- Croatia -
Marija Andrijašević (b. 1984, Split) is a Croatian poet. She holds MA in Comparative literature and Ethnology and social anthropology (2015) from University of humanities and social sciences in Zagreb. In 2007 she was awarded with „Goran for young poets“ for her book of poetry david, they did things to me. Before and after that, she published her poetry in literary magazines (Re, Quorum, Knjigomat, Poezija). Her poetry is included in anthologies of contemporary poetry (I u nebo i u niks, Hrvatska mlada lirika...) as well as Italian selection of poetry from Balkans Voci di donne della ex Jugoslavia. Periodically, she translates American contemporary poetry for the Third programme of the Croatian Radio and interviews female writers from Balkans for Voxfeminae.net. Her poetry has been translated to Slovenian, Italian, Ukranian, English, Polish, and Romanian. She lives in Zagreb and works for Student Centre Zagreb, Culture of Change as PR and Community manager. In 2015/16 she attended and finished Centre for Women’s Studies Zagreb programme. In 2018 she received an annual grant from Republic of Croatia Ministry of Culture for her work-in-progress first novel Grad na vodi (The City on the Water).
Andrijašević's long, narrative, sharp and deeply distressing confessional poems have left a discernible mark on the latest incarnations originating within the same scene, especially visible in the writings of the youngest generation of poetesses. Andrijašević’s bare and “harsh” poetics, relying on the language economy of the straightforwardness of slang and dialectical idiom, personal experiences, family history of a provincial town, as it is simultaneously and deeply immersed in pop culture and postmodern theoretical matrix, was welcomed as a due novelty, while the author was proclaimed as one of the most interesting new voices, with a strong emphasis on a specific affirmation of the contemporary female experience.
The poet and critic Krešimir Bagić describes her debut book of poetry as a “powerful, narrative poetry, which combines biography and literary fiction, real and dream-like states, tenderness and controversy”, while, according to the critic Darija Žilić, the poetry of Marija Andrijašević draws on the American “confessional” school of poetry, documenting personal suffering and trauma. However, what makes her poetry exceptional is that it managed to avoid the traps usually associated with confessional poetry – primarily the one which uses a poem as a point of excretion. Instead, it is a direct, but well-thought-out poetization of female subjectivity. Her heroine is situated within a destructive family context, writing ironically about the institution of family, familial and social rituals, as well as about the language of conventions. The family which she poeticizes is “cursed”, in the gothic meaning of the word, nomadic, existing outside the rules. Within such a desolate and diseased environment, she is searching for her own voice, but the interesting thing is that she does not use it as means of social engagement but rather as means of creating a personal perspective. The identity is formed in relation to others, so she questions the issue of identity – she questions whose identity has to be stolen, how to free oneself from family heritage, that is, how not to reproduce familial “madness”, how to preserve one’s autonomy when it is necessary to join a group (“I don’t like associations, they kill one’s identity”), or how to preserve one’s right to privacy (“why do you want to know anything about me?”). In the long free verse narrative poems, she relates other people’s “naggings” about her lifestyle, her own justifications, frantically noting her stream of consciousness and following her emotions in a frenzy, in order to “earn” her right to write. However, instead of concrete actions, which are expected from her and which she mentions as being a social imperative, she makes creations out of words, playing with language. In the real world, she withdraws within, noting that the dilemma of whether or not she should open up to the world and “tell the terrible secrets” is going to swallow her whole. Avoiding having to make decisions, she catalogues her misfortunes wanting to free herself from the painful past and live “in the now”. Writing shields her from speech (“it is too late to speak up, so I write”); she is uprooted, faithless (“God has become a luxury to me”). Love relationships is where is looks for some kind of a foothold, while her writing about love is postmodern – she perceives the discourse of love as a play of phrases, thus she racks up pathetic expressions, clichés, children’s rhymes, excerpts from virtual communication, a variety of quotes – from films, commercials, TV series, pop songs, from everyday situations. When addressing the Other, she debates, repeats rhetorical questions, seduces, theatrically fabricates new roles, contradicts via paradoxes, introducing – on no account poetic – images of violence, blood that inscribe the body. She provides a narcissistic introspection of herself in the mirror, notes her own movements, bodily changes, through an interplay between two bodies. Her narcissism is also evident in various analyses of her own being – in the insecurities, alternating between irrefutability and uncertainty, sophistry, anticipations of the future – how others see her “for herself” and she “for oneself”. Andrijašević notes that the order of things is irrelevant when meaning cannot be located in one place. Therefore, there is no succession in her poetry – reminiscences of her painful past alternate with anticipations which play with the stereotypes of happiness and orderly bourgeois life. The idiosyncrasy of her work is expressed exactly through this radical “self-exposure”, through a non-therapeutic confession, a neoromantic noting of emotions that are, as she writes, dislocated. And locating these emotions is precisely the central focus of her exciting poetry.
