Ivan Glisic, writer, two reviews in English


LEILA SAMARRAI, DARKNESS WILL UNDERSTAND, IVAN GLIŠIĆ, WRITER

Ivan Glišič Wikipedia

https://sh.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Gli%C5%A1i%C4%87

Ivan Glišić (Serbian CyrillicИван Глишић; born 1942) is an intellectual, writer, artist, journalist and songwriter who achieved prominence both in Serbia and across the former Yugoslavia. He was involved in the Yugoslav pop and rock and even folk music scene, and beside his mainstream success, being one of the pioneers of the Yugoslav punk rock, he also gained a status of an underground culture celebrity.

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POEMS

At the outset, the poetess addresses the readers with a clarification that her lyrics are
truth sang of stone. Starting the path that Poetess set out on us, I was convinced of the veracity of her speech. Ending the companionship, travelling with her verses, as if I held in my hand neither paper nor stone but Prism. And not a glass prism, but a diamond, and a diamond is a stone in its hardest form.

The Leila Samarrai’s verses possess the smoothness of Prism, in the sense of perfection of style and language, where the smallest and most careless linguistic error, or punctuation error, becomes milstone. The poetess, therefore, does not have this stumbling block. It’s about the exterior of the Prism. The interior of the Prism is characterized by the sheer splendour of wisdom in these verses, which resembles the splendour of colour in the Prism, that occurs when the Light is immersed in the Prism, and that Light is an individual experience of what the poetess offers to the readers. Leila Samarrai sings about Being and Non-Being in each one of us, about our Realistic and Impossible Aspirations, which the poetess calls Bloom / Flower of Flight / of Summer. (a pun in Serbian – meaning: depending on the accentuation)

Through the Prism of Leila’s verses, Beauties, Commandments and Wars are intertwined. Consequently, these verses become timeless or more timeless. And more than that. The proof is that when the top-notch poems are before us, it becomes irrelevant whether they are written by a poet or a poetess.

It is a confirmation that the Mind of the Absolute inspires and rains on only The Chosen Ones.  It showers them by the  Truth of the Stone, the Truth of the Prism, the Truth of the Diamonds, Undoubtedly, Leila Samarrai is – the Chosen One. Therefore, it is not surprising that she has titled her book with Darkness.

Leila’s poems are directed against the darkness in us, so even the most stubborn Dark will understand them and will withdraw before the rush of Light and Spectrum that erupts from every verse of our Poetess.

IVAN GLISIC, writer

“The Second Birth Of Tragedy”, Leila Samarrai – ANCIENT DRAMA, the parnassian accursed poets way

I am opposed to writing reviews for any and all accomplishments, because ‘different strokes for different folks.’ We are all subjective. And more subjective make it objective. Therefore, if no one is behind anyone’s judgment,   or there are a few, no matter how much the work deserves all the attention, unfortunately, it remains sideward/on both sides.

After reading ‘THE SECOND BIRTH OF TRAGEDY’, by Leila Samarrai, I may be lonely in my impressions – the impressions, or the assessment that the author restores to us the belief in the existence and flowering of true literature and true language, at this time of ‘fostering false language’, and false literature . At this time of existence of ‘apocalyptic wonderful wonders’, which self-proclaimed artists do not see because they do not want to see, or, even more scary, they are not capable of seeing, they suffer from the’ willful blindness”, as soon as they are concerned with subjects and personalities whose place is on the flea market and not in the arts.

Hence, Leila Samarrai says: My Hell is not here! Her Hell is not shallow, her Hell is deep, the real one, in and around us, called Life Without Mask, Life Without Lies and Lacquers, before which most eyes remain closed, the window shutters down, following us from time indefinite to time indefinite, from the creation of man, regardless whether man is the work of the hands of God, or the work of the hands of the Aliens, or a mutant of the crossing of homo sapiens and asteroid angels.

Ancient artists told us about this Hell. The living waters of their living words, and living themes, also flowed in Dante Alighieri, then in Paul Verlaine, Thomas Elliott There is a  real deal of Hell in our Poetess who was tempering, hardening, toughening-up  and annealing herself in true Hell, she does not run away from Hell into chants and playful ones masquerade balls of self-proclaimed artists, followed by the glamour and kitsch.

They are not her company either, because, she was hanging with Euripides, Aristophanes, Ovidius, Sophocles, Dante, Verlaine, Eliott…
The poetess tells us, in the “Second Birth of Tragedy’, through the form of ancient dramas and through the way of singing by modernist “cursed poets”, about us, the diffident sort of beasts. about our Black Eros, about our Scream and Whisper, about Shackled wood, about Astray Course Spheres, our Exchange of poison, about Frozen heights, and for one purpose: For There and Here, for Now, and Never. – In the meaning of biblical ‘self-purification and self-repentance’, because this is the only way to achieve profanity, it has been emphasized for centuries: Love your neighbour as you love yourself.
And finally, the impression remains that Leila’s emergence, the emergence of blossoms at the midden of our new literature, where it doesn’t belong, but there is also the hope that there will be more flowers like this and that they will cover the ugly midden that degrades and destroys our all-around spirituality.

IVAN GLISIC, writer

 

Published by 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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