Tuesday, 6 November 2012

Elections to the Advisory Council of the Republic of Croatia


Elections to the Advisory Council of the Republic of Croatia

After a wide and open election process involving more than 40 Croatian institutions, associations and groups throughout Argentina, who participated via the Internet and personally, the following two persons were elected to be presented to the Government of Croatia:

Magister José María -Joza-Vrljicak, Editor-in-Chief of the journal Studia Croatica and Vice President of the Croatian Union of Argentina (19 votes)

Mrs. Vjera Bulat, President of Croatian Caritas "Cardinal Stepinac" and President of the Croatian Union of Argentina (15 votes)


NB: The Advisory Council is a body set up recently by the Government of Croatia, which is in process of formation. It will be composed of 55 Croats living outside the Republic of Croatia, in which Argentina has two allocated positions.

Saturday, 13 October 2012

Nikola Martic - Poetry in Croatian and English


NIKOLA MARTIĆ
Born 1938
Born in Bosnia. His books of poetry are:
ZNAMEN [Symbol] 1968, SVANUCE DAVNINE [The Dawn of Remote Ages] 1975, POEZIJA [Poetry] 1980

HRVATSKA ZEMLJA TRAGIČNIH PJESNIKA

CROATIA THE LAND OF TRAGIC POETS

Vrijeme i prostor zasjedaju na stolici božanskoj,
mene pohodi ruka tajnog ozarenja, providjenje—
providjenje za sve one što su činili pokore i žrtvu:
ljubav preuzimana i nošena kroz šumu vremena
kao to malo cjelne vode i to malo svjetla na dlanovima

Time and Space are sitting on the divine chair,
I am visited by the hand of the secret illumination of providence—
the providence for all those who did penance and made the sacrifice:
the love taken over and carried through time's forest
like that trace of pure water and that trace of light on the palms of one's hands

Gdje je roblje prevezeno iz noči na krilima svanuta,
gdje je — podno prozora naših šetaju se oleandri,
i malo nočno cvijeće pjevajuti ustaje da slavi,
o svitanju je riječ a i proljeće gazi preko uzvišenja,
na vršku usnule krune cvijet nježniji od prapotela
i ružičast pelud na usnama najmlade kćeri ljubavnice

Where are the slaves carried by the night on the wings of the dawn,
Where are—under our windows the oleanders are taking a walk,
and the little nightly flowers rise singing to celebrate,
the talk is about the daybreak but the spring also treads upon the heights,
atop the sleeping chalice the flower more tender than the element
and the rosy pollen on the lips of the youngest daughter mistress

Budno je doba, tu ste, mrtvi moji druzi, baklje gore,
stradanje zemno a sveto za mene je samo u oslobodjenju,
oslobodjenje i vi bičevi duha visoko uzmahnuti,
molim ti se Rodiljo majko i krotiteljko novih naraštaja,
ne recite mi da sam onaj koji bezrazložno bdije,
zar bih mogao opstati a da ne pjevam rasap i bluč

It is the vigilant time, all of you my dead comrades are here, the torches burn,
The suffering of this world holy to me is only in the liberation,
the liberation and you uplifted whips of the spirit,
I pray to you Parent Mother and tamer of new generations,
don't tell me I am someone who keeps vigil for no reason,
could I exist if not to be the singer of destruction and abhorrence

Došlo je vrijeme kada dostojanstvo pjesme treba da se brani,
i hoću, branit ću te ljudska bajko, Zoro na plandištima noći,
gospodar riječi, a opijen tajnom koliko i svetotajstvom jave,
evo meni se otvaraju nebeske dveri i zemaljska vrata:
riječi umorne od duge upotrebe i zanemarene od ljudi
nači će opet sretni alem sjaja u mojoj rečenici


The time has come when it is necessary to def end the dignity of the poem,
and I will defend you, human legend, Dawn at the night's resting places,
for me, the master of words, and drunk by the secret as well as by the sacrament of waking,
look! for me the gates of heaven and earth are opening:
the words, tired of their long use and neglected by people,
will find again the happy jewel in my sentence

