Адриана Стојановић је рођена 5.2.1988. године у Јесеницама, у Словенији.

Тренутно живи и ради у Суботици као професор енглеског језика.
Дипломирани је професор енглеског језика и књижевности и преводилац.

Члан је Краљевског књижевног клуба „Карађорђевић” и учесник многобројних литерарних конкурса. Сарадник је листа „Просветни преглед”, а својим чланцима редовно доприноси часопису за наставнике енглеског језика МЕLT.

Добитник је повеље Краљевског књижевног клуба „Карађорђевић” за изузетан допринос српској културној баштини. Презентовала је о модерној америчкој драми у Америчком кутку у Суботици. Имала је значајан пласман на конкурсу „Congitia Libera” на тему „О потреби филозофије у XXI веку”, а њена поезија је објављивана у Антологији младих талената и омладинским часописима.
Била је организатор и учесник Поетског матинеа на енглеском језику,
модератор Вечери Огдена Неша, као и победник на такмичењима у рецитовању на енглеском језику.

Адриана пише поезију и прозу на српском и енглеском језику.


Hours are flowing

In the spoon of the night.

Drop by drop.

Drop by drop.

The moon is lowering

Its lampshade.

He’s fast.

A few drops have fallen

From the bedsheets of gods.

For the mortals. Tonight.

Shall we drink, countrymen?

Shall we celebrate? A cheers?

My reflection is my bedsheet.

I cannot see through it.

Deep down, all I know

Is written. Engraved it is.

Into the hands of lampshades

Of silent maples.

They talk too fast.

I can’t understand them!

They know their secrets.

Surely they do.

A drop of coffee falls on my linen.


Take it!

Take it all away!

I want no tainted maples.

No tainted sheets.

I have no one to wash them.

My eyes have dried out,

How can I use somebody else’s

To wash my linen?

To wash my blues?

I have stumbled into the desert.

The water is plenty.

The water is plenty

In my mirage.

The water is plenty.

There is no wasteland.

No sorcerers that throw cards.

No beasts that shall swallow the earth.

No gyres that history weaves.

It’s me and my blues.

Nice to meet you, blues.

How do you do.

How do you do.

The Wandering Jew.


On a little quiet beach there was a grain of sand

That did not dream of living high and grand.

That grain was little, but size is no measure

Small things are sometimes the greatest treasure.

Deep in the shadows of sands and shores

He stayed; and never did wage any wars.

In the mist of the ocean, in the skies of blue

He lived his own life, every day anew.

The neighbours he had were noisy and brash

All around their house you could only see trash;

And how they loved cash! To spend it, of course,

Showing to everyone their power, their force.

And those across the road were quite phlegmatic,

Nothing could move them, nothing made them ecstatic.

Above were the skies, and in them the sun,

Burning like fire, and thus having fun.

The little grain of sand was sad and downcast,

For all is upside down – it had to change, fast!

“My plants are withering, my house is no home,

No longer are we living in a pleasure dome.”

He brooded a lot, and he thought of a plan -

“I shall not die a wretched old man!

Nor shall my offsprings have the life that I had,

They won’t think of life as a transient fad.”

He talked to the seas; he talked to the sand,

The sun he asked to lend a helping hand.

With a sneer or two, they discussed the scheme,

Many considered it a far-fetched dream.

Yet, little by little, the spirit did strengthen,

The energy grew, the plot did not lengthen.

From within we must work, from within to think,

For we are the fault and the missing link.

A wise grain of sand the little one was,

He knew how to work for a good cause.

Slowly, he linked the seas and the oceans,

No, he didn’t need any magical potions.

No abracadabras, no legs of frogs,

He didn’t write any lengthy blogs.

No longer did the neighbours throw around their trash,

And suddenly, the sun shone with a healthy flash.

They started thinking, their grey cells in motion,

For others they even started showing emotion.

How little it takes, to set everything right,

Against ourselves it is in fact that we fight.

That is how a change was brought about indeed,

When togetherness rules, it has to succeed.

This story we end with a quizzical thought,

Are you a grain of sand or - not?

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