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