Maksim Sedej yr. - REPUBLIC OF SLOVENIA

*** Personal photos **** 

Janez Sedej - Reflections on the poetry by Maksim Sedej Jr. (click article)
                     I Might Be a Particle Which Hopes it May not Dissolve into
                     Nothing
Maksim Sedej yr - Essay about Art, Scient and Religion  THE GALILEE ROUND AND THE QUESTION OF  INFINITY (click article)
Maksim Sedej yr 2. II. 2010

Maksim Sedej yr   

THE FOUR FACES OF THE SOUL Introduction (Click title)
Order and Chaos (Click title)
Good and Evil (Click title)
The blossoming people (Click title)
Death and revelation (Click title)


Book, printed 2000, 242 pages and 95 colour pictures (click article)
 

INFINITY, ETERNITY and infinity, eternity (click title)
Esssay about Art in XXI century

Foto: Dr Anka in Maksim Sedej yr, 1979

BOOK OF POETRY, 100 pages, 20 graphics and photos, 2007
Essay - INFINITY - ETERNITY and infinty - eternity

THE FIERY RING -  HOMAGE  STEPHEN HAWKING

There are two eternities: One is of God
The other is trapped in the fiery ring
The first is felt by a man with all of his essence
The second enraptures his reason and curiosity
There are two infinities: One of them is of God
The other is unveiled by reason
The first one is felt by a man with his complete soul, this one promises him eternity
The second one is explored by scholars, who present it to us in all its mightinessis
There are two loves: The first one is eternal, the nearest to the loved being
The second one is sang by a poet or explained by Sigismund

A Great man is sitting in a crystal cube
He is observing and admiring the beautiful night sky
Milliards of stars and galaxies spread out above him
Or more precisely: in his thoughts, his essence and his vision. There is the complete Universe
He sees also the remote edge of the beginning of the Creation, somewhere in the remote past of the Universe
Maybe he, like new Galileo, anticipates what is beyond.
His word seldom finds a way there

Maybe he doesn’t know, but he anticipates this thought, which came into being in the depth of human subconsciousness and which passes over like a rare haze into human consciousness.
Maybe, everything is only a cosmic revelation, that the Universe presents and unveils to us in
its whole mightiness and mysteriousness
When It had created the observer and researcher, also It got another meaning of its existence

How could man anticipate the fiery circle of the beginning.
Of the beginning, from which everything is created
The same way we are created and our thoughts, our feelings and anticipations, like
beautiful night sky and our Earth, from where we see or anticipate almost everything what exists

The soul is excited and worried at the same time
What if our Universe is: “All that exists” emptying in nothing
Where are then, our hope and exit from the circle of death

At the evening we pray: “Our Father” to the Holly God and “Hail Mary” to Holly Mary
Soul and spirit are quite and calm then. They merge with God’s
The big sitting man knows, that this is only never ending circle or spiral

In the morning he will once again seat in his crystal cube and will late into the night research mighty Universe.

NOTHING

First I thought, Nothing was without beginning
First I thought, Nothing was without end
First I thought, Nothing was without any quality
First I thought, Nothing was endless void
If I would think Nothing was endless void, I would be mistaken
Only in Nothing you can anticipate, that Nothing in its essence is Mighty Being
Mighty Being, who all exist
Mighty Being, who created even her: the Word
Then he turned up
At first he timidly said Earth was round
After that he said orangutan was his brother
Than he said Universe was everything that exist
Nothing likewise
Then he said there was no hope for us, all that we endeavoured  for was unless
Universe was emptying and vanishing
Than everything would become Nothing again
Then I asked him: what about Mighty Being
Had it been It who had imagined this game with such an end
He didn’t understand, what I was talking about
There exists no Mighty Being in his Nothing
And if he does, than It will also disappear in the Nothing
Just like every living creature, which by the rules of Natures logic
Disappears in Nothing at the end
Then I asked him: What is love then?