Writers on the Web presentation video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG3tSvfV56E
* / *
the look in my eyes is as kind as an amphetamine and believes that pharmacy is a god-given
every morning, while still without thoughts, i slide my hand along my stomach hoping to reach the thighs.
a strange feeling.
i will get up, i will exist and you will know me.
i am bad with promises, i do not like them, but i tend to promise nonchalantly.
life slides when i control it. it goes slowly and continually. and it never talks to anyone. it has no limits.
now look here, one time i saw my old man crying and it was very awkward.
he had poor eyesight and i would usually tell him what color the light was.
and the day he cried we were driving to the country. him and me. the light was green. he was crying.
i just kept thinking: well, what the hell's wrong with you? fuck you, crying in front of me like that. it wasn't me who slapped you.
gray is not my favorite color, but to me the sky is never blue.
it is always gray. the sun is red and the roads are covered with blood.
they’re hanging by a twelve-inch string. like his body.
my name is to sacred for the life i am living.
now then, there he was crying. he cried for, well, 12.5 miles. and i just kept wondering whether we would stop at the gas station and whether he would buy me an ice-cream and whether the rest of the family were getting by without us at home.
if only he’d stop crying.
i never worry about tomorrow, i let time pass from one moment to the next.
i hide my face, it is interrupted by commas and dots. it is incomprehensible.
my eyes have a black dot in the middle. darkness coming from within.
he kept saying he loved us. we were his life. no one ever thought he’d do anything good. family. he was black to everyone. then i began to realize and to raise the question from within:
but then why are you destroying us? you created us, don’t destroy us as well. and wipe those tears from your eyes or we’ll end up under the tanker in front of us.
i do not know how to love if that love is not returned.
my sky is always gray.
that day my brother locked himself into the room. my old man called the police. later my uncle came and begged my brother to come out. i cried in my room. i couldn’t understand. i was eleven i didn’t know why the world was called the world and why our father didn’t love us or why he loved us in that very peculiar way. i begged my old man for us to get out. we sat in the car and headed for the country.
then he started to cry and i was no longer sure who was the guilty one in our stories.
i walk tall. nothing bad exists in my life.
i want you to know that.
a few days later everything was all right again. we had forgotten. it lasted long enough for the next blow to break us into even more pieces. my old man never cried again.Translation by Mario Suško
moj je pogled amfetaminski susretljiv i vjeruje kako je farmacija bogomdana
jutrima, dok još ne razmišljam, rukom prelazim preko stomaka i nadam se bedrima.
ustat ću, bit ću i znat ćeš me.
ne znam s obećanjima, ne volim ih, a sklona sam obećavati s nonšalantnošću.
život klizi kad ga ja kontroliram. ide polako i ide svejedno. i nikad se ne obraća nikom. nema granica.
pazi, ja sam ti jednom vidjela svog starog da plače i to je bila jako nezgodna situacija.
on je imao loš vid i ja bih mu obično govorila koje je svjetlo na semaforu.
a taj dan kad je zaplakao vozili smo se na selo. on i ja.
bilo je zeleno. plakao je.
ja sam samo razmišljala: pa koji je tebi vrag, jebo ti sebe? šta sad ti tu meni plačeš? pa nisam ja tebe ošamarila.
sivo nije moja omiljena boja, ali meni nebo nikada nije plavo.
uvijek je sivo. sunce je crveno, a ceste su krvave.
vise na tridesetcentimetarskoj uzici. k'o njegovo tijelo.
moje ime je previše sveto za život kakvim živim.
i sad, on ti je plakao. plakao je, bogami, 20 kilometara. a ja sam samo razmišljala hoćemo li stati na benzinskoj i hoće li mi kupiti sladoled i snalazi li se ostatak obitelji bez nas kod kuće.
