In September, 7 young female writers, selected among 153, were awarded with the WBF-funded “Štefica Cvek” literary prize.
It is a prize that celebrates the collective impact of feminist and Queer literature that challenges conventions, encourages critical thought and offers a new perspective on the burning issues of our time.
One of the winners is Kalia Dimitrova, with her book “In the Chaos of Joy.” We sat down with Kalia to learn more about her poetry.
Sincere congratulations on winning the Štefica Cvek Prize for the poetry collection “Vo haosot radost” (In chaos joy)! What does this award mean to you personally?
Thanks for the congratulations! The award is certainly very dear to me. First, because it’s my first. Second, because it bears the name of an extraordinary character created from the head of the extraordinarily talented Dubravka (Uglesic).
Thirdly, because I perceive the collection “Vo haosot radost” as a kind of underdog (perhaps I see myself that way too) and I feel that this will give it a new, collective life. In addition, I often don’t feel enough to say that I’m an author (a writer or a poet even less), anyway I know that feeling of an intruder comes from all those years when I was disgusted by the idea that a man really writes, while a woman just writes something down in free time. These internalized feelings of inadequacy really exist among women today, especially in spaces dominated by men (and isn’t that, in fact, most professions?).
I know that feeling of an intruder comes from all those years when I was disgusted by the idea that a man really writes, while a woman just writes something down in free time. These internalized feelings of inadequacy really exist among women today, especially in spaces dominated by men
Kalia Dimitrova
So that’s where I see the greatest value of the Štefica Cvek Award – in giving the necessary wind behind authors who create extraordinarily and really push the boundaries of expression in the region. For me, this is what engagement in literature (and art) consists of – not in the topics that are covered, that is too obvious, but in questioning forms, languages, genres, as well as relationships that arise from these imaginary worlds…
Why do you think it is important to create engaging literature? You founded the feminist platform “Meduza” and are also the editor-in-chief of a portal that deals with feminist issues. Are such texts more accepted today, or are they still accompanied by a certain taboo? What is the situation with the literary production of engaged texts in Macedonia?
I don’t know if I think it’s important (or not) to create engaging literature. Actually, I stopped dealing with that question a long time ago because I don’t believe that works can be so easily divided into engaging and non-engaging.
Both politics and aesthetics are always present, probably regardless of the author’s intention, but at this moment, there are more authors on our scene whose literature questions the canons and traditional generally accepted constellations, above all in the field of prose. But it can be said that even on the poetic stage flashes of rebellion appear. Personally, when I write poetry, I try as much as I can to be free from the feminist prism because it can limit my expression if I consciously instrumentalize it.
I don’t sit with a pen in my hand thinking about how to create a character or a subject that is feminist. There is something fake about it. Through poetry, I try to explore the most vulnerable and intimate points of existence, which, of course, are often not completely in line with my value system.
Kalia Dimitrova
I don’t sit with a pen in my hand thinking about how to create a character or a subject that is feminist. There is something fake about it. Through poetry, I try to explore the most vulnerable and intimate points of existence, which, of course, are often not completely in line with my value system. However, we grew up in a violent, terribly traditional system, so in our “private lives” we are sometimes contradictory, confused and inconsistent. Art should not be afraid of such communication.
On the other hand, the need to clearly and unequivocally advocate feminist utopias lives in my essays and in general, in the entire work and existence of Medusa. It is difficult to answer the question of whether certain content is accepted by feminists, so the question “accepted by whom?” immediately arises.
Considering the ubiquitous sexism, the re-traditionalization of the region, the influence of religious institutions and the misogynistic media, I would say that the topics we cover at Medusa are not really accepted and will always be taboo. That’s exactly why we exist. Against this reality, Meduza’s lyrics are not only accepted by a large group of beautiful freedom lovers, but also actively created with their help – in this respect, Meduza is a collective effort. We don’t have a classic newsroom, but the content is created from a huge community of people.
The portal emphasizes that women should write for themselves, about their personal problems, choices, rights, pleasures and bodies. Do you write for yourself? What motivates you personally to engage in literary work and to research these topics?
