Život iz daleka / Life From a Distance, Brutal 2014.

Život iz daleka Life From a Distance 9. međunarodni festival suvremene poezije 9th International Festival of Contemporary Poetry nakladnik publisher Brutal – Udruga za promicanje kulture i umjetnosti Brutal – Association for the promotion of culture and arts za nakladnika for publisher Silvestar Vrljić urednik editor Silvestar Vrljić lektura i korektura proof–reading and line editing Serena Todesco Silvestar Vrljić suradnici collaborators Romana Perečinec Serena Todesco grafička priprema i naslovnica prepress and cover Lena Telenta

Autor fotografije na naslovnici cover photo by Robert Doisneau

tisak print Hitra produkcija knjiga d.o.o., Zagreb godina izdanja published 2014.

Život iz daleka Life From a Distance 9. međunarodni festival suvremene poezije

9th International Festival of Contemporary Poetry

Zagreb, 2014.

Sadržaj Contents

Silvestar Vrljić Predgovor

Catharina Gripenberg

6–7 Foreword

9

Filipa Leal

27

Anja Utler

49

Kira Wuck

71

Tomislav Zajec

93

Predgovor U okolini u kojoj strah od ozbiljne umjetnosti tjera književne manifestacije da se ospu u nevažnost ili pretvore u tajno društvo na čijemu se programu pojavljuju samo vjerni, naša vam upornost po deveti put donosi med suvremene poezije. Razmazili ste nas, kao publika, kao čitatelji, napravili da vjerujemo da je ovaj festival doista važan, da je potreban, natjerali nas da jednu malu, nadobudnu ideju pretvorimo u kvalitetu, a kvalitetu u tradiciju.

Ipak, svake godine živimo u strahu da će ova tuga u kojoj se kultura iz dana u dan utapa progutati i ovo naše malo blago i da će baš ovaj festival biti posljednji. Pa smo sretni da vam ove godine ipak možemo dati pet izvanrednih pjesnika o kojima ćete dugo pričati.

I dok se oko nas razum ruši kao kula od karata, život promatramo u nevjerici, iz daleka.

Silvestar Vrljić

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Life From a Distance

Foreword In an environment where fear of serious art forces literary events to dissolve into irrelevance or to turn into a secret society whose meetings are only attended by the faithful, our persistance brings you, for the ninth time, the honey of contemporary poetry. As an audience, as readers, you have spoiled us, you have made us believe that this festival is really important, that is needed, you have forced us to turn one small, ambitious idea into quality, and quality into tradition.

Still, every year we live in fear that the sorrow in which culture is daily drowning will swallow our small treasure as well, and that precisely this festival will be the last one. So we are happy that this year we can, nevertheless, present you with five extraordinary poets of whom you will be talking for a long time.

And while reason around us is falling like a card tower, we observe life in disbelief, from a distance.

Silvestar Vrljić

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Life From a Distance

Fotografija: Jakob Goldstein

CatharinaGripenberg

9

Catharina Gripenberg rođena je 1977. godine u Jakobstadu (Finska) i pripada švedski govornoj manjini. Objavila je tri knjige pjesa­ma: På diabilden är huvudet proppfullt av lycka (Na slajdu glava je napunjena srećom, 1999.), Ödemjuka belles lettres från en till en (Skromna i napuštena pisma od jedan do jedan, 2002.) i Ta min hand, det vore underligt (Uzmi mi ruku, bilo bi čudno, 2007.) i pisala kazališne drame.

Zajedno s dvoje kolega u Finskoj vodi malu nakladničku kuću za poeziju Ellips. Trenutno živi u Kopenhagenu.

Catharina Gripenberg was born in 1977 in Jakobstad (Finland), however she belongs to the Swedish speaking minority. She has published three books of poetry: På diabilden är huvudet proppfullt av lycka (On the slide the head is crammed with happiness, 1999), Ödemjuka belles lettres från en till en (Humble and deserted letters from one to one, 2002) and Ta min hand, det vore underligt (Take my hand, it would be strange, 2007) and has written plays for theatre. Together with two colleagues, she runs the small Finnish poetry publishing house Ellips. She currently lives in Copenhagen.

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Life From a Distance

Irene Irene, jag ville bara skriva att jag är på väg.

Bara skriva att nu skulle jag ha kommit.