Nalik na usnu i razrez božanski, po put samog krvarenja —
ulaz je u ovu pjesmu, ulaz je u ovu vladavinu riječi,
tu traje šapat zore koja nikad svanuti nije mogla,
još uvijek tu prebivaju one slavne stvari i poruke —
sve što su ljudi u pozni čas od bogova preuzeli,
to malo sjaja u boji gline, to malo rose u krošnjama,

a na rubu sna prostor razlučuje uznesenje od pada,
i vrijeme neopjevano razuzdava svoju ljubomornu glavu,
udjite, udjite bez osvrtanja lijepi moji uzvanici, gosti,
otvorena su vam širom vrata ove nijeme duše, nadahnute

Like a lip, and a divine incision, like bleeding itself —
so is the entrance into this poem, the entrance into the realm of words,
where the whisper of Dawn which couldn't dawn still lasts
where those glorious things and messages remain
all that the people in the latter hour received from the gods,
that little splendor in the clay's coloration, that little dew in the crowns of the trees,
and on the edge of sleep a space separates exaltation from the fall,
and the unsung time unbridles its jealous head,
let us enter, let us enter without hesitation, my beautiful visitors, guests,
the door of this silent inspired soul is wide open to you

Aj, dušo, prijateljico moja, veće; od tajanstva ili zbilje,
zar postoji neka vladavina tebi i meni nepoznata,
udruženi opet, samozvani, bez straha od pada ili uskrsnuća,
mi smo miris soli zemlje, miris joda uskriljen sa voda,
i početak, onaj sretni spornen usred zaborava duha

Oh, my soul, my friend, larger than the mystery or the reality,
isn't there some realm unknown to you and me,
united again, we, uninvited, without fear of the fall or the resurrection,
we are the scent of the salt of the earth, the scent of the iodine evaporated from the waters,
and we are the beginning, that happy memory amid the oblivion of the spirit

I opet ugledasmo cvjetnu zemlju ljepšu odrodjenja,
ugledasmo milu nam zavičajku jasniju od smrti,
narod izgubljen pod vlasima postidjene zore još bdije tu,
u posjedima nad kojima isto svoje zlatno perje širi

And again we glimpsed the flowery land more beautiful than birth,
we sighted our beloved native land clearer than death,
the people lost under the tresses of the timid daybreak still keep vigil here,
over the possessions across which it spreads its golden feathers

Širi se vladavina onih što su nosili teret bičeva duha,
u glini spava lice posvećene ljubavnice, bedro i vitica,
svjetlost mozaika i munje laze rubom pritajenog pada,
zaboravljena zora opet izgubljenim posjedima vlada, avaj —
bič neba razdvaja i spaja dvije usne čedne, razdvaja i spaja,





Zemlja Voda Plamen zamoljeni od duha da budu Jedno,
jedno te isto je ovaj uzvišeni red stvari što plovi,
i duša pozvana na seobu, nikad da se zaustavi u dvojstvu,
tako se i sedam moćnih godilnjih doba pretaču u Jedno
predvodjeni nekim tajnim znakom, svekriljenim valom,
samo Vrijeme je Jedno — samo Prostor je Jedno

The realm is spreading of those who have borne the burden of the whips of the mind,
the cheek of the devoted mistress sleeps in the clay, the thigh
and the lock of hair,
the light of the mosaic and the lightning creeps along the edge of the hidden fall,
the forgotten daybreak again rules over the lost possessions, alas—
the whip of the sky separates and unites the two shy lips, separates and unites,
the Earth, the Water, the Flame, urged by the spirit to be One,
one and the same is this sublime order of floating things,
and the soul invited to migrate, never hesitating in the face of duality,
thus also becoming One are the seven mighty reasons,
led by some secret sign, an all-winged wave,
only Time is One—only Space is One

I gle, na čednom uzglavlju zemlje uzdižu se plamenovi ruža,
i zaljubljena žena opet svija svoje roditeljsko gnijezdo,
milost, sveta ophodnico na pragovima našim, ah milost
za sve one što su voljeli za doba poslije svoje smrti

And look, on the low pillow of land rise the flames of the roses,
and the enamored woman again builds her parental nest,
mercy, you holy caller to our thresholds, oh mercy
for all those who have loved in the time after their death

A po obalama sredozemskim raste djevojatko cvijeće,
srćica, pelagonija; veseli bog bilja uzdiže mirisne obrve,
Ijiljanove usne — s nadom da je podre u namjerama —
pohode buntovnu krajinu, svijet nemiran i sretan,
evo diljem ruže procvjetale odjednom pa nizašto ne mare,


perunika i kukuta svejednako uče bolest da smrt zdobidje,
mimoza kupa svoje zrnaste cvjetiče u bojama ruja,
podno kupola ružmarina, na domaku žive sjene mora
uskriljena i prvozorskim suncem opervažena Hrvatska
zemlja tragićnih pjesnika i lutalica širom svijeta.