In the name of referencing, it is a quote by Hélène Cixous from the essay “The Laughter of the Medusa” . Writing for oneself should be understood on a symbolic level, not as literal or narcissistic writing for oneself. I write for myself when I write a diary.
At the same time, I’m not quite sure where to draw the line between writing for yourself and writing for others – which can also be problematic and too performative. I still experience the world through my body: through my eyes and ears, my generational and geographical conditioning, my friendships and reading, and my mental and creative potential… what will you do.
Every poetic image, no matter how specific it is for the one who created it, still needs to communicate some universal truth, arouse basic emotions and create some reference in the reader – otherwise it would have no meaning. My poetry (and essays) are often seen as part of the confessionalist school.
But it’s so simple because that expression is close to me – not because I have the need to confess in front of a certain public. Writing is not a therapy for me, but a job from which, unfortunately, I do not earn enough, so sometimes it is strange for me to call it a job at all.
I am close to the words of the Macedonian poet and academic Vlada Urošević , who believes that what keeps poetry alive is the resistance against materialization and the need for contact with what seems to have no use/market value and meaning today. Simply, our archaic need to tell stories.
Kalia Dimitrova
Come to think of it, I don’t know why I’m writing, given how painful it is. When I was little, it was a search for magic. Today, probably out of pure spite. In this regard, I am close to the words of the Macedonian poet and academic Vlada Urošević , who believes that what keeps poetry alive is the resistance against materialization and the need for contact with what seems to have no use/market value and meaning today. Simply, our archaic need to tell stories.
You published the collection independently. What was that process like and was it your choice? Have you encountered any obstacles or challenges?
I decided to self-publish the book for several reasons, and maybe I just don’t want to admit that I’m a control freak . Meduza publishes one book a year, so the process of creating a book from scratch to promotion is clear and very interesting to me. So I thought, if I’m already publishing collections of essays with Medusa, why not publish this book as well?
Given that I took a long break in creative writing, it was important for me to work with an editor I completely trust, and I wanted to be involved in the visual part as well – I have a slight obsession with fonts.
The book was edited by the co-editor of Meduza – Dušica Lazova, and her intellectual and emotional commitment during the entire editorial process is something that I wish for every author, and unfortunately, this is an extremely rare practice in Macedonia.
The design of the book was done by Kristina Atanasova, again with a mind-blowing attention. I would say that the process of making this book, which turned out to be a completely female (friendly) effort, is its most feminist aspect.
The first Macedonian poetry collections written by women were published in 1960, when Danica Ručigaj with the collection Silver Night Dance and Evgenija Šuplinova with the collection Sins introduced the female experience into Macedonian poetry.
Danica Ručigaj writes in the poem “Silver Games”, “In this silver night / In this silver game / in these fires / The fires that burned me / As a cursed woman / As a sorceress”. Do you think that the representation of women’s experience in poetry has changed since then, and if so, in what way?
If it hadn’t changed, that would be weird. A friend of mine who analyzed in detail the context in which Danica Ručigaj wrote just told me a few days ago about the treatment those women and those books received in literary circles back then.
In the 60s, it was extremely difficult for a woman to leave the position of muse and try to conquer the public space through creation. This context is changing very slowly, but it is changing, especially thanks to women who are also involved in publishing.
Last year, the anthology of women’s poetry Samodivi was published by the publishing house “PNV publikacii” and it is one of the few anthologies that so dedicatedly provides an overview of female Macedonian creativity…
I am experiencing some upheaval in this regard after the beginning of this millennium (Y2K baby), sharper expression, contemporary themes and language, experimentation with forms, a more relaxed feeling towards oneself (because the burden of having to prove oneself, “to outperform others and yourself”, can harm expression…). However, none of this would have been possible without pioneer women. However, these are only readers’ impressions; literary critics would better answer that question. Those who read women, of course.
The feminist voice of the lyrical subjects is expressed in the collection. In the second poem in the collection, ” Doll from the Bazar”, the lyrical subject expresses the life lessons she learned from her grandmother. For example, that female sexuality should be suppressed, and that one should know how to bake pancakes. What would you like young readers to get out of reading the collection? Is there a particular lesson you would like to share with them? And also, what message would you like to convey to young men?
