Marija Dejanović, CROATIA
The Poems
Aubergine
You know, this is where I’m from now
mother told me while watching the half of the garden
that was full of the aubergines she’d grown
with too much care, like children, on a small plot of land
she’d bought with hard-earned money
dug up laboriously left-to-right, upwards
as if knitting a vest
The other half still has soil that needs digging
and it seems that with each wielding of the spade
she increases the distance between the village of her childhood
and this yard in which we stand
as if each step forward is a new void
but that, also, each new void is a reason to move on
In each hole she plants a memory
of long buried faces
Over there no longer exists
Although you’d only gone to visit maybe twice in your life
and I have already been here a year longer
than I had spent in –
and she pauses before saying
that I was born in the times of ethnic cleansing
but that there had been nothing clean
in the hospital where I first appeared
– miraculously alive –
while the splayed flesh of my mother was surrounded by dying
soldiers and civilians
– her flesh – and that I was born in a bed
in which no woman should ever give birth
and no child ever meet the world
that such hospitalisation cannot be called a service
but a crime against humanity
She lightly raised her elbow
to wipe the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand
and to stop digging
We got into the car in silence
After several hours we saw the border police
She still doesn’t like them
Just like the last time I saw her
granny wears a worn-out gray dress
and a wide smile
She stands at the gate, squinting
She’s made potato pie for us
Although she has remembered nothing for years now
granny can still perfectly recall my mother’s face
You haven’t changed at all, daughter
She says, and reaching out her hand
strokes my cheek
(Translated by Vesna Marić)
Poems from the book Kindness Separates Day and Night
Patlidžan
Znaš, sad sam odavde
rekla mi je majka gledajući u polovicu vrta
ispunjenu patlidžanima koje je uzgojila
pretjerano brižno, kao djecu, na malom kvadratu zemlje
koju je kupila teško zarađenim novcem
teškim radom preorala lijevo-desno, prema gore
kao pletenje veste
Na drugoj polovici još ima zemlje za kopanje
i čini se da svakim zamahom motike
povećava udaljenost između sela u kojem je odrasla
i ovog dvorišta u kojem stojimo
kao da je svaki korak naprijed nova praznina
ali i svaka nova praznina razlog da se krene dalje
U svaku od rupa sadi sjećanje
na davno zakopana lica
Tamo više ne postoji
Ionako si otišla možda dvaput u životu
a ja sam ovdje već godinu dana duže
nego što sam bila u –
i onda zastane prije nego što kaže
da sam rođena za vrijeme etničkog čišćenja
ali da nije bilo ničega čistog
u bolnici u kojoj sam se prvi put pojavila
– začudo živa –
dok su oko prostrtog mesa moje majke umirali
vojnici i civili
– njezinog mesa – i da sam rođena u krevetu
u kakvom nijedna žena ne bi trebala rađati
i nijedno dijete prvi put ugledati svijet
da se takva hospitalizacija ne može zvati uslugom
nego zločinom protiv čovječnosti
Lagano je podigla lakat
da nadlanicom obriše znoj sa čela
i prestane kopati
U tišini smo ušle u auto
Nakon nekoliko sati vidjele graničnu policiju
I dalje ih ne voli
Kao i prošli put kad sam je vidjela
baka ima iznošenu sivu haljinu
i širok osmijeh
Stoji na kapiji, škilji
Napravila nam je krompirušu
Iako se već godinama gotovo ničeg ne sjeća
baka i dalje savršeno pamti lice moje majke
Nisi se nimalo promijenila, kćeri
Kaže, ispruži ruku
i podraga mi obraz
Pjesme iz knjige Dobrota razdvaja dan i noć
*
The Time of Long Recovery
We’ve reached the age when maturity
has nothing to do with years:
birds communicate
by aping heavenly bodies
with their movement
