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Writer's pictureA Too Powerful Word

Jana Orlova



Jana Orlová (1986) is a poet and performance artist. She is focusing on dark side of the sacred and she is perceiving her body as the field of an event. Performance for her is living poetry and also an of invocation of a particular principle or archetype. Her poetic work is characterized by a combination of minimalistic form and raw statement.





***

It is spring, unstoppable day

was born chaotically until now

like the frozen fingers of kindness

It is spring, I cross myself with you

but I do not encounter, bones

deeds, memories. Odd spring

***

The orchid is sweating.

Hands opened wide

on the wet bank of the river.

It's cool when it reaches the stomach ...

***

Like when you cut yourself in

the right side of the ribs to the

pelvis and for a moment

you show everything,

for a brief moment,

so that there’s no doubt, you throw

everything into the river because

pieces of bodies are like clay,

they still call to you when

they turn their head, you count your fingers

and plant them in a row on the shore,

above all do it perfectly,

tiny rings and earrings,

still beside yourself alone you have

enough time, enough time, enough time.

***

The ancient gods are still online

I would like to lie with hops

overgrown in the woods like my fur

in the strained fascia of a clerk

I will measure out my desire for you with steps

torture for the advanced

and I know there's still time because

the ancient gods are still online

***

Succumb completely to the stream of consciousness

like the stream of the river in which he was drowned

Feel the heart like the stomach like lust

I'm sitting in the bathtub

blood is flowing ever more noticeably

I'm finally satisfied

***

Summer poured into me like an unfinished manuscript

I feel less and less like a woman

and yet I perceive my body and thoughts all the more

I feel like I could be anyone

My consciousness, no longer toiling away, is expanding

Sure, I love my orgasms, my juices, my periods

which are like a sheet of paper in a hot wind

It's summer, just a hair of my lover

Gifting the body

You are afraid of objects in silence

and the body is in the noise around me

You guide me, observing fingers

You listen without a word

You sit and gift

the body that is going to

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