• Mirko Božić

Spring Has Finally Arrived: Mirko Božić


„Previše je intenzivan svijet oko nas da se o njemu ne bi pisalo, a čovjek je komadić u tom mozaiku, koji doduše, ima moć da poveže sve ostale“, kaže Mirko Božić, mostarski pjesnik s kojim smo razmijenili par riječi o Mostaru kakvim ga se neki od članova redakcija sjećaju iz kasnih 80-h. „Da, kasnih osamdesetih Mostar je bio dosta zanimljiv grad, a vjerujem da je i danas, samo što se ne obnavlja onako brzo kako bismo željeli,“ svjedoči Mirko kojemu će dogodine biti objavljena knjiga u SAD-u, a trenutno sprema i izdanje za potencijalnog britanskog izdavača. A ovdje vam donosimo nekoliko njegovih novih pjesama na hrvatskom i engleskom jeziku – iako autor i sam piše dvojezično, ovaj je put njegove pjesme na engleski prevela urednička ekipa našeg časopisa.

Mirko S. Božić rođen je 1982. godine. Pjesnik, prozaik, prevoditelj i direktor međunarodnog književnog festival Poligon, diplomirao je na Filozofskom fakultetu Svučilišta u Mostaru. Objavio je tri knjige pjesama, i preveden je na engleski, poljski, slovački, španjolski, slovenski, albanski i njemački. Sudjelovao je na književnim rezidencijama i festivalima u zemlji i inozemstvu. Pokretač književnih radionica i suosnivač Ujedinjene književne fronte te književnog festivala Poligon, objavljivan je u časopisima i antologijama u zemlji i inozemstvu. Sudjelovao je kazališnoj predstavi “Ljudi iz struke” u Kragujevcu te filmu Home Stories. Autor je bloga Tripkovnica te kolumnist portala Literatura. Bavi se likovnom i književnom kritikom. Dobitnik je nagrade Šimićevih susreta, nagrade časopisa Opomena, Državne nagrade za poeziju u Karlovcu i CEI-jeve stipendije. Živi i radi u Mostaru.

Mirko Božić is an award-winning poet from Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina whose first book in English will be published next year in the US. „The world around us is so intense that we cannot avoid but write about it - a human being is just a piece in that mosaic, a small but powerful piece that connects all other fragments,“ says Mirko expressing his admiration for his native town, Mostar, which suffered greatly during the war of the 1990s. „Mostar was once as it is today an interesting city, it is only that it doesn't regenerate as quickly as we all would like it,“ concludes the author whose poetic miniatures witness an intense intimate dialogue between short forms and free semantic play.

Mirko S. Bozic was born in 1982. A poet, prosaist, translator and director of the Poligon Festival, he graduated at the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Mostar. He published three books of poetry and was translated into English, Polish, Slovakian, Spanish, Slovenian, Albanian and German. He took part in literary festivals and residencies at home and abroad. A workshop teacher and co-founder of the Poligon Literary Festival and United Literary Front, he was published in magazines and anthologies at home and internationally. His work was included into the theater play Professionals in Kragujevac (Serbia). The author of the blog Tripkovnica, a columnist of the Literatura web portal and an art critic, he was awarded the Šimić prize (2000), the Opomena Magazine prize (2003.), the State Poetry Award in Karlovac (2012.) and the CEI Fellowship Award in 2014. He lives and works in Mostar.

(Photo of the author by Ivan Kelava.)

Badnjak moga oca

Konzerva tune

Spavanac na kauču

Svađa sa svima

My Father's Christmas Eve

A tuna can A nap on the couch A quarrel with everyone

Pred veliki četvrtak

__________________________(upišite svoje misli)

__________________________(prostor za iluzije)

__________________________(upišite svoje snove)

__________________________(upišite istinu,o sebi)

__________________________(prostor za iluzije)

__________________________(još prostora za misli)

__________________________(prostor za prazninu)

__________________________(prostor za skrivanje od sebe i drugih)

__________________________(prostor za misli, odnosno za istinu)

__________________________(prostor za laž)

__________________________(prostor za komentar, o piscu ove pjesme)

__________________________(prostor za prazninu)

Afore Maundy Thursday

__________________________(write here your thoughts) __________________________(a space for illusions) __________________________(write here your dreams) __________________________(write the truth about yourself) __________________________(a space for illusions) __________________________(more space for thoughts) __________________________(a space for emptiness) __________________________(a space for hiding from oneself and others) __________________________(a space for thoughts or, better yet, for truth) __________________________(a space for a lie) __________________________(a space for comments about the author of this poem) __________________________(a space for emptiness)

Proljeće

Skrivene u vunasto tkivo oblaka

Kristalično pahuljaste membrane

Nevidljivim koncima pridržavaju nebo

Da nam se ne sruši na glave i

Pokvari nam frizure

Ukroćeni za neke tuđe nevidljive sjenke

Grozdovi izmišljenog grožđa pucaju

U kavezu naoštrenih sjekutića skrivenih

Ispod hrapavo zasvođene kože nepca

Kapi naoko levitiraju umorno šušteći

Izmutilo mi je i isklepetalo u pužnicu

Spustilo se plohastodahćući iz neuvita

Mirisno zvonoliko kao nježni amarilisi

Moji receptori u pseudosnu plutaju

Kao čamci na metaforičkoj pučini noći

Nemirne ruke pulsirajući klijaju

Prema zemlji, prema nebu listajući

Prosipam prijapovski svoje sjeme

Po skorenom, suhom tlu ispod mene

Koje ga žedno guta misleći u sebi

Proljeće je konačno stiglo

16.04.2016.

