldn't care less.
Your hair loose. Your thighs spread open.
And there, in plain sight, black moss!
Your left middle finger busy, busy!
Villain, searching for the red crest.
While golden honey already oozes.
You call me from your delirium tremens.
Me already changed into a crow.
I fly down into your lap and peck, peck.
And then in my beak carry the caught fish away,
to go play cards and drink.
While the rain with its fingers
makes stains over your windowpanes and mumbles,
counts its beads,
wants to come in and kill itself.
November 28, 2011
There was a phase of my reading life where everything Charles Simic touched was absolute gold to me. That has passed a little bit, and his recent books of poems have started to sound a little repetitive to me, staking out the same ground he's successfully occupied already for decades. This book of poems he has translated by Serbian poet Milan Djordjevic, though, is top-notch. I would add it to two of his other books of translations -- "Devil's Lunch" by Aleksandar Ristovic, and "The Horse Has Six Legs" -- as the best of his translation work.
December 2, 2019
had a great poem about garlic
January 7, 2011
The images in this book are breathtaking. Mesmerizing. I highly recommend it, especially to people who assume they won't enjoy poetry.
September 15, 2025
There is some beautiful imagery; I liked Bread and Two Pigeons for example.
But there were way too many references to female anatomy (breasts etc) / sex that it generally killed my enjoyment. Clouds was quite pretty: “Clouds change shape // bearing different names // The history of clouds is white.” And the next verse mentioned breasts.
2/5
But there were way too many references to female anatomy (breasts etc) / sex that it generally killed my enjoyment. Clouds was quite pretty: “Clouds change shape // bearing different names // The history of clouds is white.” And the next verse mentioned breasts.
2/5
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews