My Three Brothers
When I was my three brothers and myself when I was the four of us. I had voice like the wind, hands like cliffs, heart like viganj.*
Lakes used to paint me. Poplars used to raise me up. The river would wash me for herself. The washers chased my image. When I was my three brothers and myself, when I was the four of us. Meadows loved me. They’d transfer my voice and cut the streams with it. I was excited for myself. I had brothers. (I had the dreamy walk.) Those were the three of my brothers: my brother, my brother, and my brother.
Josip Pupačić - Tri moja brata
TN: During his youth, Pupačić lost three of his brothers in a hydroelectric nuclear plant accident. It made him “lose hope in god and people” and he never overcame it.















