Spring Has Finally Arrived: Mirko Božić

March 29, 2017

 

„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.

 

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