Milena Marković is an award-winning Serbian poet, playwright, and screenwriter. She has published seven poetry collections. Her latest collection, Deca [Children], is a book-length poem published in 2021 and with this book she won the NIN Award, the Award for the Best Novel of the Year. Her plays have been staged across Europe and in the United States. She has also written screenplays for film and TV, such as Patria, winner for Best Screenplay at the FEST International Film Festival.
the dog that ate the sun
once upon a time
there was a very hungry dog
every day he ate about three bigger
and four smaller
members of the human race
then he grew tired and fell asleep
spring came
the sun woke up the hungry dog
the dog jumped at the sun and swallowed it
this dog wants to swallow me too.
puppy dog, you puppy hound,
you beastly bastard
i gave you a small bone
the big one i tossed to the sparrows
and the swallows got eaten by pigeons
they overate and burst
there you go
they also ate that old lady
who fed them
all of her
bones and all
not a drop of blood left.
no sun, you hound
i came out once, it wasn’t there
i hid in the entryway and bolted out
so slick
it wasn’t there
only loony pera jerking off behind the bushes.
a toilet bowl
with a swirling ballerina
when you flush
you mustn’t lie on the floor
or rats will nibble on you.
i straddled the hound’s spine
and a dragon’s tail
we ate birds in flight
and frogs in mid-leap.
there needed to be a sacrifice
i shoved my head into the dog’s jaw
to tickle its maw
so he’d puke up the sun
the dragon leaves with the sunset
a really good cowboy
it has a poetic dimension
but i was digested long ago
and shat out as a fat turd.
the bombing
they’re all happy chewing
the weather’s nice at the daća
my arms and chest are catching
a suntan
i’m wondering if anyone wants me
happy is a newly minted widow
happy is an unborn child
never mind that its mother waits for a bus
which will never come
because that part of the city is now in ruins
we’re alive and healthy
our bridges closed
i put on lipstick
i want to fuck everyone
i’m alive and healthy
it’s springtime
there is no rain
it’s the best spring in recent memory
vojin is in artillery at the front
in a survival episode like a desert mole
he’s like a german who can’t venture into the forest
because of fucking guerillas there
bale is in the anti-aircraft unit
fat mare is a reserve cop
my godmother and i went to clean out the rowboat
by the river we realized how beautiful life can be
but then we couldn’t go there anymore
because they kept bombing
a nearby station
which i didn’t even know existed
i saw there
a soccer field for cops
then my godfather became a communications officer
around him everyone was dead drunk
spitting at the sky
they got turned on by a teenage girl
who jerked them off through the fence
my hair is filthy there is no water
my scalp is bleeding from scratching
i’m waiting for summer so i can wear a tube top
and go to the sava
they can keep bombing who gives a fuck.
Note: The daća is a memorial service with a priest held forty days after the funeral of the deceased. It involves food, so it’s also like a picnic with the dead. For example, if the deceased used to smoke, then you would place a lit cigarette in the ground for them. The forty-day observance without food is called the parastos.
posturing
i’m in berlin
i’m wearing new red boots
in berlin
very lively
i don’t live here
the spider on the window does
i leave it be
people ride their bikes a lot here
i don’t like it
because i don’t know how to ride a bike
i spend money
better spent on kids
i spend it
i carry a bottle of beer in my hand
through the streets
my eyes full of tears
when i should’ve travelled i couldn’t
i didn’t have money
i didn’t have papers
i had a small child
everything that came after
came too late
we sit in berlin
in café chagall
with a crazy russian doing pullups
to show off his strength
he has closely cropped hair
and with a welsh guy covered in ink
and probably on his ass too
at any minute
the russian could’ve said something
to start a fight
the welsh guy could’ve said something
and hit us with a blunt object
snatched my new boots and split
though it would’ve been hard to take them off
at any minute
anything could’ve happened
we could’ve cried and sung
and palled around
and slashed our wrists
who’s to say who lives and who dies
instead, we went for burritos
and watched rich american kids
hit on the waitress
the russian and the welsh guy
left behind, still posturing
didn’t end up fighting
and i’m still wearing my new
red boots.
the floor
my friend kova taught me
basic self-defense in my living room
in zvezdara by the đeram farmer’s market
while we drank red wine and listened to our rock gods.
we scraped our knees and elbows
a few times i managed to pin him down
but only after i kissed him first
then he laughed on the floor
bursting at the seams.