THE PYRAMID

King wanted to become immortal
King wanted to become equal to the gods
King therefore invented eternity and the gods
King, to realize this all, built the pyramid for himself
In the king’s pyramid there are empty sarcophagi and empty channels
which lead to mysterious and unreachable rooms of the pyramid
where our and that other, Eternal world meet
Passage is invisible and imperceptible
like the other Eternal world and Eternal life
where Eternal Being dwells
I was in the pyramid
I was in its centre
I was embraced by cold stones
suddenly I had a feeling, that this room
together with point of connection between our world and Eternity
respectively other dimension, moved and disappeared
from the pyramid into remote spaces of our or some another Universe
The dusty sands of the dessert are all that remains
Desecrated and misunderstood pyramid
Around the pyramid is now other nation and other people
with own God and their own eternity
But in it’s soul pyramid remains like Eternity
All white and golden

THE BEAM

It downs
It downs and I’m asleep
It dons, I’m awake and I’m asleep
It downs, I’m awake and I’m asleep, I’m watching Andromeda
It floats in the Universe splendid, rimed with beautiful colorful belts of stars
A small galaxy is floating like a baby besides magnificent beauty
I'm able to see the edge of the star, melting and joining with the big mother Andromeda
At the point of their conjunction, I can see life
A sign and his light, where Andromeda’s  Earth lives, has appeared to me
In a half sleep, life is in this sign, I know this for sure
Then anticipation
On the other side of Andromeda, in the depths of the Universe
I anticipate magnificent Cosmic Matter – Being
If this Matter – Being is a material or spiritual, I do not know
Matter – Being does not allow us to inquire or think about it
It doesn’t allow us to tell about it
It doesn’t allow us any confirmation, about its being there
I simply know, that is exist, and I’m not allowed even to think about It or to see It
Before I have melt from half sleep to reality
Unknown voice or unknown thought called my attention:
That I have been looking through the telescope
Maybe I have not seen truth, maybe I have heard this message
The beam that returns home after endless journey through the Universe

UNIVERSE IN THE SHRINE

In the shrine I have Universe
The shrine is in a cellar
Honestly speaking, this is not the Universe in a shrine, neither is it in the cellar
It is a meadow
A blossoming meadow, like a soft Persian carpet
A blossoming meadow is covered with red poppy and other grassland plants
Meadow is singing – multitude of bees, humble bees and other flying jewels hum
fly from blossom to blossom
A beautiful girl with white sunshade walks over the meadow
She wears, white dress, interlaced with blue spots and
White had girdled with red strip
I do not really see the girl, said better, I only have anticipation of her
I only see endless depth in her blue eyes
When I deep into this blue endlessness, I get lost
But maybe I get found only then
Even deeper in depths of her eyes I anticipate
That I am both defeated and winner at the same time, I do not know
I do not even anticipate, how this journey into deeps of the blues eyes
is going to continue
I only know, that I am going to fly like a butterfly
Or I will, like a chrysalis, dig back into the soft soil
But I will wait at nothing more
Because dipping into the depths of the blue eyes is all that exist

TREES STROLING ABOUT OVER THE MORASS

Green is the hills and green are the mountains
Green is the Morass and green are trees, lonely strolling about over it
Green is the River meandering at the Morass, and green are bushes embracing it
Green are the shadows of the leafs cooling lonely forest paths
Green is the depths, where herd of deer pasture with green sprouts
Green haze veils gaze into green distance
Green eternity and peace is interrupted only by rustle of a breeze
Hurrying over the Morass to chase away haze
In the middle of the green fairy tale immense foreign body, surrounded with a gray veil, appears
This is a Town for which nobody knows when and where from landed on the Morass
I know that ha Town is not a spaceship landing on this green paradise
I know this because space travelers can’t be like the people in the Town
I am not blaming anybody
I was born in the town and the Town is my Universe
All I know, feel, anticipate, adore, all what is abomination for me, all what I do not like
Or what I am enchanted at all I have done good or bad I always discover through my relation
to the Town
The River is trapped by concrete, trees are surrounded by asphalt, shrubs grow in pretty
Concrete troughs
Grayish masses of townsfolk hurry to work in the morning hours
Streets are narrow, and nobody looks up the sky, all of them gaze at the floor,
Concrete or asphalt
Rare are those who see anybody else and casually greet him
One day when I hurried at the street with this grayish mass, something stopped me and I
Looked at the sky
It was blue like a sea, it glittered
And then everything was grayish again
Thus I discovered blue glittering sky,
Green River, calmly flowing over concrete bottom,
Green pasture and green trees, wanderers, strolling over the Morass
Green mountains and highlands, night and its mysterious words,
night sky and stars.
Beautiful Galaxy, embracing our Earth, Andromeda, its distant sister,
Myself, when I stooped in grayish mass and perceived at the blue sky
I discovered love, I wish and hope it is eternal

