mrachni katuni i nesavremena razmatranja

The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected.

A Thought

It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place

25. Aug.


Treba biti dovršeni nihilist, onaj koji je svoj nihilizam do krajnje konsekvence u sebi živeo, ili barem, kako Zizek predlaze, za početak ne raditi ništa, tj. stvoriti autonomne zone svojeg života unutar kojih smo nedodirljivi, ne uzeti učečća do strogo odmeren afirmativnim delanjem: Nietzsche uspeva u tome još pre 120.god, ali se onda razbija o svoj afirmativni nihilizam kao o mramorne stene. Potraga za uzrocima i razlozima za sve što se ikada zbilo chini od pisaca istorije fataliste, tako da je jasno da od njih nikada necemo razumeti shta se desilo Nietzscheu, ili sa njim ... isto tako necemo razumeti shta se desilo sa svetom, no razbiranje i promishljanje chudovišne nepojmljivosti sveta ipak će učiniti čoveka boljim, shto znači 'gorim' po dati društveni ugovor.

Imajmo uši i za najmanje sitnice: po jednoj srednjovekovnoj legendi 6 italijanskih devica prodalo je svoja tela brodskoj posadi, ne bi li se nekako dokopale Obećane Zemlje: nijedna od njih nikada nije stigla do Palestine. Zanimljivo je posmatrati kako pripadnici "kognitarijata", danas, reaguju kada čuju ovu grozomornu priču, u kojoj se bekstvo od čame pretvara u pakao ... spleen et idéal.

Prilog učenju o stilu (Za Lou Salome od Fritza, )

1.
Prvo što je od nužde je život: stil treba da živi.

2.
Stil bi trebalo da bude tebi upriličen i to u odnosu na sasvim posebnu osobu kojoj se obraćaš. (Zakon dvostruke relacije).

3.
Kao prvo se mora znati: "to i to izgovorila bih i izložila na sledeći način" - pre nego li se sme zapisati. Pisanje ima, dakle, da bude podražavanje.

4.
Kako pišućem nedostaje puno od sredstava izlagajućeg, sve u svemu on
za uzor mora imati jednu jako izražajnu vrstu izlaganja: precrt njegov, ono napisano, i nužno će ispasti dosta bledje.

5.
Bogatsvo života odaje se obiljem pokreta (izraza). Sve - dužina i kratkoća rečenica, interpunkcija, odabir reči, pauze, redosled argumenata - mora se naučiti poimati kao pokret.

6.
Oprez pred periôdom! Na nju imaju prava samo ljudi koji u govoru i inače imaju dug dah. Kod većine je perioda afekcija.

7.
Stil bi trebalo da dokaže da čovek veruje u svoje misli, da ih ne samo misli, već i oseća.

8.
Što je istina kojom čovek želi da uči abstraktnija, tim se više moraju zavesti čula receptora.

9.
Takt(ičnost) dobrog prozaika u izboru njegovih sredstava sastoji se u tome, da poeziji pridje blisko, ali da joj se nikada ne pridruži.

10.
Nije pristojno i nije pametno svog čitaoca uskratiti za lakše dosetke. Vrlo je pristojno i vrlo pametno svojem čitaocu ostaviti da poslednju kvintesenciju naše mudrosti sam izgovori.

F.N.

Dobro jutro Vam želim,
draga moja Lou!



Zur Lehre vom Stil

1.
Das Erste, was noth thut, ist Leben: der Stil soll leben.

2.
Der Stil soll dir angemessen sein in Hinsicht auf eine ganz bestimmte Person, der du dich mittheilen willst. (Gesetz der doppelten Relation.)

3.
Man muß erst genau wissen: »so und so würde ich dies sprechen und vortragen« – bevor man schreiben darf. Schreiben muß eine Nachahmung sein.

4.
Weil dem Schreibenden viele Mittel des Vortragenden fehlen, so muß er im Allgemeinen eine sehr ausdrucksvolle Art von Vortrag zum Vorbild haben: das Abbild davon, das Geschriebene, wird schon nothwendig viel blässer ausfallen.

