Jana Orlová (Chekia)

Jana Orlová (Chekia)
Jana Orlová (1986) is a poetress and a performer . She published “Čichat oheň” (“Sniff the Fire“) with her own illustrations at Pavel Mervart publishing house in 2012 and “Újedě” her second book of poetry at Větrné Mlýny publishing house in 2017. Her works appeared in “Nejlepší české básně” ( Best Czech Poems) at Host publishing house. Her poems were translated into Romanian, Ukrainian, Belarusian, Polish, Bulgarian, Hungarian, English and Arabic. She treats performance art as living poetry. She gained the “Objev roku” (Breakthrough Act ) Award at Next Wave Festival for “crossing the boundaries of literature, fine art and theatre naturally and with ease”. Her work is to be seen at http://www.janaorlova.cz. She is earning her Phd. degree at The Academy of Fine Arts in Prague. She is the chief editor of art and culture column of Polipet.cz.
Poems by Jana Orlová
I am the one who asks the devils
I listen to their belching maliciously
I stop in speech just like that
so that breath doesn’t recognize the pause I love
hell like bread and butter
I tear intellect in the inward direction
light and cold like in an open office
as a child I did not understand why
I am not a man better than a man
is only a witch
Falling in love overturning
Struggles in stopping the pulse
and consciousness dizzyingly high
Falling in love opening
a man with a knife
I take love and squeeze it like a pulpy fruit,
yellow, juicy, perhaps slightly over-ripe,
seeds flow over my absent hands.
I take love and I don’t know what to do with it, possibilities,
bored by attention and apparent ease,
yes, overly self serving, satiated to the brim.
I hold it by the hips and feel its genitalia
exorcism still hasn’t ended, I laugh.
I tolerate meat, I breathe dry moss.
I wait for the bastard aspirin
to kick in
I’m deflowering a man
in a row behind me
You don’t recognize your own body
You’ve grown beautiful
horns on your head breasts
I have to grab myself
to bite you taste like
juice from gelatin
I’m imagining a long and strong orgasm
whoever I have been, whoever I will be
in bed linens of salt crystals
like a large, old fish – virgin
and a quiet camel, my lower section
I’ll fondle you myself, I’ll relieve you myself
you are shining on the table with legs spread
you’ve had your fill of brother Moon, right?
Here he hangs, sullied, still bloody
You can suck him off, still possible to improve

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