Bara skriva farväl Irene, för om jag kommit till dig hade du bestämt allt och jag gjort som du sagt, skjutit grannkon, om du sagt. Jag hade smekt sönder dina katter, skamprånglat ut dina gamla parfymflaskor och spetsar.

Läkarna skulle råda oss att inte inleda ”affärer” med folk. Vilka slags affärer? Skulle inte vi ha kunnat både älska och leva? Om vi inte skulle ha kunnat älska, skulle vi ha kunnat arbeta. Om vi inte skulle ha fått leva, skulle vi i alla fall ha kunnat dö. Skulle vi inte ha fått resa, skulle du ändå ha vetat att det i Brasilien finns fjärilar med silverstoft på vingarna, att södra Ryssland har alléer av vita akacior, och att i Manchuriet gror gräset fett efter den blodiga gödseln.

Eftersom vi skulle ha varit så dåliga på att älska och leva, men bra på att arbeta och dö, skulle vi ha gallrat i skogen, läst tyska pessimister och ätit din mammas torra bröd. Så vi skulle så klart ha blivit sjuka. Och säga: Irene, skriv inte som om du vet allt, ut och röj, vädra ut lungorna och huvudet, i Europa finns sprakande sågverk, vi reser dit.

Irene jag är på väg, jag har noga följt dina instruktioner, skenorna, sprickorna, i huden, huset, stigit av tåget, mutat soldaten att säga var han sett dig, för du går inte att hitta, självklara dimma, Irene.

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Catharina Gripenberg

Irene Irene, samo sam ti htjela napisati da stižem.

Samo napisati da sam sad već trebala doći.

Samo napisati zbogom Irene, jer da sam došla ti bi sve odlučila, a ja bih učinila što si mi rekla, ustrijelila bih susjedovu kravu, da si mi to rekla. Gladila sam tvoje mačke do smrti, posramljena preprodala tvoje stare bočice parfema i čipke.

Liječnici bi nam savjetovali da se ne upuštamo u “afere” s ljudima.

Kakve afere? Zar ne bismo mogle i voljeti i živjeti? Ako ne bismo mogle voljeti, mogle bismo raditi. Ako ne bismo mogle živjeti, mogle bismo barem umrijeti. Ako ne bismo mogle putovati, ti bi svejedno znala da u Brazilu postoje leptiri sa srebrnom tvari na krilima, da južna Rusija ima aleje od bijelih akacija, a da u Mandžuriji poslije krvavog gnojiva niče gusta trava.

S obzirom da bismo bile tako loše u ljubavi i životu, a dobre u radu i smrti, krčile bismo šumu, čitale njemačke pesimiste i jele suhi kruh tvoje mame. I onda bismo se naravno razboljele. I rekle: Irene, ne piši kao da sve znaš, zabavljaj se, proluftaj pluća i glavu, u Europi postoje iskričave pilane, idemo tamo.

Irene, ja stižem, pažljivo sam pratila tvoje upute, tračnice, raspukline, na koži, kući, sišla s vlaka, podmitila vojnika da mi kaže gdje te vidio, jer tebe je nemoguće naći, očita magla, Irene.

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Life From a Distance

Irene Irene, I only wanted to write that I’m on the way.

Only write that I should have come by now Only write good–bye Irene, because if I came to you, you would decide everything and I would do as you said, shot a neighbour’s cow, if you said so. I caressed your cats to death, shame peddled your old perfume bottles and lace.

The doctors would advise us not to start „affairs“ with people. What kind of affairs? Couldn´t we have both loved and lived? If we couldn´t have loved, we could have worked. If we didn’t get to live, we could at least have died. If we didn’t get to travel, you would have known anyway that there are butterflies in Brazil with silver dust on their wings, that southern Russia has the alleys of white acacia plants, that in Manchuria the grass grows lush after the bloody manure.

Considering we would have been so bad at loving and living, but good at working and dying, we would have thinned the woods, read the German pessimists and ate your mum’s dry bread. And we would of course have gotten ill. And said: Irene, don’t write like you know everything, go out and enjoy yourself, clear out your lungs and your head, there are sparkly sawmills in Europe, let’s go there.

Irene, I’m on my way, I have followed your instructions carefully, railroad tracks, cracks, on the skin, on the house, got off the train, bribed the soldier to tell me where he saw you as you were impossible to find, obvious fog, Irene.