And along the Mediterranean shores grow the maiden flowers,
the cinquef oil, geranium the merry god of plants raises fragrant eyebrows,
the lily's lips—hoping for support of its intentions-
are visiting the rebellious region, a world, restless and fortunate,
look! the roses suddenly bloomed profusely unconcerned with anything,
the iris and the hemlock still teach sickness how to avoid death,
the mimosa bathes its granular little flowers in the colors of the sumac,
under the rosemary cupolas close to the living foam of the sea,
arising with spread wings and adorned by the first sun of daybreak
Croatia land of tragic poets and wanderers over all the world.

Toliko ljudskog smilja pokleklog na bedemima nade,
još više djevojačke tuge pretočene u talice krina,
al tu je i znak što podsjeća na one koji će voljeti —
ljubav agave s horizontom dok zvijezda uranja u more,
magnolije, otica što traži hladovinu čempresa i palme,
čitavo to biljno mnoštvo s mirisom smirne i tamarisa

So much of human everlastings, kneeling at the bulwarks of hope,
and more of maiden sadness, poured into tiny lily cups,
but there is also the sign reminding us of those who will love—
the love of the agave for the horizon while the star is dipping into the sea,
of the magnolia, the scarlet pimpernel looking for the shade of the cypress and the palm tree,
this entire vegetation with the aroma of myrrh and the tamarind

I čitava ta milost proročanski udružena sa Zorom,
tamo gdje Rodilja majka čini naklon sretnom oticanju stvari.

and this total mercy prophetically united with the Daybreak,
there where the Mother Parent is bowing down before the happy outflow of things.



TVOJE RIJECI U NAJLJEPŠIM LOMAČAMA DUHA
YOUR WORDS AT THE BEAUTIFUL IMMOLATION PYRES OF THE SPIRIT

Glasovi neba, čuli smo vas, zar to nisu zaboravljene
pjesme naroda, zaboravljeno doba u naglosti prolječa

Heavenly voices, we heard you, aren't those forgotten
songs of the nation, the age forgotten in the rashness of the spring

Slavne naše pjesme po zavjetnim medjama, i zvijezde
dana vidjele su zastave vjetrova nad našim pustim domovima

Our glorious songs along the consecrated borders and the stars
of the day saw the flags of the winds above our deserted homes

Smrt nas je pohodila,
Evo, smrt nam je gost

Death visited us,
look! death is our guest

Grobovi očeva u miro svjetlosti, i vode zavičaja u miri svjetlosti

The graves of our fathers in the peace of the light, and the waters of our native country in
the peace of the light

Neka žive tvoje riječi u budučim pjesmama, tvoje slavne geste ljubavnice u mojim napjevima
Let your words live in future songs, your glorious deeds
of our mistress in my melodies

Sinovi rodjeni u dobra narodnich nemira i kćeri rodjene u doba cjetve usjeva

The sons born in the time of national riots, and the daughters born in the time of the sowing of crops

Sve do sinje zemlje, tudjinske, gorjele su naše stope prognanika

Straight up to the greyish earth, alien, our exile feet were burning

Samo božanskom ćudi ljubavnica mogle su nas spasti naše
dugokose majke, zaštitnice govora i loze običajne

Only through the divine nature of the mistresses were we saved by our
long-haired mothers, the protectresses of speech and of established parentage

A cvijet javni sunce objašnjava

And the public flower is explaining the sun

Čuješ li glasovi noći u otajstvu doba, kao uzvanica
pozna, drago vrijeme na pragovima

Do you hear, voices of the night, in the mystery of the age, like a late caller,
dear time on the thresholds

Vrijeme proslavljeno prije nas, prije svih nas
i tužnih pjesama, o nama.

The time glorified before us, before all of us
and before the sad songs about us

Ne boj se, ako nas je nebo divno preskočilo u luku
mi smo jedini koji to osječamo

Don't be afraid, if the divine heaven leaped over us like an arch
we are the only ones who feel that

I največa istina živih za nas je tako beznačajna stvar.

