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Katarina Saric

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Katarina Saric (10.03.1976.) prof. of slavic literature and philosophy, master student of political science, is montenegrian civil rights activist and writer of socially engaged literature, designed for performance and theatre. She has published 12 books, most of which were translated and awarded and represented in numerous literature portals and platforms.

KORA

Kad protegne se ispod kore
ona
kojoj sinovi utrobu pocijepaše
i mine strah od 
žene 
majke 
života


Ja sakupiću rubove naborane haljine
i sašiti 
novo srce za svečanu priliku
da paše 
kao saliveno uz ovo lice i sliku 
oboljelu od anemije 


– vazduha treba 


izliveno rudarsko okno
pretopljeno 
je 
u posljednji ciklus alhemije 
presušen 
je 
plač iz kolijevke 


Kad izbaci more 
posljednje kosti pitomih fosila 
ja sjedjeću na obali 
prebirajući krše
u pozi djevojčice s razglednice 
u kliše 
zaglavljene
i obavezno snene
u bijelom 
s jednom šiškom preko čela
prebačenom naizgled ovlašno 
poziraću u slavu nevinosti i ponovnog rođenja

zapravo ću željeti da vrisnem odušno

pocijepam taj ram 


– vazduha mi treba

 
ispod Heraklovih stuba
grčkih tragičara koji slave oceubistvo silovanje 
majke 
zemlje 
žene 
pravdajući ga neznanjem 
umro mi je sram 
i niko nije došao na sahranu
otišao je u spam


Kad ustane i protegne se ona
prašnjava 
silovana
pocijepana
pogrebena 
zemlja 
majka 
žena


u posljednjem kriku 
epske završnice
koja ostaje bez daha


Kad odu i otac i brat i drug 
ja vratiću se na ono naše mjesto ispod gvozdenog mosta 
otkopaću nam davno urezana imena iz betona
prenijeti u Afriku
ih


ja postaću prsten vremena
stih
što zatvara krug
daleko od zemlje naših predaka 

SHELL

When stretched under the bark

she

whose womb is torn up by her sons

and the fear has gone from

woman

mother

life

I will collect the hem of the pleated dress

and will sew in a new heart

to suit a solemn affair

as sewed on

this face and this picture

sick from anemia

  • I need air

the cast of mining shaft

is recast in the last

cycle of alchemy

dried out tears from the cradle

When the sea spits out

the last bones of the domesticates fossils

I will be sitting on the beach

plucking stones from stones

positioned as the postcard girl

in that cliche

stuck

and unavoidably dreamy

in white

with that lovelock over the brow

smoothed down

I will pose in the glory of innocence

of the new birth

while, actually, I would want to scream

and destroy the fram

I need air

under Heracles’ stairways

the Greek tragedians who glorified patricide

rape of

mother

earth

woman

justified it as ignorance

dead is my shame

and no-one came

to its burrial

it went straight to spam

When she gets up and streches

dusty

raped

ragged

scratched

earth

mother

woman

in the last cry

of epic storm

who stays breathless

When father and brother and friend are gone

I will come back to that old place of ours

under the Iron bridge

I will cut out from cement the names long engraved

take them away

to Africa

I will become the ring of time

a verse

that closes the circle

away from the land of our ancestors

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