kad bi barem prestao plakati.
nikada se ne brinem o sutra. puštam vrijeme neka ide od trenutka do trenutka.
lice krijem. isprekidano je zarezima i točkama. neshvatljivo je.
moje oči imaju crnu točku u sredini. mrak koji dolazi iznutra.
govorio je da nas voli. brata i mene. mi smo njegov život. nitko nikada nije mislio da će on napraviti nešto dobro. obitelj. svima je bio crn. tad sam počela shvaćati i nametati pitanje iznutra: ali zašto nas onda uništavaš? ti si nas stvorio, nemoj nas i uništiti. i obriši te suze da se ne nađemo pod cisternom ispred nas.
ne znam voljeti dok ne vole mene.
moje nebo je uvijek sive boje.
taj dan se brat zaključao u sobu. stari je zvao policiju. kasnije je došao stric i molio brata da izađe. ja sam plakala u svojoj sobi. nisam shvaćala. imala sam jedanaest godina i nisam znala zašto se svijet zove svijet i zašto nas otac ne voli ili zašto nas voli na taj jako čudan način. ja sam molila starog da idemo van. sjeli smo u auto i krenuli smo na selo. onda je on počeo plakati i ja više nisam znala tko je krivac u našim pričama.
hodam sigurna u sebe. u mom životu ne postoji loše.
želim da to znaš.
par dana kasnije sve je opet bilo u redu. zaboravili smo. potrajalo je dovoljno dugo da nas sljedeći udarac razlomi na još veće dijelove. stari više nikada nije zaplakao.
* / *
we have completed this marathon through our lives.
today we are knitting sweaters for new winters and someone else’s bodies.
she tells me that i don’t love you as much as i think i do and that i don’t even remember you.
she calls you a need.
i am looking at you through the green lenses of my glasses and through the blood that leaves traces around hangnails.
i tell her that i do love you as much as i think i do and that you don’t even need to be remembered.
you’re tied in my eyes by kinetic photography.
by the dispersion of a moment.
the space is guilty of the diffuseness of this love.
but it will never warm us, do you know that? the sun reflecting off her body.
i usually fall ill around one-fifty in the morning.
i turn out the lights and i live in the sweat of what illness is generating from within me.
metamorphoses in my existence being the only life within me.
manipulating the present day. setting the stage for common sense.
the strategy for a long, healthy and happy life.
because of you i started to categorize feelings as grave criminal offences.
i am serving the fourth of who knows how many life sentences.
because of you.
tomorrow they’re drawing a sample of my blood. maybe they’ll finally determine what’s wrong with me.
i tell her: he kept me on a leash. he controlled me. he taught me how to listen to thoughts. he rocked me in a cradle and touched my breasts.
he was the most beautiful chestnut ever found between mažuranić’s promenade and hajduk’s market.
he was a skill. breakfast in bed and a field of carnations made of squared paper.
she says that i don’t love you as much as i think i do and that one day i’ll get blown up with the dynamite that springs from devising reality.
and we were devising ourselves.
we were inventing ourselves.
i’m glad i…
held your hands. lay with you on antennas and went wild with you on the screens of modern world.
got buried with you in the snow of our white cheeks we find each other more beautiful that way.
carried your name in my pocket as a reminder of the greatness of the universe.Translation by Mario Suško
istrčali smo ovaj maraton kroz naše živote.
danas pletemo džempere za nove zime i tuđa tijela.
ona mi kaže da te ne volim k'o što umišljam i da te se i ne sjećam.
ona tebe zove potreba.
ja te gledam kroz zelena stakla svojih naočala i kroz krv što ostavlja tragove oko zanoktica.
ja njoj kažem da te volim k'o što umišljam i da se tebe i ne treba sjećati.
vezan si u mojim očima kinetičkom fotografijom.
prostor je kriv što je ova ljubav difuzna.
ali nikad nas neće ugrijati, znaš li ti to? to sunce što se odbija o njeno tijelo.
obično se razbolim oko jedan i pedeset ujutro.
pogasim svjetla i živim u znoju onoga što bolest porađa iz mene.
metamorfoze u mom postojanju kao jedino življenje u meni.
manipuliranje današnjicom. postavljenje scene za zdrav razum.
strategija za dug i zdrav i sretan život.