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Life From a Distance

Fotografija: Ana Lopes Gomes

FilipaLeal

Filipa Leal rođena je u Portu (Portugal) 1979. godine. Autorica je pet zbirki pjesama: Talvez os Lírios Compreendam (Možda ljiljani shvate, 2004.), A Cidade Líquida e Outras Texturas (Tekući grad i druge teksture, 2006.), O Problema de Ser Norte (Problem je biti sjeverno, 2008.), A Inexistência de Eva (The Non–Existence of Eve, 2009.) and Vale Formoso (Vale Formoso, 2012.) te jedne zbirke kratkih priča lua–polaroid (mjesec–polaroid, 2003.). Prisutna je u pjesničkim antologijama u Portugalu i inozemstvu (Italija, Hrvatska, Kolumbija itd.) a Tekući grad i druge teksture objavljen je u Španjolskoj u dvojezičnom izdanju 2010. Kao novinar za kulturu i nakon što je bila urednik književnog dodatka u novinama O Primeiro de Janeiro, bila je TV reporter u Câmara Clara, kulturnom magazinu na RTP2. Studirala je novinarstvo na Sveučilištu u Westminsteru, u Londonu te portugalsku i brazilsku književnost na Sveučilištu u Portu gdje je i magistrirala. 2013. godine napisala je kazališnu dramu koja je postavljena u Lisabonu i Portu.

Filipa Leal was born in Oporto (Portugal) in 1979. She is the author of five poetry collections: Talvez os Lírios Compreendam (Perhaps the Lilies Understand, 2004), A Cidade Líquida e Outras Texturas (The Liquid City and Other Textures, 2006), O Problema de Ser Norte (The Problem of Being North, 2008), A Inexistência de Eva (The Non–Existence of Eve, 2009) and Vale Formoso (Vale Formoso, 2012), and of one short story collection entitled lua–polaroid (polaroid–moon, 2003). She is featured in poetic anthologies both in Portugal and abroad (Italy, Croatia, Columbia, etc.), and The Liquid City and Other Textures has been published in Spain, in a bilingual edition, in 2010. As a cultural journalist, and after having worked as an editor of a literary supplement at the newspaper O Primeiro de Janeiro, she has worked as a TV reporter at Câmara Clara, a cultural magazine at RTP2. She studied journalism at the University of Westminster, in London, and Portuguese and Brasilian Literature at the University of Oporto, where she has obtained a Master Degree. In 2013, she wrote her first short theatre play, which has been put on stage both in Lisbon and Oporto.

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Life From a Distance

Entrevista de emprego Desculpe, tem toda a razão, não pensei que este fosse um aspecto impeditivo, prejudicial ao nosso relacionamento, claro, claro, ao nosso relacionamento profissional, tem toda a razão, devo ter cuidado com as palavras, sim, e o senhor, o senhor gosta de palavras, não, mas tem ao menos cuidado com elas, e de mulheres, o senhor gosta de mulheres, pergunto, trata–as com respeito, o senhor sabe pontuar uma conversa, pergunto, sabe fazer as pausas certas, desculpe, tem toda a razão, quem faz as perguntas aqui é o senhor, e eu respondo, claro, se souber, mas sei pouco, tem toda a razão, sim, sou formada em Letras, desculpe, sim, sim, gosto de Línguas, sim, mas não da sua, confesso, desculpe, desculpe, é que de repente pensei que pudesse estar a interpretar–me mal com o duplo sentido da palavra língua, sabe como é, hoje em dia todo o cuidado com a palavra é pouco e eu tinha acabado de lhe perguntar se gostava de mulheres, podia soar a sedução, na verdade só procurava saber se o senhor era machista, desculpe, fui indelicada, sim, tem toda a razão, eu gosto é de livros, eu gosto é das notícias que não vêm nos jornais, eu gosto é de histórias de encantar, mas olhe que há algumas bem cruéis, não, não são só as de terror, olhe que o terror às vezes está aos pés da câmara, não, não, eu disse câmara, ouviu bem, achei que se dissesse cama podia voltar a baralhá–lo, e daqui a pouco ainda pensava que tenho algum interesse em si, tem razão, tem toda a razão, não me lembrei de destacar esse aspecto no currículo, não pensei que escrever poemas fosse uma condenação curricular, mas já que pede a minha opinião, compreendo que o senhor não há–de precisar de uma pessoa como eu, repare, eu gosto de olhar para o céu horas a frio, não, não, eu disse frio, ouviu bem, pareceu–me o termo adequado a este diálogo, e sim, tem toda a razão, eu não devia tê–lo feito perder o seu tempo, desculpe, desculpe não lhe ter dito mais cedo que só sei ler e escrever, desculpe não lhe ter dito mais cedo que sou apenas o contrário de um analfabeto.