5.
Der Reichthum an Leben verräth sich durch Reichthum an Gebärden. Man muß Alles, Länge und Kürze der Sätze, die Interpunktionen, die Wahl der Worte, die Pausen, die Reihenfolge der Argumente – als Gebärden empfinden lernen.

6.
Vorsicht vor der Periode! Zur Periode haben nur die Menschen ein Recht, die einen langen Athem auch im Sprechen haben. Bei den Meisten ist die Periode eine Affektation.

7.
Der Stil soll beweisen, daß man an seine Gedanken glaubt, und sie nicht nur denkt, sondern empfindet.

8.
Je abstrakter die Wahrheit ist, die man lehren will, um so mehr muß man erst die Sinne zu ihr verführen.

9.
Der Takt des guten Prosaikers in der Wahl seiner Mittel besteht darin, dicht an die Poesie heranzutreten, aber niemals zu ihr überzutreten.

10.
Es ist nicht artig und klug, seinem Leser die leichteren Einwände vorwegzunehmen. Es ist sehr artig und sehr klug, seinem Leser zu überlassen, die letzte Quintessenz unsrer Weisheit selber auszusprechen.

F. N.
Einen guten Morgen,
meine liebe Lou!

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.

Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too,
Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again,
What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true,
Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men.

Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?

Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn,
If red or black the gods will favor most,
Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn,
Struggling to heave some rock against the host.

Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,
For now I've business with this drop of dew,
And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower--
I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue.

This bed of herd's grass and wild oats was spread
Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use.
A clover tuft is pillow for my head,
And violets quite overtop my shoes.

And now the cordial clouds have shut all in,
And gently swells the wind to say all's well;
The scattered drops are falling fast and thin,
Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell.

I am well drenched upon my bed of oats;
But see that globe come rolling down its stem,
Now like a lonely planet there it floats,
And now it sinks into my garment's hem.

Drip drip the trees for all the country round,
And richness rare distills from every bough;
The wind alone it is makes every sound,
Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.

For shame the sun will never show himself,
Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so;
My dripping locks--they would become an elf,
Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.

Henry David Thoreau

Be in me as the eternal moods
of the bleak wind, and not
As transient things are -
gaiety of flowers..
Have me in the strong loneliness
of sunless cliffs
And grey of waters.
Let the gods speak softly of us
In days hereafter,
The shadowy flowers of Orcus
Remember thee.

Blaue Stunde

I

Ich trete in die dunkelblaue Stunde -
da ist der Flur, die Kette schließt sich zu
und nun im Raum ein Rot auf einem Munde
und eine Schale später Rosen -- Du!

Wir wissen beide, jene Worte,
die jeder oft zu anderen sprach und trug,
sind zwischen uns wie nichts und fehl am Orte:
dies ist das Ganze und der letzte Zug.

Das Schweigende ist so weit fortgeschritten
und füllt den Raum und denkt sich selber zu
die Stunde -- nichts gehofft und nichts gelitten --
mit ihrer Schale später Rosen -- Du.

II

Dein Haupt verfließt, ist weiß und will sich hüten,
indessen sammelt sich auf deinem Mund
die ganze Lust, der Purpur und die Blüten
aus deinem angestammten Ahnengrund.

Du bist so weiß, man denkt, du wirst zerfallen
vor lauter Schnee, vor lauter Blütenlos,
totweiße Rosen, Glied für Glied -- Korallen
nur auf den Lippen, schwer und wundengroß.

Du bist so weich, du gibst von etwas Kunde,
von einem Glück aus Sinken und Gefahr
in einer blauen, dunkelblauen Stunde
und wenn sie ging, weiß keiner, ob sie war.

III

Ich frage dich, du bist doch eines andern,
was trägst du mir die späten Rosen zu?
Du sagst, die Träume gehn, die Stunden wandern,
was ist das alles: er und ich und du?

«Was sich erhebt, das will auch wieder enden,
was sich erlebt -- wer weiß denn das genau,
die Kette schließt, man schweigt in diesen Wänden
und dort die Weite, hoch und dunkelblau.»