Spring

Hidden in the wooly tissue of clouds Flaky crystalline membranes Hold the sky by invisible threads So it doesn’t crash on our heads and Spoil our hairdos

Tamed for some invisible alien shadows Bunches of made up grapes burst In a cage of sharpened incisors hidden Underneath a rough vault of palate skin Drops seemingly levitate and tiredly susurrate

It mixed and rattled into my cochlea It lowered down flatly gasping from something not coiled Fragrantly bell-shaped as tender amaryllises My receptors float in a pseudo-dream Like skiffs on metaphysical high seas of the night

Restless hands pulsatingly sprout Towards the soil, towards the sky they leaf out And I as a Priapus effuse my semen On the crusty dried ground beneath me The dirt swallows it thirstily thinking

Spring has finally arrived

16-04-2013

Kinoteka

Brada, klavir i kontrabas

Strangersinthenight u podne

U fade-outu klikću kašičice za kavu

Lupkaju cipele o pod, nikotin oprašuje

Nokte pušača beskrajnim spektrom žute

Kuckanje prstiju po tipkovnicama pozadi

Sise konobarice i opsceni eyeliner njenih očiju

Ulazim u lokal, sjedam za svoj stol, već je uhodana

Donosi bijelu kavu sa dvije vrećice šećera

Crnim i bijelim, i obligatorni keks od cimeta

Nelagodni randes na kauču u kutu

Wifi lozinka umjesto dobar dan i kako ste

Danas bi trebalo nešto napisati, pojesti

Oprati rublje i odnijeti smeće do kontejnera

Mačke se neće nahraniti same

Ali će se same popišati po parketu

Trebalo bi se javiti nekim ljudima

Odaslati poruke u okolni svemir

Pronaći adekvatne radiovalove

Za današnje misli i opservacije

Jučerašnje sortirati u unutarnje ormariće

Pažljivo razvrstati i analizirati

Slušati neku opuštajuću glazbu

Chet Baker uvući će se među

Kapi umjetne kiše u mojoj tuš kabini

Ali tek nakon što završim sa kavom

I vratim kući, u metakinesku kutiju

Sastavljenu od mekutave kože

Oljuštenih zidova i stropova.

11.01.2016.

Cinematheque

Beard, piano and bass Strangersinthenight at midday In fade-out coffee-spoons jingle Shoes tap on the floor, nicotine pollinates fingernails of smokers with an endless spectrum of yellow Fingers rattling on keyboards behind Waitress’ tits and the obscene eyeliner of her eyes I enter the café, sit at my table, she already knows Brings me a latte with two sugars White and brown, and an obligatory cinnamon cookie An uncomfortable date on the corner couch Wi-fi password instead of a good day and how are you I should write something today, have a bite Wash clothes and throw out garbage Cats won’t feed themselves But they will piss on the floor on their own I should get in touch with some people Send out messages into the universe Find adequate radio wavelengths For today’s thoughts and observations Those of yesterday file into inner cabinets Carefully sort and analyze Listen to relaxing music Chet Baker will slither in Between the drops of fake rain in my shower But only after I’m done with my coffee And return home, to a meta-Chinese box Made from the soft skin Of peeled walls and ceilings.

11-01-2016

Observacije I.

Toalet papir sa mirisom breskve

Značajno podiže kvalitet boravka

U mojoj kupaonici, kao da sjediš

U voćnjaku punom kahlica

Observations I.

Peach scented toilet paper Greatly contributes to the quality of stay In my bathroom, as if one is sitting In an orchard full of potties

Observacije II.

Dobar omlet sa slaninom nije ekvivalent

Ljubavnog života sa pravom osobom

Govorim si dok mutim jaja u kuhinji

Django će me opet izvući iz jutarnjeg bluesa

Observations II.

A good bacon omelet is not an equivalent Of a love life shared with the right person I tell myself while mixing eggs in the kitchen Django will once again pull me out of my morning blues

Observacije III.

Jednog dana stvari u mojoj kući

Odlučiti će da me iz protesta ubiju

Jer se pretvorila u zoološki vrt pun

Malih kaveza za nepotrebnosti

Observations III.

One day the things in my house Will decide to kill me in protest Because the place turned into a zoo full Of little cages for unnecessities

Observacije IV.

Noći su osmišljene za svađu

Sve ću ti sasuti u lice i nitko ne čuje

Osim noćnih ptica iz haustora

Koje iz straha nikad ne zovu policiju

Observations IV.

Nights are meant for quarrels I’ll shout it all right into your face and no one will hear Except for the night birds in the driveway That out of fear never call the police

Observacije V.

Mrzim trenutak kad se iz trgovine

Vratiš sa svježim paradajzom i skužiš

Da ga je još ostalo u frižideru

Isto pravilo ne vrijedi i za cigarete

Observations V.

I hate that moment when you return From the store with fresh tomatoes realizing We already had some in the fridge The same rule does not apply to cigarettes

Observacije VI.

Porculanski pastir sa korpom cvijeća

Nema oči, desnu šaku ni invalidninu

Odjeven u bijelu košulju i plave hlače

Pošao na biro, ovjeriti radnu knjižicu

Observations VI.

A porcelain shepherd with a basket full of flowers Has no eyes, right fist nor disability pension Dressed in a white shirt and blue pants He’s headed to the employment office to get his work card stamped

Translated by NG&ORwDAC.

#MirkoBožić #Proljeće #Spring #poetry

62 views

ZVONA i NARI - Library & Literary Retreat - Vrčevan 32, 52204 Ližnjan, Croatia - + 385 99 232 7926 - zvonainari@gmail.com - (c) 2011.-2020.