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Filipa Leal

Intervju za posao Oprostite, imate posve pravo, nisam mislila da bi to mogla biti prepreka, da bi to moglo narušiti naš odnos, naravno, naš poslovni odnos, imate posve pravo, moram paziti koje riječi biram, da, a vi, gospodine, volite li vi riječi, ne, ali barem pazite koje riječi birate, a žene, gospodine, volite li žene, pitam, odnosite li se s poštovanjem prema njima, vi, gospodine, znate voditi razgovor, pitam, znate napraviti stanku kad je potrebno, oprostite, imate posve pravo, tko ovdje postavlja pitanja, to ste vi, gospodine, a ja odgovaram, jasno, ako budem znala odgovor, jer ja malo znam, imate posve pravo, da, završila sam Filozofski, oprostite, da, da, volim Jezike, da, ali ne vaš, priznajem, oprostite, oprostite, odjednom sam pomislila da biste me mogli krivo shvatiti zbog dvostrukog smisla riječi jezik, znate kako je, danas je svaki oprez s riječima premalen, a ja sam vas upravo pitala volite li žene, moglo je to zazvučati kao zavođenje, a samo sam htjela saznati jeste li vi, gospodine, mačo tip, oprostite, bila sam neljubazna, da, imate posve pravo, ja volim knjige, ja volim vijesti koje se ne nalaze u novinama, ja volim čarobne priče, ali, znate, ima ih i vrlo okrutnih, ne, nisu to samo priče strave i užasa, znate, strava i užas katkad se nalaze nadomak sobe, ne, ne, rekla sam soba, dobro ste čuli, mislila sam da bih vas mogla zbuniti da sam rekla krevet, još biste mogli pomisliti da sam zainteresirana za vas, imate pravo, imate posve pravo, nije mi palo na pamet da to naglasim,nisam mislila da bi pisanje pjesama moglo biti tako presudno u životopisu, ali kad već tražite moje mišljenje, shvaćam da vi, gospodine, ne trebate osobu poput mene, znate, ja volim gledati u nebo beskrajno hladno, ne, ne, rekla sam hladno, dobro ste čuli, učinila mi se ta riječ prikladnom za ovaj razgovor, i da, imate posve pravo, ne bih trebala više tratiti vaše vrijeme, oprostite, oprostite što vam nisam odmah rekla da znam samo čitati i pisati, oprostite što vam nisam odmah rekla da sam sasvim suprotno od nepismenjaka.

Prijevod s portugalskog: Tanja Tarbuk

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Life From a Distance

Job interview I’m sorry, you are entirely right, I didn’t think this could be an impediment, hinder our relationship, of course, of course, our professional relationship, you are right, I’ve got to be careful with words, really, and you, you like words, well, at least you are careful with words, and with women, you like women, I’m asking, do you treat them respectfully, you know how to punctuate a conversation, I’m asking, you know how to pause at the right moment, you are absolutely right, you are the one asking the questions, and I’m the one answering, of course, if I know how to, but I know little, you’re right, yes I’ve got a degree in Humanities, excuse me, yes, yes, I like languages, tongues, yes I do, but not yours, I must say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, all of a sudden I thought you might misinterpret me with this double meaning, you know how it is, nowadays we must be careful with words and I had just asked you whether you liked women, it could seem as if I was trying to seduce you, but I only wanted to know if you’re a male chauvinist, sorry if I sounded rude, you’re right, but books is what I like, I like the news that isn’t in the papers, and fairy tales, although some can be very cruel, no, not only the horror stories, sometimes horror can be at the end of your chamber, oh yes, I did say chamber, you heard right, I thought if I had said bed it could be misconstrued and you could think I was keen on you, but you’re right, you’re right, it didn’t occur to me to point that out in my CV, I didn’t think that writing poetry would be curriculum–damning, but, since you’re asking, I understand you are in no need of a person like me, you see, I like looking at the sky for hours unending, no, no, I did say unending, you heard right, I thought it adequate to this conversation, and yes, you are absolutely right, I shouldn’t have wasted your time, I’m sorry, sorry not to have told you from the start all I can do is read and write, sorry I didn’t tell you that I am actually quite literate.

