Petya Ivanova

Three Poems


Now that I have lost the rhythm
of our elating encounter,
I would have said yes with another capacity,
would have been yours in another capacity,
indecisive, submitting, maybe,
but yours
Now, shattered nails
scaling to the measure of “what’s next”,
bits of scum float here and there
reminding me
of the one in me you helped me to encounter
and to forsake
of the emptiness watching
all those people have some kind of a life
and me – nonsense –
stare at them like empty shop-windows,
occasionally scurrying a tongue
in a rapid, distasteful lick.


Out, out
In the fresh air
Make your love for me
not so difficult to decipher
chase the remaining sadness like air bubbles
under a patch of callous skin,
understand we all belong out there
East of Eden
jealous twin
honest in your attempts
honest at who you are
like a broomstick to falling snow.


You want to sleep,
fall through, again
like iron drops
in the amnesiac ground
Vertical, concentrated, inured
complicity of the highest league
lurid in your reddest lipstick
le rouge rougeoit, dixit Levinas
persistent in its being,
persisting in the exact amount of its truth
in the exact pitch of intensity
persisting in its precise and incalculable cell latitudes
between gene straps and nano-drops of humors,
persisting in the unattended chaos
of the mouth conceived, blown, dispersed
persisting in its infallible tint
in its exact, untenable nowness
le rouge rougeoit,
and the disheveled academician,
waged eagerly at 2000 per month
to figure it out
keeps dashing his brains
against the crimson plush
of his bawdy French discursive high ground.

PETYA IVANOVA was born in Shumen, Bulgaria and holds a PhD in Medieval English Literature from the University of Geneva. She currently teaches creative writing at the University of Geneva and works as assistant dramaturge at the Grand Théâtre de Genève.