we danced in perfect circles
in the hallway and the living room while
the awakened righteous neighbors banged
the radiators and cut the power.
we sang at the top of our lungs
sometimes we even cried
i think he’d already fallen ill
through and through though it was
hard to pin him down.
i’m bursting with laughter, my dear friend
why couldn’t you make it, beautiful
since then, i haven’t
pinned anyone down.
you, brother
we sleep in the car
and outside it’s such a summer
that i feel like being a tree
all the time i imagine
what your skin feels like
i just want to look at you
skipping rope
that i twirl
you want me to be your pillow
while you wear a night cap
you squeeze me as you dream of
oncoming trains.
herzog
beer and tequila
and what’s that
after half a life
after all the beer and tequila and many years
what happened to that smart boy
who used to exercise on the crossbars and rocked in his chair
a virtuoso who had the answer to every question
but never raised his hand when the others didn’t know
so as not to embarrass them
so what happened
a foreign land
sold porn under the table
shot by a .38
had a few wives and a few children
and a shady shady life
a shady shady job
a shady shady man
from a snub-nosed boy
that’s what comes of evil times
and a foreign land
and who’s that man now
i don’t know him
what’s worse he scares me
and i don’t scare
easily
off i go
unlike carver, i don’t want a ship
i want a boat
a shallow, wooden one
with a strong engine
because water calms
water soothes
water tells you there is more
everything looks better
on the water
even those ghastly big ships
terrify when docked
not when they sail
even when a rat goes for a splash
it’s beautiful
in the water
full of shit
corpses
potato peels
and plastic bottles
but it flows and flows
there, where
i want to go.
d. h. lawrence
so one year after some cocksucker
fucked me up I started
to check out younger guys at gas stations
their broad shoulders, tight asses
and adam’s apples
then I got serious with
a plumber
who had broad shoulders, a tight ass
and an adam’s apple
thick gorgeous hands bigger than my head
we decorated the christmas tree together and visited
my religious girlfriends
he bought pants for my son
we visited his grandma
she was so old she looked like a craggy baby
one day he told me
good you write poetry that is quite alright
it’s just not a real job and I
have nothing against it, I write poetry also
I’ll show it to you
and so he did
oh mother
I still blush when I recall
my fury
my derisive snort
erupting and everything started spinning
I couldn’t even
cum with him
oh dear mother why the gorgeous hands
and those shoulders and tight ass cheeks and adam’s apple
what’s the point
why would he write those poems
so I put an end to that story
but he kept sending even more poems
holy mother of god I blush
when I recall my fury and
my derisive snort
why would he ruin
the christmas tree and the pants
and those gorgeous hands and write
such poems
I threw them in the trash
I’m furious when I recall
my derisive snort
and so
the story ended
I had a friend
neither good
nor bad
nothing more
a do-nothing
I hooked up with him
so the d. h. lawrence cocksucker with bad breath
didn’t end up with me
nor will he
I still feel his fury and his
derisive snort.
fuck your cv
my name is milena marković i was born in
zemun one april morning my mother
managed to cook breakfast for my sister and brother i tumbled out
headfirst and i was a good baby
my room was small and divided by a wardrobe into
male and female sections i remember my crib with
netting and the grown-ups came and went till
someone picked me up and changed me then i was dry and
my father smiled at me and when we went to the countryside
my father drove fast downhill as if we were in a toboggan
i had never experienced anything
so thrilling except briefly when i got drunk
before everything started spinning i went with
my brother on long walks by the river across
a bridge into the city once i hennaed
my hair and it rained and red water washed down
my neck and an older boyfriend
kissed me at the bus stop and smiled and smelled
of tobacco and dope and there was an old furnace in the woodshed
where i was sitting for hours and there was even an unhorsed carriage
and then i would lie down on the grass and i watched
people ice fishing and the sky of a poplar and the sky
the plum orchard was there and a cornfield and a very cold river and
silver trout and i gave birth prematurely
and breastfed for two years and he was nowhere
near to talking and he ran and ran all the time
and i lived alone in an apartment overlooking
the roofs and i cooked and laughed and ran and
fell and survived my name is milena
marković and i grew up in new belgrade
then i went to the đeram farmers market and then
i returned to new belgrade quite possibly
i’ll stay there till the end
i don’t know how to ride a bicycle and i don’t know
how to drive a car and i have difficulty with math and i know
very few things and i know that by the end
i’ll learn even less.
*All poems written by Milena Markovic. All poems translated by Steven Teref and Maja Teref.
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