I wrote the book in a period that I personally experienced as transformative – the transition from the late 20s to the early 30s, which can be somewhat awkward. At the same time, I felt like it lasted less than a minute and I didn’t have a chance to prepare for the “real life” that was yet to begin.
I tried to create a book from that minute, that is, the space between growing up and aging. I never felt like I had, or should have, the authority or power to share lessons and messages. In reality, most of the time I feel like I’m in free fall. However, in recent years I have learned to enjoy that too. That is, I learned to accept that this is it. That’s real life. Or, as one meme says, life doesn’t begin when your floor is cleaned.
The collection opens up many difficult topics, those that concern the transience of life, the impossibility of finding one’s own voice, or a woman’s fear of death at the hands of a man. The collection is also characterized, as, among other things, is stated in the explanation of the award, bold wit, unpretentious cynicism and finding “joy in the narrow-minded culture of late capitalist and heteropatriarchal chaos”. How important was it to you to achieve that balance? What does the title “The Chaos of Joy” mean to you personally?
October is my month, so I’ll indulge myself in flirting with astrology. As a Libra born on the margins of this zodiac sign, which means I’m already a Scorpio with one leg, balance and communication between the extremes are important and close to me, but the extremes themselves are just as important to me, even when they’re out of balance, as into this title – although it gives a semblance of balance.
The intensity of this title is already in its sonority, the repeatability of “s” and “t”, which are essentially rough consonants and ground happy vowels. Essentially, the title is the name of a painting by the Macedonian artist Vasko Tashkovski (one of the representatives of surrealism in North Macedonia).
Chaos is everywhere and we try in vain to restore order. The best thing we can do is to develop the skill of living right there, in the immensity, in the unknown, unclear, scary. Joy, it can be said, is a skill of living that largely consists of humor. At least for me.
Kalia Dimitrova
When I saw the title, I immediately felt like it was mine, because I feel like it reflects my worldview. Chaos is everywhere and we try in vain to restore order. The best thing we can do is to develop the skill of living right there, in the immensity, in the unknown, unclear, scary. Joy, it can be said, is a skill of living that largely consists of humor. At least for me.
The collection is further enriched by motifs from pop culture, such as references to the movie “The Virgin Suicides”, Josip Lisac, Tina Turner … I was particularly impressed by the fragment of the interview between Woody Allen and Twiggy, in which I believe many women can recognize themselves. I wonder if the song “A woman who doesn’t have to do anything ” was inspired by that particular pop-culture moment, or was the song written first and the interview added later?
I have no idea. If I remember correctly, while editing the collection, I came across several songs that somehow dealt with the same topic, so I combined them into one mega-song. The topic is the intrusiveness of the men around us and what we women do in response to it.
When I happened to see that (brilliant!) interview, I knew I had to transcribe it and include it. It’s natural for me to use pop references in my songs, because that’s my reading, that’s my reality. I find it funny when poetry is set somewhere outside of this post-millennial (post-capitalist) context, or when it uses some standardized language. To me, the current erosion of meaning and the general bizarreness we live in is extremely poetic.
The writing style of this collection is very prosaic. Are you perhaps thinking about trying your hand at writing prose? Can you tell us something about your next project?
The closest thing I write to prose is essay writing. I enjoy the expression and will certainly continue to explore it. On the other hand, I would never give up poetry, because writing (and reading) poetry requires a specific form of focus and contact with oneself, which I think we are slowly losing as a human species. Be that as it may, I don’t think in a structured way about creative writing.
Maybe that’s why it took six years to publish the second collection. Now I need a little more time to live joy in chaos, before I start something new. Probably what logically follows are the translations of the collection in the region. Here, I manifest.
The conversation was created as part of the Štefica Cvek #3 regional initiative, which is carried out by Naratorium (Bosnia and Herzegovina), Bununjene chračerka (Serbia), Kulturtreger/Booksa (Croatia) and the MARGINI Coalition (North Macedonia).
