It’s All I Have To Bring Today (Zorić-Ristić)
It’s all I have to bring to-day,
This, and my heart beside,
This, and my heart, and all the fields,
And all the meadows wide.
Be sure you count, should I forget,—
Some one the sun could tell,—
This, and my heart, and all the bees
Which in the clover dwell.
Emily Dickinson

It’s All I Have To Bring Today

The Terribly Strange Bed (Zorić-Ristić)
The Terribly Strange Bed
I recall there being
portraits on the wall
with stiff, painted eyes
rolled round in the dark
 
on the wall across
from my bed and the other
in the room upstairs
where we all slept
 
as those eyes kept looking
the persons behind
about to kill me
only in sleep safe.
 
Robert Creeley

The Terribly Strange Bed

Mešaj Mešaj

I've Known You Since Before

Henley On Thames (Zorić-Ristić)

Henley-on-Thames
 
I see the winding water make
A short and then a shorter lake
      As here stand I,
      And house-boat high
Survey the Upper Thames.
    By sun the mud is amber-dyed
    In ripples slow and flat and wide,
    That flap against the house-boat side
And flop away in gems.
 
In mud and elder-scented shade
A reach away the breach is made
      By dive and shout
      That circles out
To Henley tower and town;
    And “Boats for Hire” the rafters ring,
    And pink on white the roses cling,
    And red the bright geraniums swing
In baskets dangling down.
 
When shall I see the Thames again?
The prow-promoted gems again,
      As beefy ATS
      Without their hats
Come shooting through the bridge?
    And “cheerioh” and “cheeri-bye”
    Across the waste of waters die,
    And low the mists of evening lie
And lightly skims the midge.
 
John Betjeman

Henley On Thames

Oct 28, 09.44​.mp3

Jan 11, 23.52​.mp3

music: Zorić-Ristić

Summer
 
And this, the maiden’s hushed reply,
Tingling beneath the soft caress
Of her hard-breathing satyress:
“O lover mine! I swoon, I die!
 
“I die! Your bosoms, burning, lie
Heavy as heady wine. Ah yes,
I swoon! Your flesh, your breasts possess
Rare scents my sense is ravished by;
 
“Your flesh, dark with the ripe perfection
Of many a fragrant summer, glows:
Amber perfume, somber reflection;
Your voice; the lusty tremolos
Of gusty breezes; and your hair,
Blood-red, blows on the slow night air.”
 
Paul Verlaine

Summer

Three Pillows, Knife

music: Zorić-Ristić
vocal: Heonard Čoen
guitar: Spoon Blind Williams

Death in Leamington
 
She died in the upstairs bedroom
    By the light of the ev’ning star
That shone through the plate glass window
    From over Leamington Spa.
 
Beside her the lonely crochet
    Lay patiently and unstirred,
But the fingers that would have work’d it
    Were dead as the spoken word.
 
And Nurse came in with the tea-things
    Breast high ’mid the stands and chairs—
But Nurse was alone with her own little soul,
    And the things were alone with theirs.
 
She bolted the big round window,
    She let the blinds unroll,
She set a match to the mantle,
    She covered the fire with coal.
 
And “Tea!” she said in a tiny voice
    “Wake up! It’s nearly five.”
Oh! Chintzy, chintzy cheeriness,
    Half dead and half alive!
 
Do you know that the stucco is peeling?
    Do you know that the heart will stop?
From those yellow Italianate arches
    Do you hear the plaster drop?
 
Nurse looked at the silent bedstead,
    At the gray, decaying face,
As the calm of a Leamington ev’ning
    Drifted into the place.
 
She moved the table of bottles
    Away from the bed to the wall;
And tiptoeing gently over the stairs
    Turned down the gas in the hall.
 
​John Betjeman

Summer

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