Ana Smiljanić, pesnikinja, rođena 24.04.1969. godine u Čačku, Srbija.
Od ranog detinjstva voli ples, pokret, muziku i balet. nakon što je završila Gimnaziju "Nadežda Petrović" u Čačku, privučena naukom završava Medicinski fakultet u Beogradu. Odlučuje da svoju karijeru posveti deci, tako da 2007. godine završava specijalizaciju iz oblasti pedijatrije. Sada je u toku Master studija, Menadžment u oblasti zdravstvene zaštitte.
 Ana živi, radi i stvara u Beogradu, zaposlena u Institutu za neonatologiju a kako sama kaže: " Najvažniji i najvoljeniji muškarac u njenom životu je sin Milorad".
Proglačena je za "Pesnikinju godine", 2017 godine, ispred Arte asocijacije - međunarodnog udruženja umetnika. U makedonskom časopisu Stožer, Udruženja makedonskih književnika, pesme su joj prepevane na makedonski jezik. Za svoje književno stvaralaštvo, nagrađena je u zemlji i inostranstvu, od čega izdvaja;
- Međunarodna nagrada "La voce dei Poete" - Verbumlandiart Regione Lacio, 2019. godine u Vatikanu - Rim, Italija, za pesmu ZVONA STIH.
- Međunarodna nagrada za zbirku poezije 2019. godine u Makedoniji, pod nazivom "Videla sam te izbliza", koju dodeljuje FONDACIJA TAKEC - BITOLA
- Međunarodna nagrada za "Pesnkinju godine" u 2019. godini u Makedoniji, sa nagradom pod nazivom "BEZVREMENA ŽENA", koju dodeljuje FONDACIJA TAKEC - BITOLA
- Dobitnica međunarodne nagrade "Branislava Wajs Papuša", koju dodeljuje Udruženje romskih književnika, povodom Svetskog dana Roma, 8. april.
- Književna nagrada "Dušan Matić", za očuvanje i negovanje književnog stvaralaštva, koju dodeljuje Književni klub "Dušan Matić" - Ćuprija.
Osim poezijom, bavi se i pisanjem proze, te je 2020. godine bila dobitnica "PREMI SPECIALE" (posebne nagrade) za priču ZAKLINJANJE ispred VerbumlandiArt asocijacije, sa sedištem u Italiji.

Ana Smiljanić, poet, born 24.04.1969. In Čačak, Serbia.
From an early age he loved dance, movement, music and ballet. After graduating from the "Nadezda Petrovic" Gymnasium in Cacak, attracted to science, she graduated from the Faculty of Medicine in Belgrade. He decides to dedicate his career to his children, so in 2007, he decided to dedicate his career to children. In 2013 he completed his specialization in the field of pediatrics. Now a master’s degree is under way, health care management.
Ana lives, works and creates in Belgrade, employed by the Institute of Neonatology and as she says: "The most important and loved man in her life is her son Milorad".
She was named "Poet of the Year", 2017, in front of the Arte Association - an international association of artists. In the Macedonian magazine Stozer, the Macedonian Writers' Association, her poems were sung in Macedonian. For her literary creativity, she was awarded at home and abroad, of which she stands out;
- International Award "La voce dei Poete" - Verbumlandiart Regione Lazio, 2019. Rome, Italy, for the song ZVONA VERSE.
- International Poetry Collection Award 2019. "I saw you up close", awarded by the TAKEC Foundation - BITOLA
- International Poetry of the Year Award in 2019. "TIMELESS WOMAN", awarded by the TAKEC - BITOLA Foundation
- Winner of the international award "Branislava Wajs Papuša", presented by the Association of Roma Writers, on the occasion of World Roma Day, 8 June 2007. It's April 1st.
- Literary award "Dusan Matic", for the preservation and nurturing of literary creativity, awarded by the Literary Club "Dusan Matic" - Ćuprija.
In addition to poetry, he also writes prose, and in 2020 he will be the first to write poetry. In 2013 she was the winner of the "PREMI SPECIALE" (special award) for the story SWEARING in front of the VerbumlandiArt Association, based in Italy.

Ana Smiljanić, poeta, nacida el 24.04.1969. En Čačak, Serbia.