THE FLIGHT – PARABLE OF FRANCE PREŠEREN

The real central point, where the Big bang started time and universe, certainly does exist
All is fleeing, everything apart another
This whole flight of all things is trapped into glaring ring ob the beginning of the Universe
Because there is no center, the sky which we see, is also not unique, nor true

We also flee from ourselves and from others
We also have our aims on tiny part of our infinity
We also travel from birth and become dispersed in the end into death
Where would be God if centre of All wouldn’t exist and everything were surrounded by the fire

What exist at the beginning, will exist in the end as well
What exist now, is our life and our spreading
What exist as Universe, is flight of infinite multitude of galaxies and other grandeurs
What exist, what existed, what exist and what will exist, will be cosmic void and coldness

Is God not the Universe, because it is encircled and embraced by terrible flame of
beginning of the time. Therefore no scholar is never going to know the Divine plan
Therefore no man is going to feel God s without love
Therefore the Great poet knew, that God does not exist in flight

Will-not-be means: Nothing will be
Won’t be means, that there won’t be Nothing as well
Won’t be means certain local horizon
Will-not-be means, that God will never be entirely comprehended

But what if humankind is not going to allow to be annihilated in Nothing
But what if humankind, which has infinite time, pacify the Universe
But what if humankind will create according to its own measure
But what if the Universe will then become only small glaring point in certain bigger Creation

INFERNO – IN THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND AHAC

I painted the painting of Inferno
Cosmic emptiness in which exist mystery, mystic, space organisms,
As living as death, and mysterious energy and matter, extending into
Infinite emptiness – Nothing
This image doesn’t promise mush hope, it only reminds us, that not everything is reason

Before I started to paint the painting, I had known, that we had lived, without even knowing,
In a fiery bowl of the beginning of the Universe
All of this was discovered by sages, scholars and astronomers
I knew as well, that in fait into God and love we surpass astral this fiery ring and chaos,
which, for us, the faithful, is not exist and will never be

In the painting I couldn’t represent anything;
Not a greatness of mind of a scientist or of a sage
Not a hearty faith in God and his creation
Not love and journey in it
Because of life I live had not succeeded in representing any in finite idea about hell

I painted the picture, following the springing up thoughts, anticipations or feelings,
Fear of death and doubt about identity, between infinity and Eternity; thoughts, feelings,
Anticipations originated from a certain mycelium of the brain, where Inferno dwells
Color and black & white shapes and spaces came from there, as well becoming and vanishing
Who would anticipate the truth in this infinite appearance of all kinds of apparitions?

After I had painted the painting, I recognized, that every truth? Can be diverse and identical
So I knew, that this is only personal point of view and personal experience of the hell,
which even I can’t explain to myself
Almost every man, we could say human race, has his own experience of the hell
I anticipate, that human thought is only a drop of truth, or only anticipation in Universe

Inferno is transcosmic journey and dispersion into cosmic blackness and Nothing
Beyond fiery ring, it is expectation of the light which will somewhere start to lighten
Some much bigger infinite emptiness and terrible cosmic coldness
If white or golden glitter will shine, it will be Eternity
If the red horizon will glow up, it will be Inferno

SWAMP - STANISLAW LEM'S PARABLE

It has been that, everything that exist, is a swamp
Therefore, I set out first to the nearby swamp, which surrounding the Town
I walked with difficulty over adhesive and sinking surface
After I had into a hollow, swamp extending over my head
I began to feel at case, I reached a deep swamp

Water in my lungs stank of rot
But the blackish water, covering the mud, was crystal clear
I saw everything: plants, animals, all sort of Darwinism and also technological progress of
swamp; used agricultural machinery and household appliances, tires, car bodies
and many, many other pieces of modern technology

I was bored of the swamp soon
I blew rotten out off my lungs, nose, trachea, ears and I set out to the Town
The Town was also supposed to be a swamp of its kind
I knew that was that from my own experience
I live there anyway

It seems, that in the Town, just like in the swamp, similar standards are accepted
A total freedom holds true in the swamp, at the top of the nutrition chain is a pike
But I do not want to diminish the role of dytiscus marginalis, who also catches and eats fish
In the swamp is also an endless brood of all kinds,
Waiting there to its transformation