Frogs roam the seas
by using their silky films
as sails
My seven days of solitude went as follows:
on the first day, I didn’t realize I was alone
On the second day, my routine
proceeded as usual
I ate nothing
and slept little
cooked a soup from your shirt
should I have to welcome some guest
I ended up using it to clean the windows
which trumps
hurling an insult towards the door
the door that welcomes no visitors
the door that is locked
sown in the warm walls of my stomach
a hedgehog’s home, swallowed
When, on the third day, I realized I was alone
the fish got scared and gathered into a flock
They held a meeting and decided
to proceed living as silver bats
They’ll fly towards the light, close their eyes
and count the days with the sensors in their throats
I decided to remain alone
and embrace this state
as the time of my long recovery
I don’t remember the fourth day
I remember the fifth day well
but prefer not to talk about it
On the sixth day, I decided:
I will be alone
And indeed, the seventh day
Like ice cracking in my knees
in my thanks
in me-spider’s knuckles
who resembles a dog
in me-fox’s teeth
who resembles a wolf
(translated by Hana Samaržija)
Poems from the book Kindness Separates Day and Night
Vrijeme dugog oporavka
Došli smo u godine u kojima zrelost
nema veze s godinama:
ptice se sporazumijevaju tako da kretanjem
oponašaju putanje
nebeskih tijela
Žabe plove morima
koristeći svoje glatke grlene opne
kao jedra
Sedam dana samoće proteklo je ovako:
prvog dana nisam ni shvatila da sam sama
Drugog dana, svakodnevica
je bila uobičajena
Nisam ništa jela
i malo sam spavala
skuhala sam juhu od tvoje košulje
za slučaj da na vrata pokuca neki gost
Na kraju sam njome oprala prozore
bolje je tako nego da bacim
kakvu uvredu u smjeru vrata
vrata kroz koja nitko ne prolazi jer sam to zabranila
vrata koja su zaključana
zašivena u topli zid mojeg želuca
progutana ježeva kuća
Trećeg dana, shvatila sam da sam sama
Ribe su se uplašile i okupile u jato
Održale su sastanak na kojem su odlučile
da će od sutra živjeti kao srebrni šišmiši
Letjet će prema svjetlu, zatvoriti oči
i brojati dane senzorima koje nose u grlu
Odlučila sam ostati sama
i prigrliti svoje novo stanje
kao vrijeme dugog oporavka
Četvrtog se dana ne sjećam
Petog se dana dobro sjećam
ali radije o njemu ne bih govorila
Šestog sam dana odlučila:
bit ću sama
I doista, sedmi dan
Kao da puca led u mojim koljenima
u mojim zahvalama
u člancima mene-pauka
koji nalikuje na psa
u zubima mene-lisice
koja nalikuje na vuka
Pjesme iz knjige Dobrota razdvaja dan i noć
The Poet
Marija Dejanović (1992) is a poet and a playwright. She studied Comparative literature and Pedagogy (University of Zagreb). She lives between Zagreb, Croatia, and Larissa, Greece. She has published three poetry books: 2018 – Etika kruha i konja (Goran award for young poets; Kvirin award for young poets);
2019 – Središnji god (Zdravko Pucak award for young poets); 2021 – Dobrota razdvaja dan i noć (shortlisted for the biggest Croatian award for poetry, Tin Ujević), and a theatre play Ne moramo više govoriti, svi su otišli (Marin Držić award for the year 2020 by the Croatian Ministry of Culture). Single poems by the author were awarded the Milo Bošković Award (2021), the DiBiase Poetry Contest Award (2021), and the Castello di Duino Award (2022). A trilingual selection of her latest poetry Ορατο Οστο was published in Greece (2020, Κύκλος Ποιητών). Translated poems by the author were published in around 15 world languages. She is a member of the Croatian Writers’ Society, Croatian PEN Centre, and international poets’ and festivals’ platform Versopolis. She’s one of the editors of Tema magazine and assistant director of Πανθεσσαλικό Φεστιβάλ Ποίησης.