Šta instant-zalihe znanja kažu o Bennu:

He had been “publicly labeled a swine by the Nazis, an imbecile by the Communists, an intellectual prostitute by the deomocrates, a renegade by the emigrants, and a pathological nihilist by the religious."
Hmm... pre bih rekao da je za komuniste bio nazi swine, a za naciste imbecil.
No, tko njih jebe. Poslušajmo šta kaže jedna od njegovih izražajnih pesama :

Nikada usamljeniji -

Nikada usamljeniji do u avgustu:
Ispunjenja tren - po zemljishtu
paljevine crvene i zlatne,
no, gde je tvojih bashti naslada?

Jezera svetla, nebesa mekana,
Njive chiste i sijaju tiho,
No, gde su pobeda i dokazi njeni
iz poslanstva tvojega rajha?

Gde sve se srećom dokazuje
i pretvara pogled i prstenje menja
u opor vina, u opijenost stvari -:
ti protivsreći služiš, duhu.

(1936)



Einsamer nie -

Einsamer nie als im August:
Erfüllungsstunde - im Gelände
die roten und die goldenen Brände,
doch wo ist deiner Gärten Lust?

Die Seen hell, die Himmel weich,
die Äcker rein und glänzen leise,
Doch wo sind Sieg und Siegsbeweise
aus dem von dir vertretenen Reich?

Wo alles sich durch Glück beweist
und tauscht den Blick und tauscht die Ringe
in Weingeruch, im Rausch der Dinge -:
dienst du dem Gegenglück, dem Geist.

(S početka kao političkog bića)

- Benjamin über Baudelaire -
Das Paris des Second Empire bei Baudelaire

Die Bohčme – Boemština

Kod Marxa se boemstvo (die Bohčme) pojavljuje u dosta razjašnjavajućem kontekstu. On mu pripisuje zaverenike po pozivu, kojima se obimno bavi u članku memoara policijskog agenta de la Hoddea, izašlom 1850. u "Neuen Rheinschen Zeitungu" (Novom Rajnskom Časopisu). Sebi predočiti Baudelaireovu fiziognomiju, znači - govoriti o sličnosti koju on pokazuje sa ovim političkim tipusom. Marx ga ocrtava na sledeći način: "Sa uspostavljanjem proleteske zavere, javila se potreba za deobom rada: članovi su se delili u povremene zaverenike (po potrebi), conspirateurs d'occasion, što će reći radnike, koji su zaveru upražnjavali samo uzgred, pored nekog svojeg tamo zaposlenja, koji su posećivali isključivo sastanke i čekali na naredjenja šefova da se pojave na skupovima, i u zaverenike po profesiji, koji su čitavu svoju delatnost posvetili konspiraciji i od nje živeli... Životni položaj ove klase već unapred odredjuje i čitav njen karakter... Njihova oklevajuća, u pojedinačnim stvarima više od strane slučajnosti nego same delatnosti ovisna egzistencija, njihov neredovni život, čijeg su jedine čvrste tačke krčme vinara – rendezvous stecišta zaverenika - neizbežna njihova poznastva sa svakojakim sumnjivim ljudima placira ih u onaj životni krug, koji se u Parisu naziva la bohčme."