Translation from Portuguese: Ana Hudson

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Fotografija: Franz Hammerbacher

Life From a Distance

AnjaUtler

Anja Utler rođena je u Schwandorfu (Njemačka) 1973. godine, a živi u Regensburgu i Beču kao pjesnikinja, esejist i prevoditelj.

2003. doktorirala je na Sveučilištu u Regensburgu dizertacijom o ruskoj modernističkoj poeziji. Autorica je osam knjiga pjesama i audio knjiga: aufsagen (reći naglas, 1999.), münden – entzüngeln (uvirati, zapalucati, 2004), brinnen (žumorenje, 2006.), plötzlicher mohn (iznenadni mak, 2007.), suchrufen, taub (doziv u potragu, gluh, 2007.), jana, vermacht (jana, oporučeno, 2009.) ausgeübt. Eine Kurskorrektur (izvršeno. Korekcija kursa, 2011.). Njezini radovi (na primjer brinnen i jana, vermacht) često imaju dvije verzije, otisnutu i audio. Zbirka pjesama münden – entzüngeln dobila je “Leonce–und–Lena–Preis” nagradu za poeziju 2003. godine. 2014. nagrađena je s “Basler Lyrikpreis” (Basel Poetry Prize) za inovativni tretman političkih tema u poeziji.

Anja Utler was born in Schwandorf (Germany) in 1973, and lives between Regensburg and Vienna working as a poet, an essayist and a translator. In 2003 she received a PhD from the University of Regensburg for a thesis on Russian Modernist poetry. She’s the author of eight poetry books and audio works: aufsagen (1999), münden – entzüngeln (2004), brinnen (2006), plötzlicher mohn (2007), suchrufen, taub (2007), jana, vermacht (2009) ausgeübt. Eine Kurskorrektur (2011).

Her works (e.g. brinnen from 2006 and jana, vermacht from 2009) often come in two versions, printed and audio. In 2003 her poetry collection münden – entzüngeln won the “Leonce–und–Lena– Preis” for Poetry. In 2014 she was awarded with the “Basler Lyrikpreis” (Basel Poetry Prize) for her innovative treatment of political topics in poetry.

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Life From a Distance

1 beschattet – umklammern

marsyas, das ist: an den stamm gehangen bald: ausgelöst sein, an den ast gekrallt – balg – ist: gespannt, dass die schatten den achseln entfliehn, von der klinge gespalten zu werden – der atem gebannt – sehn: sie öffnet das dunkel gedachte: den strömen aus luft und aus licht

– so: tasten, die finger, sie wollen: durchschlingen die borke sie knirscht an den nägeln sie: bricht wie zum: licht hin gelockert – [kch] – rissig, der rinde zu, drunter das blinde – [ssh] – sprießende holz quillt vertieft noch – im stillen – den dunkelnden kern –

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Anja utler

1 zasjenjen – zgrabiti

marsija, to je: obješen za deblo uskoro: biti potegnut, na granu zariven – koža – je: napeta, tako da sjene pazusima bježe, budu rascijepljene oštricom – dah otjeran – gledati: ona otvara tamu mišljeno: bujicama iz zraka i svjetla

– tako: opipavaju, prsti, oni žele: proplesti koru drveta ona škripa na noktima ona: puca kao da je: prema svjetlu popustila – [pp] – ispucana, prema kori, ispod toga slijepo – [ss] – niklo drvo proklijava produbljeno još – u tišini – zatamnjenu jezgru –

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Život iz daleka

Life From a Distance

1 shaded – embrace

marsyas, is: hung on the stem to be flayed, is clawed to the branch – hide – is: stretched, so the shadows they flee from the armpits, soon: split by the knife – breath held – to see: how it opens the dimly imagined: to streams of air and of light

– so: fingers, they feel, want to: weave through the bark scrapes the nails: breaks as if it were: loosed towards the light – [ghh] – ripped, towards the rind, and beneath it the blind – [ss] – sprouting wood swells still deepens – in silence – the darkening seed –

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Life From a Distance

Fotografija: Peter van Tuijl

KiraWuck

Kira Wuck rođena je 1978. godine u Amsterdamu (Nizozemska) gdje je i odrasla, ali se osjeća kao kod kuće u apsurdu i melankoliji nordijskih zemalja. Studirala je umjetničko obrazovanje i pohađala Writer’s School u Amsterdamu. Pobijedila je na nacionalnom pjesničkom slam prvenstvu Nizozemske. A za pjesnički prvijenac, njezinu knjigu Finse meisjes (Finske djevojke, 2012.) osvojila je Lucy B. en C.W. van der Hoogt–price 2013. godine i Eline van haaren price.

