WE, THE MARIAS

MARIJA DRAGNIĆ TRANSLATED FROM MONTENEGRIN BY SUZANA VULJEVIC

  • Koka nikad nije

     

    bila vična, ili uopšte

    domaćica.


    ipak, redovno je čistila

    prozore pod olucima

    obrva.

     

    kroz dva vlažna stakla

    uvijek si mogao vidjeti

    prostranu, šumeću

    noć

     

    i duboko u njoj

    svijetla uhvaćena u okna

    velike, ljubičaste kuće

    iz koje trčke izlijeću

    toplo obučeni

    glasovi.

     

     

     

     

     

    to po čemu hodaš nije led –

    to su klikeri,

     

    kažem joj sredinom zime

    kad misli da odlazi od kuće

     

    u čizmama od sirenine kože

    tako brzo da izgleda

    kako hoda tik iznad zemlje.

     

    vrati se, šapnem,

    kad god želiš, govorim

    sebi, i zatvorim vrata

    usne duplje

     

    dok ponovo

    na njih ne pokucaju

    toplo obučeni glasovi.

     

     

     

     

     

    Koka bakljonoša

     

    po kući je šetala Koka Tadić

    njihala punačkim kukovima

    palila zvijezde po sobama

    jednu za drugom

     

    gorjele su kao želje

    iz paklica za duvan

    iz paklica za srca

    sa polica za kristal

    sa polica za srca

    sa šporeta na drva

    sa šporeta na srca

     

    sa srca

    na srce

     

    onih koji su govorili

    Koko, kuku, ko žar sije

    plam će žnjeti!

     

    kad je jednom očekivano

    prestala da šeta

    rasijano, užurbano

    izgledavši zauzeto

    nijesam bila tu

     

    ali znala sam

    da su se zvijezde ugasile

    Koka nije ni trepnula

    a na šporet si, kladim se,

    mogao i da sjedneš.

  • by Suzana Vuljevic

    Marija Dragnić’s We, the marias, is book of conceptual poetry and the second of a trilogy, preceded by Konfabulacije [Confabulations, 2019], and followed by Treća neuništiva stvar [The Third Indestructible Thing, 2022]. The collection is an ode to the multitudes in each of us, and focuses its attention on women seeking liberation from the stultifying modes and models of the past to carve out new pathways for themselves. I was drawn to this work’s experimental quality, subtle playfulness, and implicit feminism. Dragnić is a young poet whose work explores the mechanics of introspection and self-knowing, dedicated as it is to the “huntresses in the snow,” in the arduous search for themselves. The lyrical subject’s many facets are revealed to us in a series of alter egos who seem to function as characters unto themselves. Through the multiplicity of female voices, we are able to slowly piece together a consolidated lyrical, lowercase self, an unobtrusive composite figure.

    One of the difficulties of translating this work has been the syntax, especially when combined with the laconic form of the original. Montenegrin is an inflected language, which allows for a lot of freedom in word order, whereas English, by comparison, tends to operate much like a straitjacket (subject-verb-object). Another aspect that proved to be a challenge was the expression “kuku,” which appears in the original in an alliterative line: “Koko, kuku.” Given the interjection’s range of valences, I settled on the one that aligns with the latent fairy tale or children’s story register. “Oh my,” like Dorothy said in the iconic scene of The Wizard of Oz when she was frightened by the prospect of encountering lions, tigers and bears. For the term “trčke,” which is largely used colloquially, I opted for “hurriedly” to amplify the original author’s voice in an instance where the more poetic or “accurate” alternatives—“swiftly,” “briskly,” “quickly”—would have worked and sufficed. But, as becomes apparent in the next poem where voices are anthropomorphized, bundled up to brave the cold, “hurriedly” takes that concept further and seems to round out a rather striking image, of voices ostensibly wearing hats and gloves and moving through the world like people.  

    Marija Dragnić is a poet based in Belgrade. Born in Nikšić, Montenegro in 1990, she holds an M.A. in English from the University of Belgrade. She has published several books of poetry, including Druga obala [Another Shore, 2013]. Her second book, Confabulations (2019), was awarded best work of poetry at the Ratković Poetry Evenings competition in 2018. In 2019, she was awarded the first place prize at the PAF Poetry competition in Montenegro. In 2020, she published We, the marias, and in 2022, The Third Indestructible Thing. Her work has been translated into Albanian, Macedonian, French, Slovenian, and Ukrainian. 

    Suzana Vuljevic is a historian, writer and literary translator (Albanian and Bosnian, Croatian, Montenegrin, Serbian to English). She holds a Ph.D. in history and comparative literature from Columbia University. Her translations and essays have appeared in AGNIAsymptoteExchangesModern Poetry in Translation, among other publications, and most recently in Zenithism (1921–1927): A Yugoslav Avant-Garde Anthology (Academic Studies Press, 2022). She is a 2022 ALTA virtual travel fellow.

Koka never was

capable, or at all
the domestic type.
still, routinely she’d clean
the windows under 
eyebrow-gutters.

through two wet panes of glass 
you could always see
vast, wooded
night

and deep within
lights trapped behind the window panes
of a big, purple house
and flying hurriedly out of them
voices dressed 
warmly. 

 

  * * *

 

it isn’t ice you’re walking on –
but marbles,

I tell her in the dead of winter
when she thinks she’s leaving home

in mermaid-skin boots
moving so fast it looks like
she’s walking just above the ground.

come back, I whisper,
whenever you like, I say 
to myself, and shut the door
on the mouth cavity

until voices
dressed warmly 
come knocking again. 

 

 * * *

 

Koka, the Torchbearer

Koka Tadić strolled the house
full hips swaying
lighting stars in the rooms
one after another

they burned like wishes
from small packs of smokes
from small packs of hearts
on shelves of crystal
on shelves of hearts
on a stove burning wood
on a stove burning hearts

from heart
to heart

of those who used to say
Koko, oh my, whoever sows embers
will reap flames!

one day when as expected
she stopped strolling
absentminded, rushed
looking preoccupied
I wasn’t there

but I knew
the stars had gone out
Koka didn’t even bat an eye
and on top of the stove, I bet
you could even sit.