zbog tebe sam osjećaje počela kategorizirati kao teška kriminalna djela.
ja odrađujem četvrtu od tko zna koliko dosuđenih doživotnih.
sutra će mi vaditi krv. možda napokon ustanove što sa mnom nije u redu.
ja njoj kažem: vodio me na uzici. kontrolirao me. naučio me slušati misli. ljuljao me u kolijevci i dirao moje grudi.
bio je najljepši kesten ikad pronađen na potezu od mažuranićevog šetališta do hajdukovog placa.
bio je vještina. doručak u krevetu i polje karanfila od kockastog papira.
ona kaže da te ne volim k'o što umišljam i da će me jednoga dana raznijeti dinamit proizašao iz osmišljavanja stvarnosti.
a mi smo osmišljavali sami sebe.
smišljali smo sami sebe.
držati te za ruke. ležati s tobom na antenama i divljati po ekranima suvremenog svijeta.
zatrpati se u snijegu bijelih obraza jer smo takvi ljepši jedno drugom.
nositi tvoje ime u džepu kao podsjetnik na veličinu svemira.
* / *
split into two sides we form two intersections.
i sleep under the traffic lights on the western side.
i take heed of the temperature beneath your legs.
i gave us time. we became part of the big plan.
love plus time equals the end. heartache.
deduction. deduction, my dear watson.
i cannot place you on a pedestal. it would not be right.
i am not able to cope with the risk of interpersonal relationships.
i’m sorry, he says. a blank look. a coffee filter. emotional distortion with the gas burner on.
you’ll never find your way out of this metaphor, will you?
tears acting as fuel setting my life in motion. paintings hanging all over the interior.
your fingers on the kidneys, your legs on the spleen. your lips all over the liver.
someone sewed on buttons all over my body. from neck to bellybutton. i am afraid to sleep on my stomach. i will open up to the world and tell them all my terrible secrets.
one should keep mum about you.
i’m letting you go.
yes, at once.
forgive me. kiss me. sleep with me under jupiter.
and the light is red. so they honk and swear. from within.
they’re forcing their way out. and they’ll open me up. someone will unbutton my coat.
i am resisting kindness. the one that used to take us by surprise in our static emotions.
i am distorting reality just like the space within me has been bending for years
in order to catch up with time
and make room for you.
in the end it consumed itself.
i’m exaggerating. maybe i’ll understand. maybe i’ll understand.
it is too late to talk and then make notes.
stop me. i cannot do it by myself.
the house i am building is made of hesitation and i am putting you up in it.
my line of work are inventions. i’m inventing myself. i am reinventing myself.
my responsibility ends once i destroy all the things that make “a couple”.
i am letting you go in neutral. downhill.
through reincarnation i will atone for the heartache i am causing myself.
sway with me. this reality cannot be changed. mustn’t be changed.Translation by Mario Suško
podijeljeni na dvije strane činimo dva raskrižja.
ja spavam ispod semafora sa zapadne strane.
pazim na temperaturu pod tvojim nogama.
dala sam nam vremena. postali smo dio velikog plana.
ljubav plus vrijeme jednako je kraj. bol.
dedukcija. dedukcija, moj watsone.
ne mogu te dovesti na postolje. neće biti dobro.
ne snalazim se u riziku međuljudskih odnosa.
žao mi je, kaže. tup pogled. filtar za kavu. emocionalna distorzija iznad otvorenog plina.
nikada nećeš pronaći izlaz iz ove metafore, zar ne?
suze kao gorivo za pokretanje mog života. slike obješene po interijeru.
tvoji prsti na bubrezima. tvoje noge na slezeni. tvoje usne po jetrima.
netko mi je zašio botune po tijelu. od vrata do pupka. bojim se spavati na stomaku. otvorit ću se svijetu i ispričati svoje strašne tajne.
treba šutjeti o tebi.
pustit ću te.
oprosti mi. poljubi me. spavaj sa mnom ispod jupitera.
a na semaforu je crveno. pa trube i psuju. iznutra.
probijaju se prema van i otvorit će me. netko će otkopčati moj kaput.
odupirem se dobroti. onoj koja nas je znala zaskočiti u statičkim emocijama.
iskrivljujem stvarnost k'o što se prostor u meni godinama krivio da bi sustigao
vrijeme i napravio mjesta za tebe.
