DIRJAN,  Litfana
Liljana Dirjan, a native of Skopje, Macedonia, graduated in philology from the Cyril and Methodius University and is currently editor-in-chief of the magazine Woman and a founder of the Macedonian Independent Writers' Collaborative. Sne has held fellovvships from the Gulbenkian Foundation of Pariš and the French government for study in contem-porary art, language and Armenian literature. Her books include Natural Occurrence, 1981, Net Weight, 1985, Wormwood Field, 1990, and Heavy Silk, 1997.
Liljana Dirjan, rodena u Skopju, Makedonija, diplomirala je nlologiju na univerzitetu Cirila i Metoda, trenutno je glavna urednica časopisa Žena. Ustanovila je Nezavisno makedonsko društvo pisaca. Dobila je štipendije pariške fondacije Gulbenkian i francuske vlade za študij suvremene umjetnosti, jezika i jermenske književnosti. Njene najznačajnije knjige su Prirodna pojava (1981), Živa mera (1985), Pelin pok (Pelin-polje, 1990), i Tkška svila (1991).
Sodobnost 2001 I 106
LILJANA DIRJAM
The Balkans
I sit opposite this world
spring - summer 1993
barefoot and neglected
abandoned nursery
broken bricks, shattered door
curtains fluttering in the wind
broken
I scare away my new poems
don't let them near
to lick salt from my palm
9
Sodobnost 2001 I 107
Liljana   Dirjan
Tea in Asia
For Kate
Fd just finished reading Flight from Bjzantium
when Brodskjr opened the Bosphorus gate for me
turquoise and emeralds poured from the horn
and the rust from the tankers, the stench and the stink
crowds of people, frog-like mosques
their minarets like earth-sky
missiles
smells of lamb kebab, suet, baked sesame and chick-peas
in the streets where dust and sweat
day by day swirl poverty and life
calico turbans, Edirne linen, Bursa silk
henna and saffron, coal and smoke
piss and turds and flies
and HABDAL HABDAL
said in passing, while jostling
and gold, loads of gold
and "bir bardak cai" from the shops
and men's moustachioed faces
and just as I finished reading A Room and a Half
in this room and a half you rang up and said:
"I leave for Cappadocia tomorrow"
leaving me the tea you brought for me from Kathmandu
and I said: »You'll have tea in Asia again«
and so I mixed the two worlds in a gulp
(brothers of a mother and sons of a father)
of which only the nomads remain
true relatives
Sodobnost 2001 I 108
L i 1 j a na   Dirjan
The old testament, again
Sixty kilograms ofpure love, net femininity.
Jehuda Amichai
A woman's cheek grazes kisses on only one side of a man's face instant by instant, slowly, inch by inch after such a long, almost unbearable absence (as if outside the ears, the civilizations, the climates have changed)
in the darkness of the corridor
the woman's face sniffs the man's face
rambles along the hilly noše, the barren chin
along the brocade of the skin, to the springs of the eyes,
into the forest of the eyebrows (salt, salt) then nibbles yellow camomile in the alley of the
left ear (to Jericho, the ladder, the Leviathan, down to the Styx) suddenly the wind from the tundra shakes her legs and she loses touch with the ground Mongolian tea - hot oil Huns and Avars, hanging gardens night day, day night (the unbearable absence) to the tongue - a mast and a knot (sailors on the deck pulling ropes of cannabis) in the middle of the seeeeaaaa and jasmine drops on the floor of the World Down below      / ali biblical beasts coupled silent, their eyes wet lie by their feet
Sodobnost 2001 I 109
Lilj ana   Di rj an
Home blues
Between
- a glass of water, please
- slice the bread
- where are my socks
she left her body invisibly
in the kitchen the cutlery and plates stili tinkling
a voice said the food was not salty enough
the wardrobe screeched in the next room
the radio splattered news, visits of delegations
then light music trickled
it was a hot summer day outside
she turned back
to see in disbelief how tight her stripped off skin was
and how transparent the silken epidermis
and those tiny freckles like red - brown spikes
that gave her the look of a trout
then stepped further back
almost in reach of the front door
desiring to leave aH her words and her skin behind
but once outside, seized by the light
she felt sorry, very sorry
that where she was heading
she couldn't say aloud
the names of the colours
Sodobnost 2001 I 110
Liljana   Dirjan
About the same, again
Yes, I write poems
on electricity bills, on telephone impulses
on water meters and late in the evening
when my son is asleep and my husband out
I write \vithout paper before me
in the dark chamber of the bedroom
hearing the barking of the pack
and the neighbours' nocturnal quarrel
I leave some lines for my dreams
whole stories dipped in thick resin
from dark pine and pale birch
I drip drop by drop
filling vials, coffee spoons, pipettes
and in the morning
take on the shape of a tear-drop
a perfect little masterpiece
pre-ocean
living water
the start of the sweat of the day
TransMed by Zoran Ančevski, Dragi Mihajlovski
Sodobnost 2001 I 111