Milica Milosavljević was born in 1991 in Čačak. Her poems were published in the magazine for poetic research and activity “(sic!)”, “Književni Magazin”, “Beogradski Književni Časopis”, “Sent”, “Libela”, “Ars”, in the online poetry magazine “Enklava”, as well as the literary and cultural web portal “Strane”. In 2014, she won the “Milutin Bojić” library award which enabled her to publish a poetry book titled “Dark Intimacies” (Tamne intimnosti). In the same year, she was the winner of the festival for young poets “Days of Poetry” in Zaječar, which included her book “In the Zone of Temperate Continental Fears” (U zoni umereno–kontinentalnih strahova) in their edition. In 2019, she won second place at the Ratković Poetry Evenings for young poets. She is a student at the Department for Serbian Literature and Language with Comparative Literature at the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade. As well as poetry, she writes prose and literary reviews.
Years Dedicated To Illusions
For long I believed that I was here
to bring joy to others
to freshen their lives with poetry,
although no one felt the need for it,
let alone its possible meanings
all they wanted was to take part in this body and
grasp its lustful reality
by observing others
leaving, their heart would, for a moment,
if they would realize
that from now on they will be
my formal culprits for everything
soon, their heart starts to beat
in its usual rhythm
gradually it starts to forget
and I, since then, up till now,
every moment of our encounters
like a scientist in front of a microscope.
A Girl’s Dream
I don’t want to be put on the horizon of hope
like on a breathing machine
I want to swim in the direction opposite to waiting
one can become a slave even in brief
safety relief encounters
I see you a few years from now lying on a beach
wearing a bikini and drinking a shake, he tells me
you must live fuller, fishier
you cannot simply become a fish, a fish-poet
at the bottom of this low-calorie and no-yeast world
you mustn’t show off your curves so as to surrender to others
the cruelty you have intended for yourself
don’t identify with the role of feeder of innocent horny
they’ll fly just the same
remember – it is your kind
that is most prone to falling.
I grew up in a home
where everything was poetry
from lunch to airing the room
from avoiding responsibility to awaiting a new sunrise
Alberto López Serrano (El Salvador, 1983) is a teacher of English and mathematics. He is a Member of the Alkimia Cultural Foundation and coordinator of the project Wednesday of Poetry since January 2008. Alberto is the Manager of The Writer’s House — Salarrué Museum of the Ministry of Culture of El Salvador. He is the Director of the International Poetry Festival “Amada Libertad” and the Poetry Festival of San Salvador, apart from being a Member of THT. He has participated in festivals, meetings and fairs throughout Central America, Mexico, Cuba, Peru, Bolivia and Colombia. He has published the poetry books: The ship is missing (2007), A hundred sonnets of Alberto (2009), And how impossible not to call your groin (2009), Mountain and other poems (2010), The horse tamer (2013) and Songs for my boys (2014).
VVLNERANT OMNES, VLTIMA NECAT
Veinticuatro caballos corren sobre tu espalda.
Algunos se desbocan, te rompen las costillas
si aúlla la trompeta que puya sus caderas.
¡Y creíste que el Pienso les calmaría el trote!
Golpean sus ijares, duro, uno contra todos.
Tu piel resiste apenas la bulla de los cascos.
Algunos han piafado canciones suaves, lentas,
y han mordido tus venas y el aire de tu cuello
mientras sueña tu oído un azul sorprendido.
Patean tus costillas de nuevo cada día.
Veinticuatro caballos corren sobre tu espalda.
¿Ninguno quedará después del arrebato!
Uno tras otro, van desgranando tu espina.
Uno tras otro, pesan y caes contra el piso.
Uno tras otro, a diario regresan y te montan,
se asoman a tus hombros y te escupen los ojos
y drenan con sus lenguas los besos que no diste
alguna noche verde. ¡Aquella noche verde!
Los caballos dormían y la ciudad dormía…
Pasan, pesan y pisan, te rompen las costillas
si aúlla la trompeta que troncha sus caderas.
Uno tras otro, irán cayendo sobre el lodo
de besos y costillas. El último caballo,
abajo, te dirá que subas, que estás listo.
VVLNERANT OMNES, VLTIMA NECAT*
Twenty-four horses run on your back.
Some run wild, they break your ribs
if the trumpet howls blowing their hips.