na kraju je pojeo sam sebe.
karikiram. možda shvatim. možda shvatim.
prekasno je da pričam pa zapisujem.
prekini me u ovom. ne mogu sama.
gradim kuću od premišljanja i nastanjujem te u njoj.
bavim se izumima. izumljujem se. izbezumljujem se.
moja odgovornost prestaje kad uništim sve što čini „dvoje“.
puštam te u leru. nizbrdo.
reinkarnacijom ću se iskupiti za bol koju si nanosim.
ljuljalj se sa mnom. ova stvarnost se ne da mijenjati. ne smije.
when you walk it spurs itself, when i walk we sour each other like cowboys (my big butt and me) / kad hodaš se mamuza, kad hodam se kaubojski mamuzamo (moja debela guzica i ja)
(at an exhibition)
i have been eying you in a kimchi jar for a little while.
i mean, the interesting thing is that you are not in the room at all.
i turn around. and around. i’m bored.
the belt around the waist is cutting into the young skin.
i am doubled up within. it will stop as soon as i forget what it looks like.
(at the hospital)
too little can be seen in the dark, just about as much as one can put up with.
scrooge, this way i don’t feel like putting up with anything. at all.
be good. you’re going to receive electroshock therapy.
they are exploring my brain with tricorders. removing all the spells
from my back, like phantoms.
david, they did things to me.
at the entrance to the ct room there is an old X-ray machine.
some woman was explaining to a five-year old girl
what it was all for.
mom, are you a ra-di-ol-o-gist?
my mother exposed me to radiation.
(ninety-five and two thousand and six)
i would like to the pen to go to the page 344, but that page does not exist.
pen changed his name and address long a long time ago.
i walked into her room and said: i feel pain here, what is it?
and she said: nothing, everything’s going to be okay.
that’s why i hate her today. because nothing at all is okay.
because, ever since i’ve known her, all she ever does is lie to me.
because, ever since i’ve known you, all i ever do is lie to you.
but i have an excuse.
every time i start to count my toes in shame
i can say:
david, they did things to me.Translation by Mario Suško
malo te promatram u tegli kimchija.
mislim, zanimljivo je da uopće nisi u prostoriji.
okrećem se. oko sebe. dosadno mi je.
pojas omotan oko struka urezuje se u mlado meso.
kutrim u sebi. prestat će čim zaboravim kako izgleda.
u mraku se premalo vidi, taman onoliko koliko čovjek može podnijeti.
scrooge, meni se ovako ne podnosi ništa. uopće.
budi dobra. tretirat ćemo te elektrošokovima.
trikoderima istražuju mozak. fantomski skidaju sve uroke s
davide, svašta su mi radili.
na ulazu za ct drže stari rendgen.
neka je žena objašnjavala petogodišnjoj djevojčici čemu je
to sve služilo.
mama, ti si ra-di-o-log?
moja je majka mene ozračila.
(devedeset i peta i dvije tisuće i šesta)
ja bih da pero ode na stranicu 344., ali ta stranica ne postoji.
pero je odavno promijenio i ime i adresu.
ušetala sam joj u sobu i rekla: mene tu boli. šta je to?
a ona je rekla: ništa. bit će sve u redu.
zato je danas mrzim. jer baš ništa nije u redu.
jer mi, otkako je znam, samo laže.
jer ti, otkako te znam, samo lažem.
al' imam opravdanje.
uvijek kad od srama počnem brojiti svoje nožne prste,
davide, svašta su mi radili.
at 2 a.m, watching them release kites (hide in the phonebooth's earpiece) / u dva ujutro, gledajući kako puštaju zmajeve (sakrij se u slušalicu telefonske govornice)
i'm rushing through the city. my throat is tight.
the earphones in my ears are hurting me.Translation by Doris Dresto
today is simply someone else's day.
her beautiful face, nails, boobs. whatdoiknow.
dream, dream, dream! forget about the dream! i'm forgetting, but it keeps whoring around with my head.
you are lifting my hands up high. hanging me up on meat hooks.
spreading my legs apart. undoing my zipper.
you're a bit clumsy, confused. your legs are slipping on the frozen blood of the slaughtered calves crammed around us.
you're about to fuck me, any moment now, i'm waiting, waiting, waiting...
i wish you weren't so clumsy and confused.
my stomach aches. the acid is singing lullabies to cereals.
stomach massacre caused by bile acid.
i'm talking nonsense. i don't even have a gallbladder. they cut it out when i was nineteen.
the put all of the kidney stones in this nice, white, little bottle
that i kept in the pocket of my old coat.
