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The book of poems by Irena Skopljak Barić Moja begins unexpectedly with its ending, a decisive point that is a conclusion, appropriation and dedication, but shares them equally with others, "with my own".
The following pages are torn from the book of the people's revolution. From the book? No, from the womb, from the veins, from the bloodstream, from the roots of life. They are the history of love.
Franjo Nagulov's new poetry collection, The Bloody Book, is a dark record of the decline of a society.
This is a collection in which the city becomes an interlocutor, a space whose streets, parks and courtyards become places of encounter (with oneself).
Fusions in search of fragments of identity, in a combination of verses and prose fragments, are at the forefront of this collection.