During his period of residency in Prishtina, Radmila Petrovic, Serbian writer, participated in the literary
festival polip. The texts we are publishing were read by her in this festival.
I Have No One With Whom I Can Spit Toothpaste At Turns Into The Sink
he has a career
an apartment of eighty square meters
and a jaw from a razor commercial
he loves girls, talks subtly
he’s not interested in me
and yet I am a girl
so to speak
a natural born girl!
not too feminine
once a woman
strayed into our village and asked me
hey boy, where can I
turn the car around
afterwards Dad pulled her out
from a ravine with his tractor
and asked what got into you
to send her there
he has a girlfriend and looks at her
as if before his very eyes is dying
the last living
flamingo
when he meets me he always asks
why
I write poems
because the pit bulls in the park
don’t seem happy, I say
The Curse of the Woods
does as animals never came near the households
we would see them when we headed uphill
to pick rosehips for jam
one summer while mowing a meadow
Father accidentally mowed a fawn
the mountain wailed at sunset
ever since that day I have always
walked in front of the mower
moved rabbit kits out of the way
catapulted snakes with a pitchfork
ever since that day I have carried the curse of the woods
your doelike heart sees yellow hunting dogs
in my eyes
my fingers feel like blades of a mower
You can’t do this anymore, you said
Mother put my legs out with the hay
this morning
for the cows
Forest, Plow, Primrose
I feel the souls of female
ancestors
who suffered at men’s
hands
they clung to me when
I left for Belgrade
and now they won’t go home either
they say to me: slice them like aspic!
with a look or
a kitchen knife?
or the penknife I carry in my pocket?
I will, just not this one
especially not this one! they order me
of all I could have been in the world
I was just a woman, says
Radovanka
in the countryside, we never thought
much of dogs
and being a woman was worse than being a dog
your great-grandfather was like a spring
says Dobrosava, cold and
cross
we slept in a brandy vat
when he brought me to this house
he hanged me like a cat that ate all the chickens
and all that was because of the brandy
strength, don’t let yourself be
anyone’s
get out of my poems!
you too only wanted sons
who later smashed your
heads
you learned nothing from misery,
old women
it was all in vain
Translated from the Serbian by Jovanka Kalaba and edited by Ellen Elias-Bursać