Desde muy temprana edad amó la danza, el movimiento, la música y el ballet. Después de graduarse en el Gimnasio "Nadezda Petrovic" en Cacak, atraída por la ciencia, se graduó de la Facultad de Medicina de Belgrado. Decide dedicar su carrera a sus hijos, por lo que, en 2007, decide dedicar su carrera a los niños. En 2013 completó su especialización en el campo de la pediatría. Ahora está en marcha una maestría, gestión de la atención médica.
Ana vive, trabaja y crea en Belgrado, empleada por el Instituto de Neonatología y como ella dice: "El hombre más importante y querido en su vida es su hijo Milorad".
Fue nombrada "Poeta del Año", 2017, frente a la Asociación de Arte, una asociación internacional de artistas. En la revista macedonia Stozer, la Asociación de Escritores Macedonios, sus poemas fueron cantados en macedonio. Por su creatividad literaria, fue premiada en el país y en el extranjero, de la que se destaca;
- Premio Internacional "La voce dei Poete" - Verbumlandiart Regione Lazio, 2019. Roma, Italia, por la canción ZVONA VERSE.
- Premio Internacional de la Colección de Poesía 2019. "Te vi de cerca", otorgado por la Fundación TAKEC - BITOLA
- Premio Internacional de Poesía del Año en 2019. "TIMELESS WOMAN", otorgado por el TAKEC - Fundación BITOLA
- Ganador del premio internacional "Branislava Wajs Papuša", otorgado por la Asociación de Escritores Romaníes, con motivo del Día Mundial de los Romaníes, el 8 de junio de 2007. Es 1 de abril.
- Premio literario "Dusan Matic", por la preservación y el fomento de la creatividad literaria, otorgado por el Club Literario "Dusan Matic" - Ćuprija.
Además de poesía, también escribe prosa, y en 2020 será el primero en escribir poesía. En 2013 fue la ganadora del "PREMI SPECIALE" (premio especial) por la historia SWEARING frente a la Asociación VerbumlandinArt, con sede en Italia.


It was summer and the heat burned her shoulders and melted her make-up, while the silky dress revealed her bronze thighs as she walked. She herself stared at her body curves and felt dizziness while walking. Anna Fonteg would soon pass a shop selling fine crystal vases, porcelain figures, silk tablecloths, and other wonders, of which some people’s hearts beat stronger. And, if the vase she liked was still in the shop window – so magnificent and tall – she imagined it in the hallway on her grandmother’s old rustic table with plenty of white roses…If the vase wasn’t sold, it would be theirs! And she wouldn’t stop loving, she wouldn’t stop giving herself and daydreaming of life in two. The beauty of the soul was reflected in a crystal glitter this time. She stood for almost a full minute, catching air, breathing in the splendor of the imagined space and smelling the intensive scent of hundreds of roses that she could not get out of her head. She nourished her eyes with beauty, invigorated her heart and accelerated her pace. She noticed the passersby’s gaze fixed on her and spoke to herself over and over again…Yes, I love! Don’t you get it?! I love! „I’m in the shop. I’ve just stopped to buy Bajadera sweets, and I will be home in half an hour.” – I’ve just texted her. Whenever she heard that CLICK, which meant a new text message, her body shuddered, her thoughts wandered away and she remembered the previous night and the deep breakthrough. The face of a woman in love was like an open shell. The pearly glow in the sclera revealed her heart secret. Could this love last while I was alive?! The CLICK followed, and this time I got a photo. Out of the open bag came a box in cellophane – that of the Bajadera sweets. I knew it! The mutual feeling of besottedness fascinated and amazed us at the same time; it lifted us to unprecedented heights and provoked laughter followed by gentle, long kisses whose strength made us feel exhausted. I’d never kissed like that. Anna’s kiss was special. And I didn’t expect it to be like that, but it was, it fell on my lips like a hurricane, like a tune, a bite of the lips that made you lose yourself in it and made your blood freeze. The kiss was like a tug, hundreds of tugs falling on the corners of my lips and then slowly prickling, followed by a gentle licking resembling a balm that healed the wound. When lust reached its peak, when it almost started to torment both body and soul, there was a period of those deep, real kisses that touched the palate and made me wonder whether her absorption into me excelled my penetration into her. Choking, yes, it was similar to choking. And I never stopped screaming with excitement in my head and checking whether our lips were warmer and wetter than the thing I was looking for with my hand under my navel. „It’s sharp five now. So, the alarm would sound in an hour. I’m afraid I’m going to have a crazy day and that I’m going to fall asleep at work again”, she said. „It’s only five. So, we still have a lot of time. Besides, this is one of the first days in May. We still have