Biljana D. Obradović

BILJANA OBRADOVIĆ, a Serbian-American poet, translator, and critic, has lived in Yugoslavia, Greece, and India. She is Professor of English at Xavier University in New Orleans, where she has been on the faculty since 1997. She has published three collections of her poems: Frozen Embraces (1997), Le Riche Monde (1999), and Little Disruptions (2012). Her poems also appear in Three Poets in New Orleans (2000) and in anthologies: Like Thunder: Poets Respond in Violence in America and Key West: A Collection. In addition to her own poetry, other works include translations of poetry books into Serbian (John Gery, Stanley Kunitz, Patrizia de Rachewiltz, Bruce Weigl), translations from Serbian into English (Bratislav Milanović), and an anthology, Fives: Fifty Poems by Serbian and American Poets, A Bilingual Anthology (editor and translator). She is also a reviewer of books for World Literature Today.

That Double 0 Seven

I was watching a movie with Roger Mooreas 007, who asked for a shaken, not stirred, martini to drink.Why did the bar have this movie on that I adore?

Usually when I am at a bar, TV is a borewith football, or baseball. This drives me to the brink.However, we were watching a movie with Roger Moore.

Live and Let Die comes with a McCartney score.Outside was so cold, I had to wear my mink.Why did the bar have this movie on that I adore?

Forget Sean Connery and his 007 lore.He’s not too bad, but his sex appeal stinks.We were watching a movie with Roger Moore.

Moore looked handsome in anything he wore.Oh, if only he were here to have a drink…Why did the bar have this movie on that I adore?

When the movie ended, we left through the door.But at home I couldn’t sleep, dreaming of his wink.We were watching a movie with Roger Moore.Why did the bar have this movie on that I adore?

The Perfect Pears

      after Van Gogh’s Quince Pears, 1887–88

They are not quince but pears,juicy when ripe, tart likeunripe quince when green.

Quince I love, but can’t find themin American stores often, maybe two weeksout of the year in November or May.

When I go to the cashier to pay for them,she does not know what they areand asks me about them,

how to eat them. I tell herthey are best roasted in the oventill the bright yellow turns brown.

One can then make quinceballs with sugar and roll the meatypart in ground walnuts.

The pears from my grandma’s farmwere best when so ripe they turnedbrown and fell off branches—

Then Grandpa would pick them to save for meby placing them in oats in the granary.I never knew why he did that,

but when I came for a visit in the fall,that’s where I’d find them and eat five or six at a time.Only one has to watch

because the more overripe pears you eat,the more you’d need to visit the bathroom. But nothing tastes like those pears.

If only I could have some now.Is the tree still standing? Who eats them nowthat my grandparents are gone?

bobradov@xula.edu