Ljubodrag Stojanovic, on “The Artists” story by Leila Samarrai

What  I exceptionally like in your writing, is the top dislocation of epochs and people, an erudite toying with the documentary and imaginative, unpredictable, magnificent imagination and brilliant dialogues. No need to be Tagore to enter the ruins of your worlds and mazes, where  Mozart and Trier face, as well as Wagner and Bach or Bachs. You use time and space as toys, sometimes as means but not an end (goal), well before limbo in which, in fact, does not exist. In your necropolis living people live their lives, while dead or inanimate are walking the streets, and these dislocations seem quite convincing, realistic, and even logical. Such writing and you as the author, deserve much greater number of readers, because the fate of the poem-letters-the story is not to remain silent nor the fate of brilliant writers to be silenced.

Ljubodrag Stojanovic




Author: Leila Samarrai

I am a person of Himalayan seclusion, I am Atalanta in vestments of Helen of Troy, for me there is no term (aphorism there is, maybe). Cosmopolitan is too modest word for one who wanders across epochs without the help of the time machine. Some people consider me weird, because usually this is so when they do not understand something or someone that do not represent their existence. I love cats, an animals in general, I like challenges, I am persistent, I am combative (sometimes I can exaggerate in that - in all) If I were stylistic figure my mortal name would be Hyperbole. Read me. Know me. Conquer me :)

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