Uzgred treba primetiti da je i sam Napoleon III svoj uspon otpočeo u takvom jednom miljeu - koji odgovara upravo opisanom. Poznato je da je jedna od alatki njegovog perioda vladavine bilo Društvo 10. decembra, na osnovu čijeg je kadra Marx uspostavio "čitavu nedoredjenu, raspojasanu, tamo-'vamo razbacanu masu, koju Francuzi nazivaju la Bohčme." Za svog kraljevanja Napoleon je razvio svoju konspirativnu praxu. Neočekivane proklamacije i tajanstvenost, rogobatni ispadi i neprobojna ironija spadaju u državni rezon Druge Imperije. Iste crte nalazimo i u Baudelaireovim teoretskim spisima. On svoje uvide iznosi najčešće apodiktično. Diskusija nije njegova stvar. On joj se sklanja sa puta, onda čak i kada bi krute protivrečnosti u tezama, koje on jedne za drugima prihvata kao svoje, raspravu i zahtevale. "Salon iz 1846." posvetio je "buržoaziji"; on istupa kao njihov glasnogovornik, dok njegov gest nije onaj advocatusa diaboli. Kasnije, na primer u njegovoj invektivi protiv škole bon sensa, on nalazi za " 'honnete' bourgeoise" i notara, buržoaskim osobama od poštovanja, akcente najrabijatnije boemštine. Oko 1850. objavljuje da je umetnost neodvojiva od korisnosti; malo godina kasnije on zastupa l'art pour l'art -tezu. Pri svemu tome, o posredovanju svojih teza brine se koliko i Napoleon III kada preko noći, i iza ledja francuskom parlamentu, predje sa zaštitne carine na slobodni promet robe. Ove crte razjašnjavaju barem zašto je oficijelna kritika – pre svih Jules Lemaitrea – osetila tako malo od teoretske energije sabijene u Baudelairovoj prozi.
U svojem opisu conspirateura po profesiji Marx ovako nastavlja: "Jedini uslov revolucije po njima je dostatna organizacija njihove zavere... Bacaju se na izume, koji bi trebalo da izvedu revolucionarna čuda; zapaljive bombe, uništavajuće mašine od magičnog dejstva, emojti (neredi), koji bi trebalo da dejstvuju tim čudotvornije i više iznenadjujuće što manje racionalnog povoda i osnova imaju. Takvim jednim otaljavanjem projekata zauzeti, nemaju drugog cilja do obaranja postojeće vlade, dok najdublje preziru teoretsko posvećivanje radnika u njihove klasne interese. Otuda njihovo ne proletersko, već plebejsko nerviranje nad habits noirs (crnim haljinama), manje ili više obrazovanim ljudima, koji zastupaju ovu stranu pokreta, od kojih se ali, kao oficijelnih reprezentanata Partije, nikada ne mogu sasvim ratosiljati". Politički uvidi Bodlerovi u samom osnovu ne prevazilaze ove zaverenika po pozivu. Svejedno da li svoje simpatije usmerava ka klerikalnom nazadnjaštvu ili poklanja ustanku iz 48. - njihov izraz je neposredan, a osnov porozan. Slika koju nudi u februarskim danima - sa puškom mašući na nekoj pariškoj raskrsnici, i rečima "Dole sa generalom Aupickom!"- ubedljiv je dokaz za to (gen. Aupick bio je B-ov. Očuh). Svakako je mogao on da Flauberovu rečenicu: "Od sve politike razumem samo jednu stvar: revolte." prisvoji kao svoju. To bi onda moglo da se shvati onako kako to iznosi završni pasus iz jednog od njegovih, kao nacrtima o Belgiji sačuvanim zapisima: " 'Živela revolucija!' kažem kao što bih rekao 'Živelo uništavanje! Živela pokora! Živelo kažnjavanje! Živela smrt!' Ne bih ja bio srećan samo kao žrtva; ni uloga dželata za mene ne bi bila zgorega – kako bih revoluciju osetio sa obe strane! Svi mi imamo republikanski duh u krvi kao što imamo i sifilis u kostima; mi smo demokratski infincirani i siflistični." Ono što Baudelaire ovde iskazuje moglo bi se nazvati metafizikom provokatora. U Belgiji, gde je ova zabeleška nastala, on je jedno vreme važio za potkazivača francuske policije. Slični aranžmani po sebi bili su tako malo začudjujući, da Bodler 20. decembra 1854 svojoj majci u vezi književnih policijskih stipendanata piše: "Nikada se moje ime neće pojaviti u njihovim sramnim registrima." Ono što je Bodleru u Belgiji donelo takav glas, teško da je bilo samo neprijateljstvo koje je otvoreno pokazivao spram tamo proslavljenog i izgnanog Hugo-a. Udela u nastajanju ovog trača imala je dakako i njegova pustošeća ironija; vrlo je moguće da ga je rado i sam širio. Culte de la blague (kult vica), koji opet nalazimo kod Georgea Sorela i koji je postao neodstranjiva komponenta fašističke propagande, izgradjuje kod Bodlera svoj prvi oplodnik. Naslov pod kojim i duh u kojem je Celiné pisao svoje Bagatele za jedan pokolj, bodlerovski je dnevnički unos: "Lepa bi se jedna konspiracija mogla organizovati u cilju uništenja jevrejske rase". Blankista Rigault, koji je svoju konspiratorsku karijeru završio kao načelnik policije pariške komune, izgleda da je imao isti mračni humor, o kojem se i u svedočanstvima o Bodleru mnogo govori. "Rigault je", stoji u "Hommes de la revolution 1871" Ch. Prolesa, "u svim stvarima i pri velikoj hladnokrvnosti imao nešto od pustog lakrdijaša. To mu je bilo neotudjivo, sve do njegovog fanatizma". Čak i terorističke maštarije, koje Marx sreće kod zaverenika (conspirateur), kod Bodlera imaju svoju opreku. "Ako ikada", kako 23.decembra 1865 piše svojoj majci, "ponovo iznadjem napon i energiju, koju sam nekoliko puta do sada posedovao, svojoj ću srdžbi besu dati zraka kroz sablažnjujuće knjige. Želim da čitavu ljudsku rasu protiv sebe nadam i rasrdim. To bi bilo moje uživanje, koje bi me za sve obeštetilo." Ovaj zadrti bes – la rogne – bio je stanje, koje je kroz pola veka borbi na barikadama hranilo pariške zaverenike po pozivu.
"Oni su ti", kaže Marx o ovim zaverenicima, " koji su postavili i upravljali prvim barikadama." I doista, u stalnom središtu konspirativnog pokreta stoji barikada. Ona ima posebnu revolucionarnu tradiciju. Preko četiri hiljade barikada povlačilo se po gradu u julskoj revoluciji. Kada Fourier traga za jednim primerom "travail non salarie mais passione" ne nalazi ni jedan približniji od podizanja barikade. Hugo je u Jadnicima izrazito upečatljivo oslikao mrežu tih barikada, pri čemu je njihovu opsadu ostavio u senci. "Svuda je motrila nevidljiva policija revolta. Održavala je red, što će reći noć...

