poems by Ana Nikvul
Ana Nikvul was born in Kosovska Mitrovica .She currently lives and works in Mladenovac ,teaching Serbian language. She published in many literature magazines ( „Bagsadla“, „Aspirations“, „Literary records (Mne),“A torch“,Meetings“, „The scroll“, „Steps“, „Balkanian literary herold“, and many others. She is present in many poetic anthologies.She has many rewords for poetry,such as reword for the most original poem on Polarison’s international competition.For her book of poetry „ How I should cry“she has a reword of „ Poetic handles“ ,for the best poetry collection in 2o14 . Poem „ My dear calls me darling“2016 she was shortlisted for „Lenka’s ring“ reword. She published collection of poems „I will learn you about me“2013,2014 ,“How should I cry?“2015 ,“Four pepperonies for goodbye“,and many others.She also is a member of the „Comunity educators for children poetry which general title is „Pupils forever“2016. In her manuscripts there are about 2000 poems ,drama books for children,story books.She also directed dramas for children and many of her dramas were addopted for the scene across the Balkan . Drama „ My name is Dragutin“ is published 2021. She is preparing a book of drama texts for children „Big break“. Her books have been translated on Spanish,Slovakian,English,Hungarian...... Her poetry entered into Serbian anthology of contemporary poets ( on Russian )and anthology „All roads lead to the South“ on Slovakian language which have been published in Kopar
The afternoon angel I COULD HAVE WORN EUCLID’S TOGA I haven’t deserved mercy, I was alive, quiet & focused, captivated by sketches which I multiply without an inevitable need, not a bit closer to myself, not a bit closer to home. I listen to schlagers from the last century, played on the strangler’s string, over the rhubarb liqueur, in the rainy town stifled by the three-month drought, The encyclopedia didn’t say anything about this, it was old, the letters were falling off and smelled of a solvent, of nail polish, the noise of trains is rolling through the desert, I have never seen one, I could have worn Euclid’s toga, been an interpreter of runic signs, an SS colonel: there was no mercy.
MY ROOM RESEMBLES AN INVESTIGATION SITE My room resembles an investigation site: only a three-coloured police tape & an official Cerberus to limit the access are missing: everything else is there. A dent in the bed – with an outline of the body, the smell fled from the deposited sarcophagus, overthrown objects within whose phosphorous shimmering the synopsis for a crime film is being developed. It is a success to attach oneself to a rigid image – outside of which everything is merely questionable, in a sort of numbed pensiveness, I am pondering while creeping into my room, cautiously, on tiptoes, still searching for the slipped loops of details, for fingerprints left on the table, on the crystal glass, on the bed where, unconscious of myself, I will indifferently wait for the afternoon angel, my smiling murderer.
A POEM THAT WALKS Today I was sitting by the water I saw two of them kissing and I cried they caused such happiness which I haven’t felt very long time that is proof that I am alive I don’t have to pinch my cheeks I felt happiness of the human being who is on the other side of the coast at the same moment he wrote the most beautiful poem alive little poem that walks
VOICELESS SPEECH He didn’t ask me how it’s look like to live in city between hills and the railway which conects the worlds in a knot inserted into the boiler he didn’t ask me even when I have been on a seaside for the first time did I swallowed salt when did I learn to sweem on the rocks not even when I first kissed nor who killed me for the first time so it was very hard to grow myself and step on the wheel of province all alone he didn’t ask me which books shaped me with the giant strength he didn’t ask me for what did I long for nor because of what I stop talking and I started to write not even when that moment was born in me like boy or girl at the same time for all the characters I will give birth to wrestling with them he didn’t ask me did I get beaten up when I read it and when something that is my mother left to take care of burns down he didn’t ask me if I dreamed of exam questions during my studies and did I predict a vortex of South which I accidentally fell into he didn’t ask me which kind of music I listened and on which concerts ran away from school for a few days in Belgrade he didn’t ask me did I lie that he existed somewhere for real he didn’t ask me how I knew when there was no phone to go on the railway station to wait my great love never unfinished and completely imperfect but bold he didn’t ask me if I could walk on my hands and to stand on deep on my head when I am the happiest not even when I had measels not even when I survived the ear infection nor when I broke my knees not even when I buried the first dog nor when I cuddled with poems which produced life from death created he didn’t ask me he didn’t ask me if I loved anyone now I simply answered you love me that is all.
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