And you thought that the feed would calm their jogging!
They hit their flanks, hard, one against all.
Your skin barely resists the noise of the hooves.
Some have pawed soft, slow songs,
and they have bitten your veins and the air on your neck
while your ear dreams a surprised blue.
They kick your ribs again every day.
Twenty-four horses run on your back.
Will none be left after the outburst?
One after another, they are shelling your spine.
One after another, they weigh and you fall against the floor.
One after another, daily they come back and ride you,
they peek at your shoulders and spit on your eyes
and they drain with their tongues the kisses that you did not give
some green night. That green night!
The horses slept and the city slept …
They pass, weigh and step, they break your ribs
if the trumpet howls cutting their hips.
One after another, they will fall on the mud
of kisses and ribs. The last horse,
Below, will tell you to ride him, that you are ready.
Gili Haimovich is a prizewinning bilingual poet and translator in Hebrew and English. She won the international Italian poetry competition Ossi di Seppia for best foreign poet (2019) and awarded as an outstanding artist by the Ministry of Culture, (Israel, 2015) among other prizes. Both of her last books in Hebrew Landing Lights, (2017) and Baby Girl, (2014) won grants from The Acum Association of Authors and her second book Reflected Like Joy, (2002) won The Pais Grant for Culture. She is the author of three poetry books in English: Promised Lands (2020), Sideways Roots (2017), and Living on a Blank Page (2008), six volumes of poetry in Hebrew and a multilingual book, Note (2019).
Her poems are translated into 30 languages including full length books in French and Serbian. Her poetry is featured in anthologies, festivals and journals worldwide such as World Literature Today, Poetry International, International Poetry Review, LRC – The Literary Review of Canada, Asymptote, Tok – Writing the New Toronto, New Voices – Contemporary Writers Confronting the Holocaust and 101 Jewish Poems for the Third Millennium as well as in major journals and anthologies in Israel such as The Most Beautiful Poems in Hebrew – A Hundred Years of Israeli Poetry and A Naked Queen – An Anthology of Israeli Social Protest Poetry. Gili also a visual artist, writing focuses arts therapist and a teacher of creative writing in Israel and abroad.
Aleksandra Radaković, was born in 1993 in Kraljevo (Serbia). She graduated the Faculty of Law in Belgrade. She is currently pursuing her Masters of Cultural Studies at the Faculty of Political Science in Belgrade. She published “Polazište”, a book of poetry, essays and travel notes. She is the owner of the production company ArteTim, where she produces film content with her TV team. She works as an editor and PR manager at Belgrade ARTE Publishing House. She is the PR of the Kantfest Composers Festival in Belgrade, the Inđija PRO POET International Literature Festival and the Serbian Culture Daysi in Istria (Croatia). She has participated in many International Literature, Film and Art Festivals in over twenty countries. Her works are published in numerous volumes and translated into six languages. She works and lives in Belgrade.
~ Antaripa Dev Parashar reads Serbian poet Aleksandra Radakovic’s poem ফুলাম অভিব্যক্তি . Assamese translation by Debasish Parashar. ~
The sky has lit its brightest lantern, and gold-winged stars have perched themselves beneath the clouds, where they spin the most delicate web of dreams. You ask me what sense means? What love is? Why I defend Karenina and curse Vronsky, why my favorite love story is the one between Mayakovsky and Tatyana Yakovleva, a love that never really happened, but was showed through flowers. Those flowers that kept arriving to her Despite and in spite of everyone else. Close your eyes and listen to the silence. Dive into infinity. Throw the hook into the blue guts of the skies And you will realize… We are mere grains of dust that for a moment sparkled on the ground. New life will never be justification for death. All the rivers flow into our bloodstreams and each mountain takes breath with our lungs. All seeds ripen inside us, inside our wombs and your chests. And everything is simple, though it seems difficult, but we are unprepared to think in a simple manner. The entire universe lies shrank inside of the pupils, just look closely and in every man you will see a sobbing child, trapped, and life itself is so childish. And then you ask me what love is? Our desire for existence, for entropy and decomposition… The desire not to burn out like the gold-winged stars that nest under the wings of the Moon. Like the lightning that deflowers heavens and vanishes. And you know, love is justification. It gives sense to senselessness And light to the darkness. It smells just like those bouquets Which long after Mayakovsky Kept arriving at her door.