And the greatest truth of the living ones is for us such an insignificant thing.

Tuesday, 2 October 2012

Danijel Dragojevic - Poetry in Croatian and English



DANIJEL DRAGOJEVIĆ
Born 1934
Born in Vela Luka on the island of Korčula. Lives in Zagreb. His books of poetry are:
KORNJAČA I DRUGI PREDJELI [The Turtle and Other Landscapes) 1961, U TVOM STVARNOM TIJELU [In Your Real Body) 1964, SVJETILJKA I SPAVAC [The Lamp and the Sleeper] 1966, NEVRIJEME I DRUGO [Bad Weather and All That] 1968.


JESEN

AUTUMN

Ne kupi lišće žuto i crveno, i ono koje leti.

Ne kupi više.
Nastaviš doći ćeš do kraja večeri i do jutra. Umorit ćeš se.

Tvoje su ruke male, ova je jesen bez kraja, svuda gdje kreneš nastavlja se.

Ne kupi više, sve je ovo tvoje, i ono lišće koje još nije
niklo i sad je na nevidljivim granama.

Do not gather the yellow and red leaves and those that are flying.
Do not gather them anymore.
If you go on you will come to the end of the evening and morning.
You will get tired.
Your hands are small, this autumn is endless, wherever you go it continues.
Do not gather anymore, everything here is yours, even those leaves which have not yet
germinated and which for now are still on the invisible branches.



PRAVI LJUBAVNICI

THE TRUE LOVERS

Pravi ljubavnici sada pod zemljom leže. Okrenuti jedno
drugome sa svim svojim stranama, drže se za ruke. Od tišine tiši.
Mi stojimo ovdje na njihovoj travi. Mi stojimo ovdje
na njihovoj travi, na ovom lišću, u ovom proljeću drhću
njihove zaustavljene želje. Pjevaju njihovi glasovi. Na
zemlji sjene, u visini ruže: što oni neće napraviti da
odagnaju zimu, ko je li sve ukrase neće upotrebiti.

The true lovers now lie under the earth. Facing each
other with all their sides, they hold hands. Quieter than quietness itself.
We stand here on their grass. We stand here
on their grass, on these leaves, in this spring their halted wishes quiver. Their voices sing. On
the earth shades, in the heights roses: What wouldn't they do to turn away the winter, what contrivance wouldn't they use.

Mi stojimo ovdje, a oni dom svoj pod zemljom grade.
Utišaj se, prijateljice moja, od prolaznosti oni prave
čipku i misle na nas, naše nesigurne korake. Cvijetom
koji ti u kosu stavljam oni nam kažu put. Kada počne
dolaziti noć, i mi krenemo kući, oni će nas dugo gledati
i mahati nam zelenim rukama.

We stand here and they build their home under the earth.
Calm yourself, my lady, they make from the transitoriness
a lace, and they think of us, of our unsure steps. By means of the flower
which I am putting in your hair, they tell us our way. When the night
is about to come, and we go home, they will look at us for a long time
and they will wave to us with green hands.





Saturday, 29 September 2012

Antun Soljan - Poetry in Croatian and English


ANTUN ŠOLJAN
Born 1932
Born in Belgrade to Croatian parents, lives in Zagreb. His books of poetry are:
NA RUBU SVIJETA [On the Edge of the World] 1954, IZVAN FOKUSA [Out of Focus] 1957, GARTLIC ZA ČAS KRATITI [A Little Garden to Pass the Time] 1965, GAZELA [The Gazelle] 1970, IZABRANE PJESME 1950-1975 [Selected Poems, 1950-1975] 1976, ČITANJE OVIDIJEVIH METAMORFOZA I RUSTICHELLO [Reading of Ovid's Metamorphoses and Rustichello] 1977.