33 stomach asteroids trapped in plastic.
they must've gone nuts. claustrophobia.
so i threw them away. so that they don't get mentally ill.
at last! you can hear us moaning in that huge cold storage.
you're letting my voice be daring. normally it is completely undarable.
i'm biting your hair, eyebrows, forehead. i pray to god that you don't stop.
i pray to god that you don't skid and slam in a cow.
god damit, you're so good.
we're talking on some sort of a clearing. i don't know how we got there.
on the other side, my cousin, a jehovah's witness, is preaching some sort of a sermon.
that irritating, nasal voice of his, provoking debauchery.
debauchery? did someone say debauchery?
i stop at the traffic lights. i look at my cellphone. shut up and put up with the dark.
i'm standing, standing, standing. inside, nausea is happening.
i'm totally like iris henderson. you're apologizing for tearing my evening gown.
you're holding my hand. curling my hair around your tongue.
match made in heaven- sodom and gomorrah.
i'll cut my hair so that it doesn't happen again.
what can i say to you?
what can i talk about - my god doesn't like me laughing.
jurim kroz grad. steže me u grlu.
bole me slušalice u ušima.
danas je jednostavno tuđi dan.
njeno lijepo lice, nokti, sise. štajaznam.
san, san, san! zaboravi san! zaboravljam, al' kurva se po primozgu.
dižeš mi ruke visoko. vješaš me na mesarske kuke.
širiš mi noge. otkopčavaš šlic.
malo si smotan. noge ti klize po zaleđenoj krvi zaklane teladi zbijene
jebat ćeš me, svaki tren, čekam, čekam, čekam...
da bar nisi tako smotan.
boli me u želucu. kiselina priča uspavanke zobenim pahuljicama.
želučani masakr žučnom kiselinom.
pričam bez veze. ja uopće nemam žuč. izrezali su mi je u devetnaestoj.
spremili su sve kamence u jednu finu, bijelu bočicu
koju sam sačuvala u džepu staroga kaputa.
33 želučana asteroida zarobljena u plastici.
sigurno im je bilo da popizde. klaustrofobija.
pa sam ih bacila. da psihički ne obole.
napokon! čuje se kako stenjemo u ogromnoj hladnjači.
puštaš moj glas da se usudi. inače je sasvim neusudben.
grizem ti kosu, obrve, čelo. molim boga da ne prestaneš.
molim boga da se ne odskližeš i ne zabiješ u neku kravu.
jebo mater jesi dobar.
razgovaramo na nekoj čistini. ne znam kako smo došli tu.
moj rođak, jehovin svjedok, s druge strane drži neku propovijed.
onaj njegov, iritantan, nazalan glas, provocira razvrat.
razvrat? je l' neko reko razvrat?
stojim na semaforu. gledam mobitel. šuti i trpi mrak.
stojim, stojim, stojim. iznutra se dešava mučnina.
skroz sam iris henderson. ispričavaš se jer si mi poderao toaletu.
držiš me za ruku. kovrčaš moju kosu oko svog jezika.
match made in heaven - sodoma i gomora.
odrezat ću kosu kako se ne bi ponovilo.
šta da ti kažem.
o čemu da ti pričam - moj bog ne voli da se ja smijem.
(Untitled) / (Untitled)
my old man killed himself.Translation by Doris Dresto
he went to work one morning with some rope in his pocket.
he was last seen at 5.45 a.m. on his way to the bus terminal.
my old man was crazy and reckless.
will he like me? what do you say? tonight, you know, there will be no more stalling or any more of those long looks. look at me. what do you say? is that it?
he took the bus to the countryside and hung himself in some sort of a thicket.
prudent son of a bitch. he got off the bus one stop earlier and crossed the river barefooted to make sure that we couldn't track him.
we were searching for him for a month and five days.
we wanted to believe that he was alive and crazy somewhere out there. we wanted to believe he lived someplace.
stinking. unwashed. unconscious. alive.
the fire truck was speeding down the street when you asked me if i loved you for the first time.
of course i love you.
but how should i know what my old man will have in store for us tomorrow.
