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A great man is one who collects knowledge the way a bee collects honey and uses it to help people overcome the difficulties they endure - hunger, ignorance and disease!
- Nikola Tesla
Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.
- Franklin Roosevelt
While their territory has been devastated and their homes despoiled, the spirit of the Serbian people has not been broken.
- Woodrow Wilson
People Directory
Allex Mandusich
He was born on July 13th, 1887 at Sar Planina, Serbia. In 1905, at the age of 18, he immigrated to America.
When the US entered World War I, Mandusich immediately enrolled himself in the Army. During the battle in Amiens region in France in August of 1918, Jake, now a corporal, advanced his men at Chipilly Ridge; there were many casualties and in the heat of the battle Alex realized that all officers had been hit and that he was now the leader of his platoon. His men were pinned down by machine gunfire from a German nest thirty yards away. Under intense fire Manudsich made his way to the nest alone; he pulled out his bayonet and attacked..
Publishing
Poemes de Jovan Dučić / Песме Јована Дучића
The first bilingual edition translations of poems in French of this prince of Serbian poetry. These translations of poems Dučić meet two objectives: to publicize the work of the poet to Francophone readers and pay tribute to both the Serbian language Dučić and French language to which the great poet and Petar Bubreško were passionately attached. This book is dedicated to Leposava Bubreško (1923-2013) professor Bubreško’s wife who wanted so much this work to be published.
Publishers: Sebastian Press, Vidoslov, and Metokhia
216 pages, soft bound, published in 2015, price $15
Песме Јована Дучића
На француски језик превео проф. др Петар Д. Бубрешко
Ова књига је посвећена Лепосави Бубрешко (1923-2013), супрузи професора Петра Д. Бубрешка, која је толико желела да ово дело изађе на светлост
Саиздавачи: Видослов, Требиње и Metokhia, Paris
ПОЕЗИЈА
Мирна као мрамор, хладна као сена,
Ти си бледо тихо девојче што снева.
Пусти песма других нека буде жена,
Што по нечистим улицама пева.
Ја не мећем на те ђинђуве са траком,
Него жуте руже у те косе дуге:
Буди одвећ лепа да се свиђаш сваком,
Одвећ горда да би живела за друге.
Буди одвећ тужна са сопствених јада,
Да би ишла икад да тешиш ко страда,
А чедна, да водиш гомиле што нагле.
И стој равнодушна, док око твог тела,
Место китњастог и раскошног одела,
Лебди само прамен тајанствене магле.