ŠEZDESET I TREĆE IZNAD GROBNIČKOG POLJA
IN THE YEAR SIXTY-THREE OVER GROBNIK FIELD[1]

Kad bih ja imao polje
Možda bi vrijedilo živjeti zato polje
Možda bi nam svima bilo bolje
Meni i ženi i djeći, brojnim rodjacima,
Orali bismo, jasno, i od svoje volje
Osuli ovaj pejsaž kućnim odžacima
(Dim se naše žrtve već u nebo diže)

If I had a field
Perhaps this field would be worth living for
Perhaps things would be better for all of us
For me, my wife, my children, and for the numerous kin
We would plow, of course, and by our own choice
We would cover this landscape with chimneys.
(Our offering's smoke is already rising into the sky)

Kad bih imao brod
Možda bi vrijedilo živ jeti za taj brod
Ovjenčan mrežama morem krstariti
Na njemu živjeti na njemu stariti
i ostavivši ga djeci osnovati rod
Neustrašivih pomoraca vikinga argonauta
Pretopit se polako u vjetar, sol i jod
(Barko, moja barko, što te more njiše)

If I had a boat
Perhaps this boat would be worth living for
Garlanded with nets to cruise the sea
To live on it and to grow old
And bequeathing it to the children to found a lineage
Of intrepid navigators vikings argonauts
To merge slowly into the wind, salt, and iodine
(Barge, my barge, rocked by the sea)

U nedostatku polja ili broda
Možda bi dobro došlo imati kakvoga boga
Možda nam ne bi trebala nikakva druga droga
Možda bi vrijedilo ustati s maćem kakvu zemlju osvojiti
I s cijelim svojim plemenom u usrdnoj molitvi
Na koljena pasti usred razbojišta
(Patrijarh, sijed i svečan, stoji sa zlatnim križem)

Having neither a field nor a boat
Perhaps it would be welcome to have some kind of god
Perhaps we wouldn't need any other drug
Perhaps it would be worthwhile to conquer some country by sword
And with our entire clan in devout prayer
To fall down on our knees in the middle of the battlefield
(The Patriarch, greyhaired and solemn, standing with the golden cross)
Ovako, nakon trideset godina, ne imajući ništa,
ako i jest za me kakav brod, ukleto mu kormilo
ako i jest gdje kakvo polje, ono je Grobničko.

Yet, after thirty years, owning nothing,
Even if for me there were a boat, cursed would be its rudder
Even if for me there were a field, it would be Grobnik Field.



GARTLIC ZA ČAS KRATITI[2]
THE PLEASURE GARDEN

1. U JEDNOSTAVNU CVIJETU…

1. IN A SIMPLE FLOWER ...

U jednostavnu cvijetu, što sa grane pada
Videći mnogo više, ixgubio sam cvijet.
Tako u vrtu oca svog nastradah;
Njegovoj otev se sljepoći--ja sam slijep.

In a simple flower which falls from a branch
Seeing much more, I lost the flower.
So in my father's garden l have become lost;
Getting rid of his blindness —I have become blind myself.

Vrt je mog oca potpuno zarobio,
Nagradiv ga ropstvom, Ito ga je uzgojio.
A ja, slobodnjak, mozgaš, što sam dobio
U očevu vrtu videć kozmogoniju?

The garden made my father its prisoner,
And bondage was the reward for his cultivation.
And I, a free man, wonder what was my gain
To observe cosmogony in my father's garden?

Kao klesar koji sažme kamen
U gustu kocku smisla — gdje kamena nema.
Izgubio sam glinu, cvijet i stablo, sadržane
U vrtnoj geometriji, u tom kvadratu sjena.

As a stonecutter who cuts the stone
Into a sensible block-where there was no stone,
I lost the clay, the flower, and the tree,
In the horticultural geometry, this shaded square.

U glini vidim mnoga lica, još puna života,
Što poredana leže ispod ruža;
Ko i moj otac slijep, ko i moj otac
Ja njihove sam okatosti sužanj.

I see in the clay many faces still full of life,
Lying under the roses in a row;
Blind like my father, like my father
I am the prisoner of their large eyes.

Prsti moga djeda u vinovoj lozi,
Oči moje ljubavi u nebu, u nebu ...
Zar nema pustinje, gdje bih mogo živjeti
Bez prividjenja, o vlastitu hljebu?

My grandfather's fingers are in the vines,
My love's eyes are in the sky, in the sky...
Is there no desert where I could live
Without visions, and by my own bread?

Bogatstvo vrta hrani moje siromaštvo,
Svijet jednostavnih stvari sav ovisi o meni.
Kako se dolazi do tog, kakvom obratnom maltom,
Da ruža ne bude smrt, ni glina spomenik?

The garden's richness feeds my poverty,
A world of simple things still depends on me.
How can one make, by what inverted fantasy,
The rose not be a death nor the clay a monument?