Kira Wuck was born in 1978 in Amsterdam (Netherlands) where she grew up, but feels at home when being in the absurdity and melancholy of the Nordic countries. She has studied art, and has attended the Writer’s School in Amsterdam. She has won the national Dutch poetry slam contest, and with her debut poetry collection, Finse meisjes (Finnish girls, 2012) she has been awarded with the Lucy B. en C.W. van der Hoogt–price in 2013, as well as with the Eline van haaren price.

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Kira Wuck

Mijn ouders zijn goed in ontvreemden Op de kleuterschool steel ik een houten paardje niet omdat ik het een mooi paard vind maar omdat niemand het ziet als ik hem in mijn zak stop de meeste dingen gebeuren tijdens iemands afwezigheid In de tram rijden we zwart bij elke halte kijk ik of ik de blauwe mannen zie en repeteer ik de regels van ons spel Mijn vader brengt nooit zijn elpees terug naar de bibliotheek hij zegt dat als je maar lang genoeg wacht ze die toch niet meer zullen missen Mijn moeder is verliefd op mijn logopedist ze komt het huis niet uit, behalve voor mijn spraaklessen op mijn verjaardag drinkt ze andere moeders onder tafel daarna begint haar danssolo, benen hoog in de lucht De blauwe mannen kijken naar mijn vaders zwarte krullen ik hoor het adres van een oude kennis, dat de conducteur noteerd hetzelfde adres voor de rekeningen van de bibliotheek Ik glimlach naar de blauwe man en zwaai met mijn benen die ruim boven de vloer hangen altijd beleefd blijven.

Later lukt het mijn moeder ook niet meer om voor mijn spraaklessen het huis te verlaten nu stuurt ze mijn logopedist kaarten met blauwe luchten en stranden

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Life From a Distance

Mijn vader leert mij fietsen en laat mij los op een berg. mijn voeten zoeken de trappers en ik ben bang maar hij weet dat ik het kan vandaag.

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Kira Wuck

Moji su roditelji dobri u otuđivanju U vrtiću kradem drvenog konjića ne zato što mi je konj lijep nego zato što me nitko ne gleda dok ga guram u džep većina se stvari događa za nečije odsutnosti U tramvaju se švercamo na svakoj stanici gledam dolaze li plavi ljudi i ponavljam pravila naše igre Moj otac nikad ne vraća ploče u knjižnicu kaže da će ako dovoljno dugo čekaš zaboraviti na njih Moja je majka zaljubljena u mog logopeda ne izlazi iz kuće osim kad imam govorne vježbe na moj rođendan u piću nadmašuje sve druge majke zatim počinje svoju plesnu točku, noge visoko u zrak Plavi ljudi gledaju crne uvojke moga oca čujem adresu starog znanca koju kontrolor bilježi ista adresa za račun iz knjižnice Smiješim se plavom čovjeku i mašem nogama koje vise poprilično iznad poda uvijek budi ljubazna Poslije moja majka ne uspijeva izaći iz kuće ni zbog mojih govornih vježbi sad mom logopedu šalje razglednice s plavim nebesima i plažama

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Život iz daleka

Life From a Distance

Moj me otac uči voziti bicikl i pušta me na brijegu stopalima tražim pedale i bojim se ali on zna da to danas mogu

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Kira Wuck

My parents are abstract In kindergarten i steal a wooden horse not because i think it’s nice but because no one sees me while i put it in my pocket most things happen during someone’s absence The tram we ride without paying at each stop i look if i see the blue men and i rehearse the rules of our game My father never returns his albums to the library and says that if you wait long enough they won’t be missed My mother is in love with my speech therapist she does not leave the house, except for my voice lessons on my birthday she drinks other mothers under the table then her dance solo begins, legs high in the air The blue men look at my father’s black curls i hear the address of an old acquaintance, the man writes in a little book same address where the bills of the library go to I smile at the guard and swing my legs far above the floor always remain polite Later on, my mother doesn’t even manage any longer to leave the house to go to my voice lessons now she sends my speech therapist cards with blue skies and beaches on it