The similar matter holds in the Town, freedom is limited by double standards, because
freedom means power, small obscenities, greediness or carnality can be afforded by everyone. But when a boy comes to the school and kills teacher with hammer, freedom comes to its end
If he is descendent of a proper family or milieu, he will be treated by psychiatrist, if he does
Not, he will fall in the hands of judges and prison warders, who will transform him

With the rise of importance of the power, became heroes those who had beaten tied people
with hammers, if, by accident, they didn’t succeed to become heroes, they became cadre
therefore I know that freedom is matter of power will
It is limited to little people, who can with their free and limited power, with their free action
Make other people substantially their nearest

Then I ascendant up to the hill and for A serene night to come
When I observed beautiful night sky and enormous Galactic cloud
which encircled the horizon, I was enchanted to myself recovering breath
But then dark anticipation that Universe is also limited space overcame me

I discovered it in the books, not on his wonderful firmament, which, little and so distant
As I am, I have admired, since I had known myself
The Universe exploded from the glowing point or the singular straight line without mass and
it widens constantly
Problem with the Universe is, no matter how big it is, that limited with the ring of hot
wave of the beginning, which can’t be broken ever

My image of the swamp is concluded, swamp is everywhere and with everyone without faith, mysticism or transcendence
No scholar can stop thought or faith, which is transcending the glowing ring of the Universe
In the moment, and passes over to eternal space, where dwell endless multitude of Divine
Sparkles of Universes expanding or contracting, and only there might of The Being can be
Anticipated

Looking around ourselves, we can realize, that we have been stuck in the swamp by our necks
Smaller must constantly leap all time to get some breath
Very waggish parable, but utterly unoriginal
This parable was invented or even experienced long ago by Stanislaw Lem

WHO ARE THE BIRDS – PARABLE OF ST. FRANCIS

First of all I holly mass on Easter Sunday
First of all I forgot who I was, I was mingle into One with a beautiful choir singing,
Voice of the priest and soul breaking echoes of the holly mass,
which caressed the frescoes dedicated to St. Francis

First of all I looked Giotto’s fresco where, St. Francis preached to the birds
This image moved me, because back at home, where St. Francis preached to the birds
Then the earthquake occurred that badly damaged home of St. Francis in Assissi
Then a truck hit in our house

Then two young blackbirds fell from the nest to the blossoming wisterias embracing
Our house. Then the blackbirds sadly peeped, flying across, trying to shelter young birds
Then I caught the young birds and put them back to the nest
Then I set down on the bench under apple tree

The blackbird flew to the bought just above me
He sang a beautiful song, a song rarely heard even in our garden, always full of birds
This wonderful acknowledgement for this small attention touched me deeply
Had the birds sang their beautiful song also acknowledgement to St. Francis

I do not know, who are the birds, those wonderful beings
I only know, holly Mary protects her people and their souls with her coast
I only know, that black heron spreads it’s wings to make shelter for fish
I know you will say: what has Darwinism to do with Sacred

Maybe the birds have their own God
I only know, that since then I have never heard them singing that away
Maybe because immense cherry tree had felled and birds went away
I still do not know who the birds are, St. Francis was the only one to understand them,
Therefore he preached to them

BLACKNESS OF THE BLACK

I have experienced everything
Darkness of the night in primeval forest, where a small star is twinkling amidst the leaves
Darkness of the cloudy night, where unusual voices or threatening stillness can’t be comprehended
Darkness of underground cave, where only the small water drops echo into dark depths
Darkness of room and bed, where, sleepless, you gaze and meditate

Sometimes this blackness and dark seize the soul and the mind
Sometimes only you notice the endlessness of the void, thinking this is Nothing
Sometimes only fear and thought about Nothing rise soul and spirit
Sometimes you spread out, into seeming void – Nothing, memories, associations, thoughs
And subconscious ideas about Creation

I happens soon or later you stop for a moment in front of the void, without thoughts or
feelings. At that moment this void, otherwise entirely opaque and black, light up in the soul
like a fire or it appears as it would be all white and golden; then you find yourself for a
moment in timelessness and you communicate with this blackness or Nothing, without
thoughts, without visual notions or feelings, then you get aware that this opaque
Blackness – Nothing is place of God’s dwelling

