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Kroz celu zbirku se, kao crvena nit, provlaci sav besmisao zivljenja danasnjeg, pre svega urbanog, coveka, koji je, kako pesnik lepo zapaza, pretvoren u "Oblik". Zaista, savremeni covek je svojom bezosecajnoscu, sebicnoscu, faktickom usamljenoscu, gramzivoscu i zapadanjem u duhovno nistavilo, u ogromnoj vecini, postao ono sto Sv. apostol Pavle naziva "sarkykos" ili, kjerkegorski receno, nije presao iz estetskog u eticki nivo egzistencije. Sve se to belodano vidi u skoro svim pesmama Radovanoviceve zbirke. Kao sto je svojevremeno primetio Ivan Rastegorac, Radovanovic suptilno primecuje da su glavni problemi danasnjeg coveka gubitak orijentacije i animalizacija egzistencije. Drugim recima, "moderni" covek lici na planetu koja se, zbog gubitka sile gravitacije, odvojila o svog sunca i "bezglavo" luta po svemiru.
(Vladan Jovanovic)
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A stark, resonant collection about life in the modern city-and the quiet ways it hollows us out. Vladimir Radovanovic traces how today's urban human is reduced to a mere "form": numb in feeling, grasping, spiritually exhausted, alone in a crowd. Across these poems, loss of orientation becomes a daily condition; existence slides toward the animal, while conscience stands at a threshold it rarely crosses. Echoing the insights of moral philosophy without lecturing, Radovanovic shows how comfort can conceal decay, how appetite crowds out tenderness, and how a self without depth drifts like a planet torn from its sun-bright, moving, and terrifyingly unanchored.
Yet the book is not only diagnosis. Its pared-back lines and lucid images hold a stubborn hope: that naming the void is the first step out of it. Readers of contemporary, urban-themed poetry will find a voice that is unsentimental, precise, and urgently humane.
(Vladan Jovanovic)
-----
A stark, resonant collection about life in the modern city-and the quiet ways it hollows us out. Vladimir Radovanovic traces how today's urban human is reduced to a mere "form": numb in feeling, grasping, spiritually exhausted, alone in a crowd. Across these poems, loss of orientation becomes a daily condition; existence slides toward the animal, while conscience stands at a threshold it rarely crosses. Echoing the insights of moral philosophy without lecturing, Radovanovic shows how comfort can conceal decay, how appetite crowds out tenderness, and how a self without depth drifts like a planet torn from its sun-bright, moving, and terrifyingly unanchored.
Yet the book is not only diagnosis. Its pared-back lines and lucid images hold a stubborn hope: that naming the void is the first step out of it. Readers of contemporary, urban-themed poetry will find a voice that is unsentimental, precise, and urgently humane.
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