a month and five days of agony.
we tried all the tricks, we even searched for him under the bed.
we almost took apart the TV too. maybe he hid in the cathodes.
one morning, my mom woke her and his brothers. and my brother as well.
she sent them to the thicket and told them: this is the last time. one more time and it's over.
my brother smelt him. his death.
the phone rang and i knew what was coming.
i told her: it's all right. we found him. it was the only thing we needed.
my mom cried. i know, you didn't deserve it, but... it happened.
i'm sorry i left you a month and five days ago and i'm sorry i wasn't good enough for you.
i cry when i remember my brother who found him.
his head, severed from his body. and that smell.
he wore my brother's jacket and my watch.
three days later, they gave me back that watch with worms all over it. i studied it in the bathroom.
my old man lived inside those worms, and i was able to talk to him.
it was creepy. he'd never been whiter. he turned into a worm.
i told him: it's all right. i told him: you're really crazy.
i told him: i'll forget about you. soon. i told him: i'm sorry, but i have to do this.
i quashed all those worms, i boiled the watch for a long time.
my old man killed himself. he lost control of his own life.
my brother found him, and i smashed the room's doors yelling that i won't go to his funeral.
my brother stood next to me during the funeral procession. i never loved him more than i did at that moment.
my mom said: screw him and may he rest in peace.
not a day goes by that i don't find myself thinking how things would've gone for us a month and six days later.
moj stari se ubio.
jedno jutro je otišao na posao s komadom konopca u džepu.
zadnji put su ga vidjeli u pet i četrdeset i pet ujutro na putu za autobusni kolodvor.
moj stari je bio lud i nepromišljen.
hoću li mu se svidjeti? što ti kažeš? večeras, znaš, neće više biti onih dugih pogleda i zavlačenja. pogledaj me. što kažeš? je l' to to?
otišao je na selo autobusom i objesio se u nekoj šikari.
promišljeni kurvin sin. izašao je stanicu prije i prešao je rijeku bosim nogama da mu ne uđemo u trag.
tražili smo ga mjesec i pet dana.
htjeli smo vjerovati da je živ i lud negdje. htjeli smo vjerovati da živi negdje.
smrdljiv. neopran. nesvjestan. živ.
vatrogasna kola su projurila cestom kad si me prvi put pitao je l' te volim.
naravno da te volim.
ali kao da ja znam što će nam moj stari prirediti sutra.
mjesec i pet dana agonije.
sve smo trikove isprobali, tražili smo ga i pod krevetom.
umalo da nismo i televiziju rastavili. možda se skrio u katodama.
stara je jedno jutro probudila svoju i njegovu braću. i mog brata.
poslala ih je u šikaru i rekla im je: ovo je zadnji put. još jednom i gotovo.
moj brat ga je namirisao. njegovu smrt.
telefon je zazvonio i ja sam znala što nas čeka.
rekla sam joj: dobro je, našli smo ga. samo nam je to i trebalo.
stara je plakala. znam ja, nisi ti to zaslužila, ali... dogodilo se.
žao mi je što sam te ostavila mjesec i pet dana kasnije i što ti nisam bila dovoljno dobra.
ja plačem kad se sjetim brata koji ga je našao.
njegovu glavu odvojenu od tijela. i taj miris.
nosio je bratovu jaknu i moj sat.
vratili su mi taj sat s crvima tri dana kasnije. proučavala sam ga u zahodu.
moj stari je živio u tim crvima i ja sam mogla razgovarati s njim.
bilo je jezivo. nikad nije bio bjelji. pretvorio se u kolutićavca..
rekla sam mu: dobro je. rekla sam mu: ti si stvarno lud.
rekla sam mu: zaboravit ću te. brzo. rekla sam mu: oprosti, ali ja ovo moram napraviti.
zgazila sam sve te crve. sat sam dugo kuhala u kipućoj vodi.
moj stari se ubio. izgubio je kontrolu nad svojim životom.
moj brat ga je našao, a ja sam razbila vrata sobe vrišteći kako mu neću otići na sprovod.
moj brat je stajao pored mene u povorci. nikad prije ga nisam voljela k'o tad.
moja stara je rekla: jebi ti njemu mater i pokoj mu duši.
nema dana kad ne pomislim što bi se bilo dogodilo s nama od mjesec i šest dana kasnije