Connection, usually mutual, occurs on a not explicated level
There is no conscious or subconscious mechanism which would be capable of something like
This real void – Nothing can’t be filled with anything, simply because
This is the place of The Creation and of The Being
But man will not be able to intervene to the scene of Creation for a long time

There was one wonderful sunny day, or maybe the sky was covered with clouds
I was sitting in the extension of the hospital: place, where my darling was fighting for like in
A trance, in timelessness
Doctor, who approached me, placed his hand on my shoulder with compassion and uttered his sympathize with my grief because of death of my dear ones

At the moment I sensed the Being; even today don’t know, what I beget or promised to in
an almost out of Space communication; in this seeming void – Nothing I sensed this
communication in me as white – golden light, even if there was only darkness. Couple of
minutes or hours had passed, before doctor approached to me, saying my darling was all
right, that she was alive, what was, by his option, beyond any rational explanation

My darling remained, but baby got atomized into white – golden light, which can’t be seen
In blackness nor possible to anticipate consciously anything else it
Whenever I find myself powerless in front of empty canvas, seeing this blackness
Than I can see the baby smiling with ease, chasing the butterflies and small flying beetles
Then I get tempted to pain black painting – blackness of the black

MEMORY TO THE HIPPY YEARS

All over the green meadow, full of flowers any gaily insects
A little baby chases beautiful butterflies
He doesn’t know that in his world butterflies
They are just miraculous beings for him
Being of living life – angels

When he will grow up the world, he is living in
He will sooner or later perceive his own butterfly
If he will love enough, he won’t catch him or grasp for his
Tender youth, that makes him fly over his world
But he will be flying together with this wonderful being

If he will be persistent and will hearken to his heart
He will sooner or later see the world, as it is in reality
Merciless and cruel, but nevertheless occupied with wonderful flying beings
Only a great love; being fulfilled or just a lost hope
Can open to little baby comprehension and truth he is living in

All evil and good, birth and death, hate and love
Even mind and foolishness raise in some kind of spiral to the future
All the things change and grove just like remembrance on a death, that gets
But when it’s moment comes, you remember the Words that point you the secret
Resurrection
Therefore life, which we lived and we still live, is our personal responsibility

But all of this is only a prank anyway
Merciless tragedy or comedy, given a bit of sense only by stargazers
They can see infinitely glowing chaos we’ve been born of
And merciless cosmic cold and void in which we will all once vanish ultimately
Probably the Being will remain, Divine spark, endlessly smaller then an atom

All over a green meadow, full of flowers and gaily colored insects
A little baby chases beautiful butterflies and other colorful flying pearls
Whatever he grasps, he crushes or caresses, like Steinbeck’s Leni, who caressed the mouse and the girl
Even dead living things can be nice and soft
Who can order to the little child’s what to feel

A LOOK BACK

A beautiful extends where the great palaces of the Town end
Spring is announced by wonderful blossoming trees and rosy shrubs
Sitting on a bench in the park, I’m admiring all this beauty
A boy and girl, almost children, are being embraced in this miraculous nature
Wit melancholy I’m looking at the fairy tale, similar to the one, I used to see I was
still a boy

Time, life, but first youth and childhood, pass and change
When I was young, children used to ply with a ball, chased butterflies and secretly admired girls; poetics and erotica were, so far as can remember, for children separated
matters. Cupido aimed a bit more higher, or  at last I only think so
If I said today aims this and that way, I would probably be an unfair arbiter

I can remember long, slim boughs, which in great bunches used to embrace the River
I can remember the reflection of delicate green willow leafs and reddish cherry blossoms in the River.
I can remember the beautiful scene of embraced nature, in which glittered the River
I can remember, that at that time, reflection of the moon could not be noticed only on the water, but that it was mixed with the moon on the sky, and plated also the nature, existing in the image in the mirror

Not before it reaches the Town, the River sleeps away from the embrace of blossoming
and green nature in the concrete embrace of the Town, River gets wider, becoming shallow
Islets of moss and bunches of long mossy stalks cover the shallow channel
The bottom is covered with stones, respectively it is made of stones plates, with sleets
Between them, overgrown with moss
Of a big islet of moss, in the middle of the river I saw dead girl laying on her back

