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Jacket 19 — October 2002   |   # 19  Contents   |   Homepage   |  Catalog   |
This issue of Jacket is a collaboration with Verse magazine

Ivana Zuzul

Two poems

Beneath the Murdered Surface

My uvula
is leaving.
After it
the bed and
other things
are out.
Beneath the murdered
surface everything can be
almost, silently.
I am in the room
up to my hips.
Dear T.,
what is your name?
I dream tallow candles,
they are like hands
I cannot look at
on the paper.

Translated from the Croatian by Tina Braticevic

Water Level of Dizziness

I am whispering to you:
On my thighs
there is not much
about the water level
of dizziness.
I’ll fall
without announcement.
Dear T.,
you are an illusion
from which
neither restlessness
nor sorrow,
nor soft
nor orange
infantile squirrel.
I don’t keep
a diary
because in it
T. eats
the beautiful ears
of my third sister
and dad has schizophrenia.
Rumors about that
are spread by friends,
I don’t like,
therefore barefooted and tainted.
As my sister’s boyfriend
I save the hazelnuts
which will contribute
to the final downfall
of the family.

Translated from the Croatian by Tina Braticevic

Jacket 19 — October 2002  Contents page
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