2. I IZ NAJDUBLJEG SNA...
2. AND FROM DEEPEST SLEEP...
I iz najdubljeg sna kad se prenem
Pred sobom vidim: plam se poljem pruža.
Budjenje moje novo je rodjenje,
A oko mene — vječno bdijenje ruža.

And from the deepest dream when I awake
I see in front of me: A flame extending across the field.
My awakening is a new birth,
And around me there is an eternal vigil of roses.

Ko kratkotrajni leptir ronim odmah
U razbuktan cvat, Ito je za me koban,
I rufe rilce mog pogleda do dna,
Kroz kanibalsku ružu do mog groba.

Like a shortlived butterfly I promptly plunge
Into the glowing bloom so fatal to me,
And the feeler of my glance probes downward toward the ground,
Through the cannibalic rose straight to my grave.

Iz privremene smrti, što je snivah
U grudi blata, kamenu i hrastu,
Iz one zemlje, gdje mrtav počivah,
Te žustre ruže klijaju i rastu.

From the temporary death of which I just dreamed
In the bosom of the mud, in the stone, on the oak tree,
From that earth where I rested dead,
The sprightly roses now germinate and grow.

Pridružujem se burnom ružičnjaku
Samo na časak, da bi grob smerdechi
Mogo izabrat. Po posebnu znaku
Izabrat ružu, pod koju ću leći.

I associate myself with the garden of blowing roses
For a moment only, in order to choose
My stinking[3] tomb, and particularly
To choose the rose under which I shall rest.

I ono, što će mrtvo tijelo moje
U rujnoj ruži stvorit, dajuć joj ljepotu,
Možda će biti i ljepše i bolje
Od sveg što sačini moj duh u životu.

And what will my body, dead, be able
To contribute to the rose's beauty?
Perhaps it will be better, will be lovelier
Than all that my spirit created in this life.


3. KAD TVOJI PRSTI...

3. WHEN YOUR FINGERS ...

Kad tvoji prsti smrtonosni udju
U bokorje mog vrta, ljubaznice,
Svaki put, gospo, kad ubereš ružu
Pomičeš vijenac, otkrivaš mi lice.

When your lethal fingers
Enter the shrubbery of my garden, mistress,
Whenever you pluck a rose, my lady,
You shift my wreath, you unveil my face.

Moja je glava, gospo, izmed ovih ruža,
Ukrasna vrtna kugla, lažan kristal:
Zrcáli se u njoj i ti—svjetlost tudja
Daje joj livot, čini je da blista.

For under these roses, mistress, my head has become
A gardener's ornamental ball, a false crystal:
Let yourself be mirrored in it—the alien light
Gives it a new life and a novel glow.

Dok ogledaš u njoj ljupko svoje lice,
I vlasno trgaš ruže, gospo razrnažena.
Ne zaboravi na me, koji ležim nice,
Lešina ispod ruža, sva tebi namijenjena.

While it reflects your lovely face,
And haughtily you pluck the roses, my spoiled lady,
Do not forget me who rests under here,
Beneath the rose, a corpse completely yours.

Sve što sam bio i sve što sam dao
U torn je grobu, gospo, zabavi se njime —
Strpljiv ga je vrtlar za se iskopao,
Da u tvom buketu kratkotrajno sine.

All that I was and all I gave
Is now in this tomb; amuse yourself, my lady—
For it was dug out by a patient gardener,
To blaze forth suddenly in your bouquet.

Blaguj za trpezom ovom, kojom te podvorih,
Životom svojim bilo mi ju platiti —
Od svoga djela i groba ti stvorih,
Sudbino moja, gartlic za čas kratiti

Dine with joy at this table where I am serving you,
Because for this meal with my life I paid—
From my works and from this grave I built for you,
My destiny, a little pleasure garden.





[1] In the original Grobničko polje (Graveyard of Grobnik, Grobnik Field), a village and community in Croatia where in 1242 the Croats victoriously fought against the invading Genghis Khan's Mongolian army.

[2] The title, "Gartlic za čas kratiti," is the title of a collection of poems by Fran Krsto Frankopan (1643-1671), a Croatian nobleman, poet, soldier, and martyr.

[3] In the original smerdechi, in old Croatian orthography, as it is used in. Frankopan's poem. The reference to stinking tomb is made because of the author's coming death on the scaffold.