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Život iz daleka

Life From a Distance

My father teaches me how to cycle, and let me lose on a mountain my feet find the pedals and i’m afraid but he knows that I can do it today

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Fotografija: Nina Đurđević

Life From a Distance

TomislavZajec

Tomislav Zajec rođen je 1972. godine u Zagrebu. Objavio je tri zbirke pjesama: Natanijelov dnevnik (Natanijel’s Diary, 1996.), Sjever–zlatni šut (North–Golden Shot, 1996.) i Rupa njegova imena (The Hole of His Name, 2000.) te četiri romana: Soba za razbijanje (The Breaking Room, 1998.), Ulaz u Crnu kutiju (Entrance to the Black Box, 2001.), Ljudožderi (Cannibals, 2005.) i Lunapark (Luna Park, 2009.). Autor je deset drama, za koje je primio brojne nagrade i priznanja i koje su izvođene u Hrvatskoj i inozemstvu. Objavio je izbor drama kao dio foto–dramske mape pod nazivom Odlasci (Departures, 2013.). Ime mu je uvršteno u nekoliko hrvatskih književnih antologija, a drame su mu prevedene na engleski, mađarski, poljski, slovenski, njemački i ruski.

Tomislav Zajec was born in 1972 in Zagreb (Croatia). So far he has published three poetry collections: Natanijelov dnevnik (Natanijel’s Diary, 1996), Sjever–zlatni šut (North–Golden Shot, (1996) and Rupa njegova imena (The Hole of His Name, 2000), and four novels: Soba za razbijanje (The Breaking Room, 1998), Ulaz u Crnu kutiju (Entrance to the Black Box, 2001), Ljudožderi (Cannibals, 2005) and Lunapark (Luna Park, 2009). He is the author of ten original drama plays, for which he has received many awards and acknowledgements, and which have been performed both in Croatia and abroad. He has published a selection of plays as part of a photo–dramatic map entitled Odlasci (Departures, 2013). His name is included in several Croatian literature anthologies, and his plays have been translated into English, Hungarian, Polish, Slovenian, German and Russian.

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Tomislav Zajec

*** promatra spasitelja svijeta koji je krenuo u lov na ptice tek da bi pratio neznatne tragove promjena u noći na otvorenom zemljani mamurluk ranog oktobra u šumi a spasitelj svijeta lijep je i taman od vatre oko koje ga školarci oblače u premalu jaknu od skaja učeći ga brojalicama koje oduvijek razlikuju muškarce od djece od vrućeg kamenja između njegovih usana svim božjim pticama na krilima izrastaju portabl televizori sa slikom svijeta u koloru i tisuću programa, a umjesto zahvalnih ljudi pozaspalih od uzbuđenja plastični mu globusi ugurani u premale prozore noći do jutra čuvaju stražu tjerajući termite ujutro, spasitelj svijeta iz lišća stvara toplu šalicu čaja i jednim usputnim dahom gasi leteće ekrane a onda napokon do pasa u ledenoj rijeci svlači dječju kabanicu i dijeli je vjernima na poklon: tako da baš nikad ne bude ni svetišta ni hrama na mjestu s kojeg je otišao protrljati snene oči parovima mladića koji se u sigurnim gnijezdima zemlje stoljećima bude vječno zaljubljeni

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Život iz daleka

Life From a Distance

*** he observes the saviour of the world who went out hunting birds only to follow fiddling traces of changes in the night in the open earthly hangover of the early october in the woods and the saviour of the world is pretty and dark with fire around which school boys dress him into a too small leatherette jacket teaching him nursery rhymes that have always distinguished men from children out of the hot stones between his lips all god’s birds grow portable televisions on the wings with the image of the world in colour and a thousand channels, and instead of grateful people fallen asleep out of excitement, plastic globes crammed into too small windows of the night keep watch over him till morning, chasing the termites away in the morning, the saviour of the world creates a warm cup of tea out of leaves, and turns off the flying screens with a single casual breath and then finally, up to his waist in the icy river, takes his kids raincoat off and gives it away as a present to his loyal ones: so that neither a shrine nor a temple will ever be at the place from which he went to rub the sleepy eyes of the young male couples, who have been waking up for centuries eternally in love, in the safe nests of the earth

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