In her beautiful, but dead eyes I saw reflection of a blue sky
She was laying on the moss, dressed for a wedding party, just like a beautiful painting in a church or in a museum
The scene was unusually beautiful, but deeply tragic and ominous
There couldn’t be see any last torpid sign of dread of death
Nor blame, fear, offence or accusation, only infinite grief and mercy

After I immersed with gaze into this infinite grief and mistake, which surrounded dead girl, I felt cosmic emptiness, weakness and mercy that caused so terrible pain in me, that I
Was not able to understand anything; than I heard a hollow noise horses?
Stumbling of defeated armies, there marched over the bridge and bell.-ringed despair and tragic fate that awaited them: I was thrilled by all this and my thoughts were turned to death

I got to know the girl, at the time, when I was her age, she was beautiful as a flower
Or just like the beautiful butterflies, flaying over the meadows and fields in spring
When I observed these flaying jewels, I saw always in my thoughts her blue eyes and dress, crowded with dots; I dreamt about such a meadow many times, I also dreamt about castles and fairy beings although there was death and killing all around me

I’m sitting on a bench in a park, my memory recalling the distant past
I’m sitting on a bench in a park, viewing a girl and a boy, still children, embraced
I’m sitting on a bench in a park, seeing Tizians paining, devoted to fame Venus
I’m sitting on a bench in a park, knowing, that childhood and it’s miracle make such a short moment
I’m sitting on a bench in a park, feeling, that happiness of growing up in something entirely different I those days

SELF PORTRAIT – THE MIRROR

Life is mystery
Man is mystery
I am also a mystery to myself
Just like the soul is an invisible and infinite mystery as well

Everything That I have experienced, lived, done or lef off
I see from a distance, when I’m in front of the mirror
I can see reflection in the mirror of something, that I think, is me
Image I’ve created of myself. Is just like the reflection in the mirror
But the mirror is only outer image, not reflection or fiction

Because soul can’t be seen, as in case the Dorian Gray,
There are, behind the image in an infinite space of life, multitude of deeds, experiences
memoryes, persons and everything that has been accumulated in a person through the years. Much of this I have hidden out from myself, forgotten, deliberately left of; or I
Don’t know anything about many of these matters or even to think about them

But the matters are not can and can’t be so simple
When you dwell at the paths all lost in dreams of beauty of autumn, and when you sight
Passes to a small trodden blade, you recollect in your memory a deed, which you have
Suppressed deep into subconscious and which couldn’t be recollected by any psychoanalysis.
Myriads of tiny associations makes you to remember and to remind, to change to save

When the Being gets hidden indistinguishably in my essence, when Nothing appears
Only then I can see all, every trifle, every good or had deed I have committed or left off
Because of love, blind forces, indifference or weakness
At such a moment my essence and it’s reflection get melted into one, that, in fact, in never unity indefinite and undistinguishable duality

To whom shall I make a confession or an apology, Being, who rwels in me, knows it all,
any way also all that what remains hidden and makes a secret, which you recognize or experience
Only at the end in this moments when you are leaving this world
Sometimes, in a half dream or in a sleep, I see images or songs from cosmic distances, where the Earth appears like a tiny blue miracle in a endless space symphony

Only from these distances I can see every little or great deed, beautiful forest and fields,
wilderness and mountains, ice and oceans, streams and grass, animal’s circle and human voyage towards infinity and eternity
Scholars found out, that Universe is a cruel, merciless and indifferent place
Leonardo da Vinci painted “Madonna with a child of the rocks”, which has remained eternal answer and way mark since today, to all who would undertake a journey towards cruelty and indifference of the universe

THE TIME MACHINE

I have friends
Some of them I know quite well, some of them only incidentally, most of them are dead
Some of them are spiritual giants by means of spirit and pursuit
If these friends would take a walk through my small country an all their grandeur
they would cause only disorder and disarray
What would grandeur of spirit or creative work mean to ordinary people in their
troubles of everyday life
My friends are well aware of this
Therefore they have diminished themselves to average human height in our reality
Somewhere at the edge of “great” events of our small nation they live their diminished lives
With all kindness, all generousness of their reason and understanding
They also equilibrate spirit and life of those, who are alone in their great smallness
Encounters and friendships with them make meaning to my pursuit, as well
After some time, when we be long gone
they will rise again to their true height
Believe me, that is possible even in our little countryIn a little country of the dead giants