uljane boje (Anđeli s neba nježnim rukama...)/ oil paints (Angels from the sky with gentle hands...)

'Angels from the sky with gentle hands,

 are lowering frozen starts on the ground,

taking great care not to awake my precious.'

                                                               line from a poem by Dragutin Tadijanović

This angel came to be the same evening (night) when I've painted a blue lady and lots of other portraits. It was a productive evening/night. The lines I have opened this post with are that of a well know poem from Croatian literature...Late into the night, into the white winter  night is a poem that speaks of a mother (perhaps my personal favourite as poems dedicated to mothers go) that weaves late into the winter night...My warm summer nights seem much more pleasant though perhaps they're just as restless and in some ways just as calm. (If you want to read my translation of the poem scroll down)

Ovaj anđeo je nastao iste večeri (noći) kada i Plava dama i cijela serija portreta. Bila je to stvaralačka večer (noć). Dugo u noć, u ljetnu vrelu noć...zvuči kao antiteza poznate  pjesme Dragutina Tadijanovića...moja topla ljetna noć čini mi se puno ugodnijom od te hladne zimske koju je on opisivao, no možda je nemirna i mirna na iste načine. Moram napomenuti da mi je to jedna od naljepših pjesama posvećenih majkama. 

Dugo u noć, u zimsku bijelu noć

Dugo u noć, u zimsku gluhu noć

Moja mati bijelo platno tka.

Njen pognut lik i prosijede njene kose

Odavno je već zališe suzama.

Trag lampe s prozora pružen je čitavim dvorištem

Po snijegu što vani pada.

U tišini bez kraja, u tišini bez kraja:

Anđeli s neba, nježnim rukama,

Spuštaju smrzle zvjezdice na zemlju,

Pazeć da ne bi zlato moje probudili.

Dugo u noć, u zimsku pustu noć

Moja mati bijelo platno tka.

O majko žalosna! kaži, što to sja

U tvojim očima

Dugo u noć, u zimsku bijelu noć.

Dragutin Tadijanović, 1931.

Late into the night, into the white winter night

Late into the night, into the deaf winter night

My mother weaves white cloth

Her hunched shape and her gray hairs

had bathed her in tears long ago.

The trace from a lamp on a window runs across the whole backyard

Over the snow that is falling outside

in a never ending silence, in a never ending silence:

Angels from the sky, with gentle hands,

are lowering frozen stars on the ground,

Taking great care not to awake my precious.

Long into the night, into the deserted winter night

My mother weaves white cloth.

Oh, sorrowful mother! tell me, what it is that shines

in your eyes.

Long into the night, the white winter night.

Poem written in 1931 by Dragutin Tadijanović (and translated by me)