Dženana Vucic

Everything I Don’t Know How to Say / sve što ne znam kako da kažem

When I left Bosnia in 2018, my cousin gave me a book of poetry, Bosansko-Hercegovačka Poezija. It’s a slim volume, bright purple with a pale lilac square on its cover.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged , , ,

Dženana Vucic Reviews White Clouds, Blue Rain by Oliver Driscoll

White Clouds, Blue Rain (2021) is Oliver Driscoll’s second poetry collection, appearing a short year after his 2020 I Don’t Know How that Happened. Like his earlier work, it is concerned with the everyday: small moments of domesticity and care; conversations both mundane and profound; fleeting interactions with, but more often, observations of, an outside world whose parameters are undefined, but which nonetheless feel tightly bound, contained. To say that this is a result of the pandemic, which has certainly imbued domesticity and its imaginary with a gravitas denied to it when it was considered womanly, would be incorrect insofar as Driscoll has always had an eye for the ordinary, has always been pulled by the intimate, the close.

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

natural sciences trivia

Qs. at what rate is the moon leaving us, in centimetres per year? for an extra point: at what rate do poets reduce the moon to the page per year? are these figures related? where do whales go? true or …

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Dženana Vucic Reviews Case Notes by David Stavanger

Experience of mental illness presents a paradox that feels impossible for representation in language: it is at once both too personal and yet too universal for easy translation. Everyone has a measure for how it can be done; from Sylvia Plath to My Chemical Romance to Robin Williams, if we have not experienced mental illness ourselves, we have seen a multitude of others grapple with it and have become (we think) discerning arbiters of the real.

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

[Trigger Warning]

and what I’m saying is sometimes you don’t get a trigger warning before someone pulls the trigger, before you’re a body in the hot wet heat pressed by bodies hunting insides. there are sixty thousand women in my country—at least—and …

Posted in 101: NO THEME 10 | Tagged

Krenuli Su Vuci

I want to write a poem that explains the algorithmic slides that turned Karadžiću, vodi Srbe svoje into Remove Kebab when even google translate knows the difference; but how do you explain Dat Face Soldier backdropped by our dying and …

Posted in 97 & 98: PROPAGANDA | Tagged