an afternoon for Zemun and a walk by the river. We won’t be able to do this in front of the passersby. Do not complain. There’s no reason for it. Please.” The white nights of St. Petersburg experienced in an apartment, the white bed sheets instead of streetlamps, the feelings riveted in the senses of two bodies and the simultaneous invocation of God or the devil, resembled a double stake in poker. In the moments of complete madness, I started to remind her how good we felt, by drawing her attention to the looks of the passersby directed at us or even by taking the lyrics I wrote to her and reading them aloud over and over again, only to leave them on the night table beside my headboard. The feeling of constant love hunger engulfed us like a furious wind that whooshed, pulled, tore us apart and threw us at each other in such a way that we were unable to breathe. The dreadful, indecipherably deep chasm we used to drag along with us was almost filled. I saw her tremble and I just said, „You’re eager.” I saw her crying and losing the ground beneath her feet the moment I mentioned that it was too late for one thing. It was too late to have kids. Upon hearing this, she opened her mouth, as a silent expression of pain, and a tear streamed down her cheek as she moaned heartbroken with the thought of her offspring being irretrievably lost, while her eyes gave out an expression of such a deep sorrow that it seemed as if someone had started to tear her hand off. At the time when it seemed the world’s end was approaching she smiled at me in a manner she did twenty years ago – there she was, unbreakable and loyal, repeating my name until she became overwhelmed with happiness and laughter, increasingly adamant to receive this summer’s gifts and flourishing nights. Although she fearfully climbed the steps of my soul every day, as if facing execution by shooting or waiting to be crowned, Anna decided to give it a try, to believe, to give our relationship a chance. And I carried her from one room to another, kissing her body so carefully as if I sanctified the place and telling her that she was more beautiful than any woman I had met. In moments like these her happiness was so great that she could barely stand on her feet. Sometimes I found her on the balcony, worried and thoughtful, staring at the linden tree outside the window. She could remain silent for a long period of time and enjoy the shade, as if she had some special sense of symbiosis with the nature reflected in her eyes. And the linden tree, the linden tree seemed to extend its branches towards her as if they were hands trying to reach her, and it seemed as if they together made a golden number. I believe she could have been an inspiration to a fantasist who could paint her or write a few chords in her glory. And it would happen during the summer rain. Since one could not imagine Anna without the rain and the wind. The rain as a symbol of the shadow resembling a barbell over her eyes and the wind as the pursuer of her restless spirit and the freedom she enjoyed. She did not like injustice, she believed in prophetic powers of lightning and loved Tesla. One night, while we were sitting completely naked in a linden’s embrace, I asked her if she would ever cheat on me. She shook her head decisively and was out of breath for a moment before she could ask me the same question. I laughed and said to her, completely convinced in what I was saying, „How could you think of that? And who could I possibly want beside you?” It has been many years since then. My hair has already turned gray and I have made my first million. This was how I explained my reasons to her, as I recall. The event has fallen into oblivion. You ask if I loved her? Yes. I did. But time has inevitably done its part, it divided the memories into the good ones and the bad ones. And life went on like a waterfall – its water washed the stones as so many summers washed away the stormy clouds of her eyes and so many winters made the tingling sensations disappear from my skin. Anna had several loves after that. Her kisses were never the same again, but I knew they were not losing their strength. And all would have been long forgotten if it hadn’t been for the old linden tree watching old movies and persistently hitting my windows once and then at night. And me?! I, gray-haired and older, do not know now why I kept telling her stories of our living together, why I joked and made pledges…
Translatation: Milena Nikolić
