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 angelI 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.
