R E P E N T A N C E
R E P E N T A N C E
XXIX
The edge of my own foolishness
tears apart the beauty of the moment,
a kind of refined fear in dullness
erases what she wanted to gift as shadows.
Shadows that crush everything
while I lie that I cherish them,
the darkness falls, my heights
I invoke misfortune with a dormant hope.
Hope that forgives no weakness
ignores the pain it inflicts,
does not miss hurting the innocent
this wretch boasts with pride.
Proud, yet everything is gone without a trace
over the graveyard of shattered dreams
strewn with the ashes of my beloved verses
I feel the pain, the suffering of the rejected.
Rejected, of whom I am not ashamed
similar to those like me,
just like them, I see nothing valuable behind
even though memories and recollections I squeeze.
I squeeze, not giving a drop to the parched soil
dry and cracked is the land
the world in which I believe
the seedlings of life that do not exist!
The wind whispers, putting the world to sleep
I dare not close my eyes
instead, like a villain, cursed
I count the falling leaves with a guilty conscience.
Counting...
I am to blame for everything
embraced loneliness shamelessly,
tears flow, I wipe them away
feigning cruelty, perfidiously!
Perfidiously...
Pass through me with the sword of reality
inflict a mortal wound on this heart,
whoever you are, the avenging just one
I summon you with my stumbling.
Place thorns on this head
drive nails into the soul,
leave me like a robber
crucified on the road to nowhere;
Let vultures feast...
Be deaf, do not care about penitential cries
do not pity me, the shameless one,
give me all the bloody images
in them, bring back the beloved son,
gift the world a newly created poet!
What do you have, the sublime one
from such a wretch,
you've given too much time
to a monument of downfall and vice!
Igor Tintor
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A STEP INTO REFLECTIVE POETRY
Review of the poem "Repentance" by writer Igor Tintor
If it is true that "without repentance, there is no forgiveness," then certainly,
he who is without sin is fatally mistaken. Many philosophers,
spiritual leaders, and poets of the world assure us of this.
This is also undeniably pointed out by the new literary work "Repentance," by author Igor Tintor.
Behind this follower of the written word are five published
books of poems that represent a commendable contribution to contemporary
Serbian poetry, and beyond. I previously provided my review
of his poetic creations, highlighting specific merits and individualistic traits
that poet Igor Tintor offered through his poetic activity.
It wasn't an analysis and evaluation of Igor's creativity; it was
a personal perspective on some specificities and authenticity
that the poet of the contemporary generation presented to us.
It was simultaneously a recommendation to future publishers and readers
to have before them a formed and mature poetic figure.
This poetic persona offers us another remarkably interesting and
unusual poem titled "Repentance." Although small in scope, it is expansive in thought,
representing a noticeable and bold step into reflective poetry.
The peculiarity of this poem is evident both in content and choice
of theme, as well as in the poetic process itself. The extent to which
the author succeeded in aligning personal expression with personal feelings
will be vividly portrayed by the stanza that literally reads:
"And you, hypocritical saint,
toast with bloody wine.
I feel the curse of non-existence
as if I never existed."
This poetic experiment hides within it numerous questions.
The author attempted to answer some of them, but many will remain
unanswered. How to cast off "earthly chains" and elevate oneself to
the grace of the Almighty? Is the idol of love the essence of existence?
Does love have a mysterious origin? And finally, why do we
celebrate what we know nothing about? In one stanza, the poet wonders:
"Who are you to think
in prayers that He will hear you,
who are you to soar to heights
while in front of you yawns the abyss?"
Here, another question arises: is our "fragile knowledge"
capable of accepting reality as it is, and can the poet preserve
the power and meaning of words even when love dries up?
A difficult question, isn't it? But here is Igor's brief, clear, and
concise answer:
"I don't want to poison myself with your vanity
I, an earthly slave
standing before my own truth."
Poet Igor Tintor cleverly and sincerely weaves this poem and
flexibly incorporates his personal experiences of the ideals of love
and the inevitability of repentance, even though he himself admits that
not every sin can be atoned for:
"It is impossible to escape from oneself
Oh, can't you feel it?"
Neither the monastery silence nor the echo of "monastery bells"
can fill the void when the building of the ideals of love
"crumbles and turns to ashes." Behind the monastery's peace and quiet,
lethal loneliness awaits us:
"We are, believe me, damned the same
we will never overcome fate
that tears our lives apart."
This is the stark fact that we are only what we are:
full of vanity, pride, and arrogance, distancing ourselves more and more
from ourselves, becoming strangers to ourselves. Therefore, this
poem by Igor Tintor represents a small essay on the great loneliness
of man. If we pay attention to the ethical elements of this poem,
we will ask ourselves, as poet Igor Tintor did:
"Do words know how to speak
the language of untarnished truth?"
If we focus on aesthetic postulates, it is not difficult to notice
that Igor sings in an extended quatrains form, and that most
verses in the poem "Repentance" have the characteristics of epic singing,
although we know that Igor Tintor, by vocation, is exclusively
a poet of nostalgic lyricism with convincingly warm sensibility.
This poem represents a new challenge for the poet in confronting
himself and the new times, with the desire to make a step into
reflective poetry in his own unique way. How successful this
challenge is will be left for future generations to verify and endorse.
As for my personal views and reflections on this poem, I believe
that no effort can be in vain, especially the effort Igor invested in
creating this work. To all of this, we should add this: everything is
just as it is, a terrible verdict of loneliness, which poet Igor Tintor
presents to us, warning that the "escape into the abyss of the past"
will not lead us anywhere!
Vasilije Goločevac, writer
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