Anna Marie, where have you disappeared on that rainy night, when in our bed I embraced only your eternity, two Saints’ Days and the passing of helpless minutes? It’s night. December. The capital city is drowning in fog. And trams sew the streets like an experienced tailor. They don’t let silence rest in me so that I could put a stop to my misery. The email I sent you was quite fair. I sounded ceremonial, nice, polite. I wanted to cajole you into going on a first date with me – I was always highly skilled in doing such things – with all my experience I could not make a mistake. The prey you were sure to get triggered such thirst and charm that you could feel beforehand a gentle flow of blood … an unrivaled gift. Wasn’t it, Marie? You didn’t know that? I clicked the SEND button and sank into the back of my relaxing sofa bed, sure of my success. I’d seen you naked before with a stormy gaze. My hand was standing on my thigh, too close, I would say, but I reached for a cigar though, as if I wanted to see how you wait, twist your thin body, and how your body chills raised your fur. I watched you, Anna Marie, approach the restaurant for an arranged appointment, your skin was fair, your walked with confidence, with a straight back, as if you had blue blood, or as if people had never been able to harm you… And I stood sideways and let you come in first. I waited a good five minutes … And then I came in after you. Of course, I saw your insecure gaze directed into me from afar, but you could see no smile on my face although it was there, tickling my throat and strengthening my bite. „You’re late. This makes me pee,” you said, though your intimate hug gave you away. „Stop saying ‘makes me pee’, please”. It’s nine o’clock. Evening. December. Instead of going out as usual, I lie in bed and say these words. Meeting two people who do not know each other is like meeting of two comets in an endless universe. And as we swallowed the gods and the people, as we breathed their air and dust, I remained cheerful and drunk in love for you that night. Your body, A.M., was neither soft or warm, or perfect as the ones I saw. It seemed at first that you didn’t enjoy yourself – it seemed it was quite the opposite – as if you were forcing yourself to enjoy yourself. The rest I don’t remember. As in the state of delirium, your hand held high in the air or your neck in the shape of an arch, like a bridge, flashes before my eyes, and I exhale. This is what love is, Anna Marie – a stretched bow. The last cry of a voiceless throat is now my good morning and good afternoon. Washed out lipstick on the lips. And that is all. And my cravings between the groin lost their blood, you know. Someone else’s blood is the most attractive and the farthest – it’s miles away from everything. This is what love is – blood and body. „Order your dinner now, Mr. Cash, not the seaweed from the throat.” … I wonder, especially in the morning, whether I slipped through your fingers like a memory or like a pebble from a bridge … My smile is now visible as I wait patiently to hear from you, as if I waited for the Last Amen. And as I walk the streets, I wish to hug the telephone pole, and my eyes follow the path of the cables. I wonder whether I’ll have a hug with it one day … The sky is a valuable transmitter of everything. Heaven and Temple. And me in it … I see your face in the Virgin, I see your pallor. And I know you’re there. I can feel you with all my senses. As I could feel you that night. The same night, the same heaven and the same Temple.
Translatation: Milena Nikolić
Everything on that photograph speaks of a real, genuine
Mithridatic man.
High ideals, impeccable looks, manners
stern glares and moves.
Powerful man with a cat in his lap.
It fits perfectly with the next one.
In front of the Chrysler Court.
And yet… No, it’s not him… Not even close.
Maybe it’s just his visible design,
a reflection to keep you preoccupied. A mission.
Maybe he misses his tenure?
His refined jacket Prince de Gales?
Or just a pencil in his hand?
Listeners in the back?
Or instead of a handkerchief,
a flower on his lapel? No, he’s not that open.
Or if he were to hold his book in his hands?
Or to be engrossed in his writings, at his desk?
Yes, at home. Staring at the flawless rows.
Dressed casually. Perfectly shaven.
With the glasses on top of his head. No, his nose.
Pensive? Distracted? Worried? No!
In doubt? Having second thoughts? No!
Why is he raising his head, and is he feeling or hearing
He oozes with calm and authority. He’s writing. Every l
better brings something,
and counts hairs on his head. Spikes of sentences, with
no safe haven.
In the ink print so many a flyer, ready
to nosedive on every semicolon.
Do not give in to cold feet, desperation!
Upon finishing his work, he will reach for his camera
and make some photos of a beautiful landscape.
His angle. His objectivity.
A cry of joy of a mischievous boy.
He will wish for a kiss. A gentle touch.
He will bow slowly,
like a bridge over a familiar body.
Trembling with memories.
The moment between light and dark.
The clock is ticking. He will make a joke… hiding his
What is such a calm, majestic man
on that photo lacking?
A cloud of people is running under him. From the cloud,
a trace of a single tear on his hands…
A desired moment when the Earth is distancing from us.
Adaptation: Marija Gatalica Kolundžija