Thursday, 18 August 2022

Three Poems by Tatjana Bijelic


 

A Balkan Woman Archetype in Transition

 

Andja died hard, bless her longevity

for she raised thirty kids and memorized twice as many

complicated grandkid names such as Yugoslovenka, Yorgovanka

and her sons and daughters, safe in Tito’s country, would buy her

white bread, rich like a royal cake, soft and full of sugar.

 

She was a hungry child in the First World War, and a starving

pregnant woman in the Second and before, her drained mother’s

skeleton and her father’s working force, her husband’s fertile ground

and an ox who sweats on it, and a large triple-breasted milk-and-honey pool

feeding her own and others’ progeny.  She was the one for all.

 

She was made of steel, made of stone, but she neither danced

nor watched television, and chatting with neighbors was a waste of time

for a good patriarchal wife. She cooked incessantly, planted forests

and cut trees, rode tractors and repaired trucks, for being tall and muscular

meant even higher expectations, like darning socks and washing toddlers,

and her husband, when sick or frightened, would drink her herbal teas.

 

On his stronger days, she was cursed and beaten, but the villagers

spoke nicely of her, calling her ženica, a poor little woman, bless her heart

and loyalty, her small mouth and no desire, her loving eyes and tiny spoon,

her silent breathing and tied body, no space, no face, no her

 

Andja hardly lived and lived hard, her losses were many but she survived

three wars and dreading the fourth, infant burials and rape pregnancies,

missing daughters and dead soldiers: her sons and children’s children.

But she toiled and prayed and dressed in black.

 

She also survived much better days, family gatherings, decadent cakes,

and great grandchildren moving abroad.

 

She would have survived even death itself, but years ago she asked

a gang of laughing girls to teach her skateboarding, every style,

 

and the school is still there, with or without her.

 

 

Persephone’s Letter to Demeter

 

My sojourn in hell, dear mother, will last for more than 6-9 months

and Pluto is a merciless little brat who throws bombs on his own harem

killing the least resistant. But my shell is stronger than his hell, so do not worry.

 

Here I’m a diplomat who scrubs floors, and a soldier and a whore to Pluto’s masons.

Once I tried to paint a narcissus, but they cut off my index finger.  I’ve grown

an iron stick to scratch his balls unaided. I’m neither as pretty as he imagined

nor as chic as he demanded; they call me a cockroach.

 

Pluto laughs at how you froze the upperworld. On Fridays he throws parties

and all our gods of life descend to his level to play his favorite game of mapping

and firing. I serve them cocktails with pomegranate seeds and teach him

geography. Even Zeus, my father, simulates shooting at kindergartens.          

He doesn’t even recognize me. Last night he pinched my cheek and moved on.

 

We are seldom intimate, Pluto and I. His underground is all around, with daily

business trips. Whenever he gets a good bargain for a soul, he talks about my

promotion. A news reporter or a cheerleader, he says, is better than a plain girl

scooping the dogs’ poop. I just need more exclamations to excite his Plutonian

nation, and he will launch me on his TV at once.

 

But I want no propaganda, especially not from hell. I sleep well and transcribe

my dreams on Pluto’s ex-wife’s typing machine, burning her fallen hairs

in one of your ashtrays.

 

Yesterday I had a vision of you giving birth to another

Kore. Drooling after my younger version, Pluto was carried away

 

in his Lamborghini, but soon got stuck in the catacombs

dividing the two worlds.

His mouth full of soil was announcing spring.

 

 

Peaceful Stranger

 

This morning I was at peace

with persistent leaking of waters

around and inside me

I let solutions and liquids

rinse my tranquil body

eliminating the last atom of lust

until I was sober enough

to look at you again

and I just couldn’t believe that such an

attraction fails to purify recent sediments

when it should be so easy

to get you out of the system and forget

that perhaps your dirty mind coupled with rakija

made no distinction between me and the cleaning lady

the day you decided to have it at all costs.

And instead of the lady, who I admire,

you screwed my peace and eloquence

making me gasp for words every time I try to clarify

whether you were or were not right in your binary ruminations.

 

This morning I was perfectly aligned

with serene waters of my solitude, and even my underpants

remained on a sole washline, dry and undisturbed.

 

I swallowed my breakfast slowly and enjoyed a cup of tea

thinking of abstract poetry and how at a particular moment

words undress our most primitive intentions and we yearn for more

chewing on a cinnamon cake. The one you didn’t like

teamed with the bitterness of your chai and I

went on keeping my juices at bay. But the way you sucked

 

on an empty cup

inserted your tongue again

amidst the placid movements of my thighs

and I felt licked and enraptured, catching fire

like a burning bagel whose center doesn’t hold

whose hole doesn’t center

whose ring is unable to keep

the honey dripping from your fingers

 

The morning I decided to be a peaceful stranger

you raced like a crazy horse and read all my maps

flawlessly, you knew me and sensed my weaknesses

your nothing was my something, and you played

more than I could imagine, but it was not you

fiddling with my stringy desires, it was certainly not you

barring the passion of my dancing feet, it was fear

 

deep like a chasm that devoured our ancestors

dreading foreign lands yet getting there

whenever we embrace

 

 


Tatjana Bijelic teaches American and British literature and Creative writing at the University of Banja Luka, Bosnia and Herzegovina. She is the author of three award-winning poetry collections: Edge Without an Edge (Rub bez ruba, 2006), Two Roads from Oxford (Dva puta iz Oksforda, 2009) and One More Ticket for Picaro Trance (Karta više za pikarski trans, 2015). Her poems have been published in various journals and anthologies and translated into German, English, Hungarian, Slovene, and Macedonian.


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