Dragana Rajkov

Born in Libya, of a Serbian father and a Croatian mother, I was raised in the Middle East for the most part of my childhood, among people from all over the world. I therefore picked up a whole mixture of various influences, and in fact even spoke english before I spoke my own language, Serbian. That used to be serbo-croatian, for the two are as similar as Oxford and Aussie english, for example. And that suited my mixed origins perfectly. However, 1991 brought the tearing apart of my Yugoslavia, the separation of Croatia among other states, and hence the separation of the two languages I concider to be mine. Now, since I live in Serbia, I call Serbian my mother toungue, although that is semantically incorrect I believe. Anyway, I have always leaned towards English for all creative and emotional purposes.

I am married, mother to 4 beautiful boys, but unfortunately a huge void exists between their father and myself. From that void my writing started pouring, in the spring of 2000. I write poems in Serbian and English, stories in Serbian, and erotic stories in Serbian and English. So far I have not translated any of my work into the other language, but I will start doing so soon. I am curious to learn how great the difference will be, and how aparent to my readers, between work origially written in English and that transleted into it.

My country has been in a turmoil for a decade, culminating with the NATO strike last year and our democratic, peaceful revolution a short while ago. We managed to force the will of the people over the power of the regime, and now hopefully Yugoslavia will be a happier, more smiling place to live. I wonder whether that will affect my poetry, perhaps making it less wistfull. I am not too sure of that, though, for I believe the wistfullness is a major part of my soul, and stems from within, not without. Time will tell...

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Of water-lilies and pearls

Oh, to be a water-lily
and live a lifetime
floating gently
upon some scenic pond.

From wilted petals, shriveled leaves
spring blossoms new –
rejuvenation,
forever, and beyond.

Eternally! For what is time
but fleeting moments
strung together
in a never-ending string of pearls?

A bubbly brook,
it flows around a mountain –
skips and runs,
dances, gleams and swiftly whirls.

We live each pearl, each gleam
knowing not
the colour, texture
of the hour waiting patiently.

‘Tis better so – for if we knew,
would we, could we
hope, and dream
and love so all-consumingly?

Or would we droop, and fade,
and lose the joy
that leads us,
guides us through each pain?

Oh, to be a water-lily
and never ache,
never dream,
but bloom, and wilt, and bloom again.



Copyright 2000, Dragana Rajkov - Reprinted with permission.

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