Mirjana Stakić (Serbia)

Mirjana Stakić ( Serbia)
Mirjana M. Stakić was born in Vladičin Han (Serbia) in 1973. She graduated from the University of Prištini Faculty of Philology and defended her PhD thesis in didactics and methodology at the Teachers’ Training Faculty in Užice. She works as the docent for Serbian Language and Literature and Teaching Methods of Serbian Language and Literature at the Faculty of Pedagogy in Užice (University of Kragujevac). She is engaged in literary and scientific work. She has published more than seventy papers in the field of literature and literary criticism and participated in over forty scientific conferences and meetings, both domestic and international. She writes poetry and prose and has won two valuable literary awards for her poetic efforts. She was a long-time member of the editorial board, as well as the editor-in-chief of the literary magazine Međaj. She is a member of the editorial board of the journal Učitelj and Proceedings of the Faculty of Teacher Education in Prizren – Leposavić. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, permanent member of the Matica srpska and winner Prize for the contribution of Literature Rosetta world literature – (21. 09. 2017. in Istanbul).
Books of Fiction:
• Ay Dansi/ Dance, Oh Moon/ Igraj, Meseče – poems. İstanbul: ARTSHOP, 2017.
• Ana’nın Hikâyesi – novel. İstanbul: ARTSHOP, 2017.
• Ana’s Stori– novel. United States of America: Lulu Pres, Inc, 2017
• Đavo koji je pevao o ljubavi (The Devil That Sang about Love) – novel. Belgrade: Čigoja štampa, 2016
• Traži se slobodna aždaja (Free Dragon Wanted) – poetry for children. Čačak: Legenda, 2016
• Carstvo ždralova (Kingdom of Cranes) – poetry. Belgrade: Prosveta, 2015
• Lirska iskliznuća na fb zidu (Lyrical Slips on FB Wall) – short prose. Čačak: Legenda, 2014
• Domišljanja: antologija dečjih pesama (Imaginations: Anthology of Poems for Children) – editor, collector, preface author. Čajetina: Kulturno sportski centar, 2013
• Nikolaj – novel. Belgrade: Bookland, 2013
• Hanina kći (Hanna’s Daughter) – novel. Čačak: Legenda, 2011
• Anina priča (Ana’s Story) – novel. Čačak: Legenda, fourth reprint 2011, third reprint 2008, second reprint 2006, first reprint 2005, first published in 2004.
• Hajdučica (She-brigand) – novel. Čačak: Legenda, second reprint 2010, first reprint 2006, first published in 2005
• Izgubljene duše (Lost Souls) – novel written in collaboration with Josif Grubović. Čačak: Legenda, 2008
• Povratak Odiseja (The Return of Odysseus) – short stories. Čačak: Legenda, 2007
• Kiselo grožđe (Sour Grapes) – novel. Čačak: Legenda, first reprint 2007, first published in 2006
• Srce (Heart) – radio drama, premiered on Radio Belgrade in January 2006
• Samovanje (Solitude) – poetry. ruma: Srpska knjiga, 2004
• Mandragora (Mandrake) – poetry. Užice: ART, 1999
• Noćne ptice (Nocturnal Birds) – poetry. Priština: Studentski kulturni centar, 1998
Monographs and Textbooks:
• Мethodological Approach to Short Story in Serbian Language and Literature Classes. Leposavić: Faculty of Teacher Education in Leposavić – Prizren, 2014
• The Magic of Reading 6 – Reader for the 6th Grade of Primary School (collaboration with Miomir Milinković). Požega: Epoha, 2011
• Professional Methods in Teaching Literature. Čačak: Legenda, 2002
If You Take Me to the River
If you take me to the river,
make sure that it’s a rainy day,
let the sky be like Penelope’s eye,
deep blue
dreams buried deep inside.
If you take me to the river,
make sure that not a single ray
is spilled,
let the azure vault be like a weeping eye
of the Ithacan princess
whose delicate fingers
have outmatched the darkness.
Above the water,
branches of a timid birch
gracefully dance
caressing the wave
which dies in an instant
like a magic cloth
stolen by the night.
If you take me to the river,
I will cast a spell
on nature and herbs
so I could be
your only light.
Remember me as such,
glistening and naked,
wind in my hair
while I kiss frothy waves
with birches,
granddaughter of the Ithacan princess
and sister of all poemweavers
weaving dreams
from threads of imagination.
Let Us Sow Joy
Let us sow joy,
the soil is bountiful,
fertile chernozem,
let the fruit flourish,
let kindness
enter a suffering heart,
let the smile’s radiance
flood the crops.
Let us sow love,
Earth is a mother,
let the seed grow
in the womb of life,
let comfort enter
a starving heart,
let the light of eyes
bless the fruit.
Let us sow mercy,
Earth is a cradle,
let her nurse the infant,
let tenderness flood
a somber heart
within us
for we are the fruit.
To Nest
To nest
trampled into dust,
in vanity defeated,
mercy crushed.
And implant it into
those dormant
and grief-hardened.
To replant
the withered,
in flame extinguished,
in grief shrunken,
and uprooted
mercy of man.
And embed it
into arogant
blinded by pride
power seekers,
and vanity-riddled.
And to hang golden beads
like ducats,
or towers of whispers
upon their chest,
those nameless celestial denizens,
beacons of ceturies.
To thaw all those frozen,
and petrified hermits,
bereft of love.
The Vagabond Duped The Poor Girl
It was a starry night,
he pointed a finger
at the meadows bathing
in the milky light
and said:
– As far as the eye can see,
it is all mine.
She was looking at the sky
and turning stars into lambs,
counting them
like coins are counted.
Those were his forests,
his fertile fields
two-day walk from here,
behind the ford,
he told her those fields were rich.
It was nighttime,
so she couldn’t
get a glimpse of the orchards
to see
if branches were purple
and sagging with plums,
but out there somewhere,
she thought
a quince orchard
concealed the moonlight.
– And so he duped me,
she says,
– a vagabond,
owning just the shirt on his back
and a pair of underwear,
had I just been smarter
and half a century younger.
He defends himself
that she didn’t hear
a word
of his story,
she was more interested in his hands,
than all the trees he counted,
and pears
and apples.
She never tore her eyes from the sky,
in that their stories agree,
but grandpa says she counted stars
to hide a budding passion.
In that starry night,
he says he mentioned
countless cattle,
and how rivers of milk flowed at his homestead,
how they owned sheep and goats,
and a pile of eggs was waiting every morning,
so if no one picked them up,
there was no great damage,
for countless laying hens
were strutting around the yard.
The smokehouse was stacked with meat,
milk was curdled every day,
hers was just to make lunch
and feed the cattle at dawn.
The vagabond duped the poor girl,
though he says it was her
who duped him,
but they have shared the same
straw mattress,
for over half a century.
And I’ve never heard them
of their soft straw bed
being narrow or hard.

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