Autumn-winter 2004
 

 

  Autumn-winter 2004

  POEMS
  Adisa Bašić
 
 

ETHNIC CLEANSING
expelled into town
she saved her life
and her knitting-needles -
early morning, by the parking lot,
on a barren, grassy spot,
attending to her dreamt herd,
she is knitting - and disturbing
the icy passers-by
with her greetings, very warm.


A USUAL WAR-DAY
- to open your eyes. to get up.
- to waken him.
- to ready him for the frontline.
- to give him a routine send-off, without crying.
- to fetch water.
- to take a bath.
- to worry over the missing period.
- to pluck eyebrows.
- to read the same book for the fifth time.
- to strain your ears for shots in the directions of where he stands guard.
- to leave in search of flour.
- to rush trough streets.
- to hear an explosion.
- to feel the blow of metal or stone.
- to lie down.
- to touch your wound with your fingers.
- to lick blood.
- to lie a long time.
- to not cry.
- to give up.
- to open your eyes. to get up.


THREE PEOPLE ON A PORCH
We’re sitting under a first spring sun.
Snow’s melting all around us. Dripping.
You see that red house, asks the woman.
It used to be a school. It should have stayed one.
Yes, that one, with the red bricks.
Now it’s a retirement home. Strange, isn’t it?
Strange, the third one and I agree.
My school, people used to say,
was once a barracks.
Yes, the school in a tiny town,
there, at the end of the world.
You never know, I add.
You never know, the woman and the third one repeat.
My daughter, says the third one,
should have reached six this summer.
This fall, she should have gone to school.
Yes, this September…
We’re silent.
Sitting under a first spring sun.
The woman, the third one and I.
Silent. Under a first spring sun.




POETESS ON A TROLLEYBUS
Cabbage, milk and bread in hand -
Hanging, tired on the other;
And by the third, the distant hills
Caressed, gently...




JAPANESE TOURIST
this wondrous world
he sees through his aperture
while taking a rest



FAMILY LUNCH

My happily married sisters
their happy, happy children
my happy, fat brother
and Mother at the head of the table.
Dish-rattling, laughing, milksop crying…
and all of us, happily, having this lunch -
but you
(unmentioned still)
feed into me
while Mother's proudly saying
how none of us have ever
made her feel ashamed.




EMIGRANT TO BE
I am very thoroughly observing the montage of my life
It always fits into a single suitcase -
If you love me,
Do not buy me any fat tomes
For I am not a snail -
I am building up the montage of my life.



JOURNEY
airport track lounge
waiting
departures
arrivals
welcomes
partings
kisses
reading myself
shifting myself
fleeing -
towards self-deception
toward effort
towards weariness
towards being robbed -
broadening my insights
and finally to come back.