Ana Božičević

ime i prezime / mjesto: Ana Božičević / New York, NY
datum rođenja: 07.10.1977.
obrazovanje: Hunter College of the City University of New York, 2007 Master of Fine Arts, Poezija
područje rada: Pjesme i tišina
ključne riječi: Književnost, feminizam, ključevi bez brava
dragi autori/ce: Ne bi tu stali, ni stale. Evo, upravo sam pročitala nevjerojatnu knjigu, 'Ruin' pjesnikinje Cynthie Cruz. Polako istražujem carstvo novih hrvatskih pjesnikinja.
kontakt: Ova email adresa je zaštićena od spam robota, nije vidljiva ako ste isključili Javascript  

web sajtovi koje preporučuje: Dobri američki online časopisi za poeziju; absentmag.org, foumagazine.net,  harpandaltar.com, jacketmagazine.com,  octopusmagazine.com,  typomag.com

www.nightcommute.org

autoportret: Rođena sam u Zagrebu 1977., odrasla (uglavnom) u Zadru, a emigrirala u New York 1997., gdje živim i pišem (uglavnom) na engleskome. Autorica sam četiri kraće zbirke pjesama, a prva, "prava" knjiga, "Stars of the Night Commute" (Zvijezde noćnog prometa, ili Zvijezdoprijevoz), izaći će krajem 2009. u nakladi Tarpaulin Sky Press.

Poeziju objavljujem u časopisima Denver Quarterly, Hotel Amerika, The New York Quarterly, Bat City Review, absent, typo, fou, Octopus Magazine i drugdje. Opširnije informacije i linkovi su na www.nightcommute.org.

S curom Amy King trenutno uređujem antologiju "Urban Poetics" (Factory School press) i vodim Stain of Poetry Reading Series u Brooklynu.

Također, surađujem na projektu "Tell U.S. poets", kojim američke pjesnikinje Juliana Spahr i Stephanie Young istražuju život pjesnikinja diljem svijeta. Tekstovi hrvatskih pjesnikinja prevedeni za ovu antologiju objavljeni su i u nedavnome broju 07/9-10 časopisa Tema. Više informacija o „Tell U.S. poets” ovdje.

Inače? Poslije tri godine pri američkome PEN Centru, sada radim za Center for the Humanities, City University of New York Graduate Center. Volim pse, dizajn, knjige i vino. Pokućar sam, uvijek po dvorištu, dnevnoj sobi i na plaži. Od svega mi se plače iako vječno držim govore protiv plačibaba. Pišite mi. 

Emoticon


i.


There was no God in my childhood, and now
I miss him, in armlessness. Could’ve used

a god’s arms since I lost my own! But listen: it was the man
with God in his childhood who took away my arms. Now he has

mine, his own and God’s – what
the fuck?! God, what for is my e-mail password

your prophet’s name, Isaiah?

Whyfore do I type “Isaiah,”
“Isaiah,” at least 20 times a day?

I’ll change it. To “gimmebackmyarms07.”
I’ll change it to “Lenin-nothing.” :) I’ll change it to the

face of the rabbit that comes at the end

of autumn, meaning “nothing,” & disappears
among the leaves—


ii.


            Rabbit-husband,
are you scared

of this thing behind the wallpaper? It’s
silence. Everyone, at once, peel off your wallpaper! As soon

as it’s down, phones will stop
ringing, your husbands

won’t come home from the office—  —Wait, what husbands?
—Those you never loved, and so it follows—

we never once made love. :( How scared I was
to close the garden door. No-one

out there in the dark green twitchless dusk to reopen it Remember

that woman

playing hide-and-seek
on her wedding day, in a hired castle, who

closed on herself a door
that wouldn’t open from within (a system of levers

built into the wall)—   fifty years later
she’s found by the caretaker, still white-

gloved— clutching a knife—
would I have tried to eat the glove? My hand?   Well,

I peeled him off,

even without arms.   —You mean, the husband?   —Yes, ‘cause
of his problem. He lost things. Like Peter

Pan’s shadow: you know, when he lost it?    —Yes.
—Well, it was God.

Emoticon, pjesma objavljena u časopisu Absent Rad
first published in Absent magazine, issue 3

 

 viii.


The role of Guy was played by the angel.
The role of You was in turns played by the spirit, the chick
on the train, one other guy I knew, and by
the woman I wake beside, who's played by a lioness,
and the absence of her by darkness
and death. There's no nicer way to put it.
Darkness and death. In the restaurant, she
was a focus on fire. I minced toward her like Heracles mutton,
and oh lioness I daren't ask you if
you feel it too, the howling smell of linden when we kiss, & the meridians
spinning and lolling round the mechanic globe
that hangs like a cherry in darkness— in other words, do you feel me as your last.
It's like asking snow if white is a color:
or the blush in the stem of a calla, that whispers,
I'm your reflection, I'm ashamed… Or like geese and gratitude.
You put a goose into your yard, you give it feed, but still it's
just one of a pair, the one that doesn't hold the meaning. Why
so serious? This is where my lack of love of light
has brought me. The cherry sinks in the mud—
the unibody earth, thick like mole, and out of it
our heads do pop into a sparkle-scrubbed     May. My lioness, we're free.
To grow out of the darkness of boar-hide into
Don't say it. Why not? Because if we're shepherdesses
of the boar-heart of poetry we'll be shot down? No,
you silly goose.

Because you can't touch cloud.
What you want to say is cloud.

Peak light on the mountain.

Dio viii. pjesme Some Occurrences on the 7:18 to Penn, objavljene u časopisu Fou
from the poem Some Occurrences on the 7:18 to Penn, first published in Fou magazine, issue 2