The poems below were written in the framework of the project READ - Regional Network for Culture and Diversity funded by the European Commission within the Civil Society and Media Program and implemented by Goethe-Institut Skopje together with the Partner organizations: Center for Balkan Cooperation – Loja (North Macedonia), Fondacioni Instituti i Librit dhe i Promocionit (Albania), Kalem Culture Association (Turkey), Association Krokodil (Serbia) and Qendra Multimedia (Kosovo).
Radmila Petrovic was in a one-month literary residence hosted by Qendra Multimedia in Prishtina in May, 2022.
We've always just defended ourselves, haven't we, Grandpa?
they told me don't go there
while I go
to see if there's war
that's taking place on TV
I don't get to meet many Serbs, nor Serbian
I wander whether they know here
the songs we sung at events
and that we were taught:
Kosovo – that's ours
I meet an Albanian, he says
I still dream of Belgrade
brotherhood and unity
I meet another Albanian
who feels he's always known me
while all he knows is my pain
that has nothing to do with any army
I ask him
is it hypocritical against the victims
if I claim
I am a woman, born a woman
is it hypocritical
women have never been a war factor
he laughs and hugs me:
it's not your fault
for the last time, I'm telling you
I wish our countries
told the truth
not to the world, but to usContent that has been created/supported during the READ residency stay (part of translated book, written text part of book, exhibition, poetry etc.)
For her knees
you're not going near her
you'll be thinking that such kind probably goes to someone
and a thousand hound dogs will be whining
in your heart for her knees
My fingers
mom used to say
there is a line!
that's the place on her thighs
where the dress ends
my fingers wanted to run
for custom officer position there
Staying stable
it was important to stay stable
I dreamed of you giving me an angry look
I had to leave the village alone
and the gypsies begging for bacon
Orthodox and Muslims
while she didn't eat meat at all
and all adored her just like you adore alcohol
they wrote to her in preschool
W, we love you
just choose whom you want
I always wanted love
I didn't know it could be hard for someone
the moon on her shoulder was
young like me, while she
dreamed of getting old
to get close to you, to the only one
who rubbed me the temples
when my head hurt
which justified my cry
the spelling eyes of the neighbor
Grandpa, if you saw her eyes
you'd run like a squirrel in the hills
to pick weeds, but I won't
ours never wanted salvation
they wanted more brandy
it was important to stay stable
the moon on her shoulder was
always young
always young
The woman your age
uncle used to say
health grows in the meadow:
the first dandelion
the first spinach
the first nettle
that's this skin to the woman your age
and that's all of my youth
the laptop bag is a hoe
over my shoulders
when I go by the wind throws the soil
over freshly planted potatoes
on Sundays, I pass off a bottle
through a wreath of lady's bedstraw and I say
let the water carry off me all the stepping over
all the dead sorrow, aches and grief
for there was a Kate
who had the most land in the village
so they agreed to say in court
that nothing is hers
all know my mother is a woman your age
and nobody
I'm an old man jumping across meadows
returning to your hills over and over again
to see whether Kate stopped crying
Red onion
a thumb follows the white line
a truck pulls over
if he throws out a man who hides
his Adam's apple with a scarf
that man still squeezes his four fingers towards the palm
just like his dad
used to squeeze the bottle, then the fist
long lights of a car
squeeze the night
a boy since young age
used to squeeze petals between his fingers
his lips covered with
rose fluid just like blood over his
mother's lips
that boy used to take firebrands from the stove
the skin around his eyes turned to darkness
his hair shining like the sun
when it hits the knife
always over his shoulders
years later when the ride is over
they boy grown into a man who
plants only red onions
crosses the road
those kids attending classes like me
run to the windows
there's a man
with a rose in his mouth
with a coal under his eye
whoever tries to define
that which burns under his ribs
gets a pebble on the windshield
gets the newly planted seedlings
dried in a pile
he pulls his hair out of his collar
he pulls his hip
whoever whistles him from the window gets kicked out of class
he used to say they'll burn down our house
they'll hit my dad with trunks
I was afraid
of the model-like walk of the man
who sinks his head between the heads of the onion
who carries a rose on his lips
and firebrands under his eyes
the teacher says God forgive
and I pretend to be offended
teacher!
I lied about belonging somewhere
please!
I didn't know it's true
how can you say that
that man is my uncle