(to be continued – we shall overcome, kako to grozno zvuči...)

Flower of Love

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without
name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of
Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in
mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the
dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? -
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is
past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the
root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in
wasted days,
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.

PART 3.

HELL.

1.
Hell is a city much like London--
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,
And there is little or no fun done; _150
Small justice shown, and still less pity.

2.
There is a Castles, and a Canning,
A Cobbett, and a Castlereagh;
All sorts of caitiff corpses planning
All sorts of cozening for trepanning _155
Corpses less corrupt than they.

3.
There is a ***, who has lost
His wits, or sold them, none knows which;
He walks about a double ghost,
And though as thin as Fraud almost-- _160
Ever grows more grim and rich.

4.
There is a Chancery Court; a King;
A manufacturing mob; a set
Of thieves who by themselves are sent
Similar thieves to represent; _165
An army; and a public debt.

5.
Which last is a scheme of paper money,
And means--being interpreted--
'Bees, keep your wax--give us the honey,
And we will plant, while skies are sunny, _170
Flowers, which in winter serve instead.'

6.
There is a great talk of revolution--
And a great chance of despotism--
German soldiers--camps--confusion--
Tumults--lotteries--rage--delusion-- _175
Gin--suicide--and methodism;

7.
Taxes too, on wine and bread,
And meat, and beer, and tea, and cheese,
From which those patriots pure are fed,
Who gorge before they reel to bed _180
The tenfold essence of all these.

8.
There are mincing women, mewing,
(Like cats, who amant misere,)
Of their own virtue, and pursuing
Their gentler sisters to that ruin, _185
Without which--what were chastity?

9.
Lawyers--judges--old hobnobbers
Are there--bailiffs--chancellors--
Bishops--great and little robbers--
Rhymesters--pamphleteers--stock-jobbers-- _190
Men of glory in the wars,--

10.
Things whose trade is, over ladies
To lean, and flirt, and stare, and simper,
Till all that is divine in woman
Grows cruel, courteous, smooth, inhuman, _195
Crucified 'twixt a smile and whimper.

11.
Thrusting, toiling, wailing, moiling,
Frowning, preaching--such a riot!
Each with never-ceasing labour,
Whilst he thinks he cheats his neighbour, _200
Cheating his own heart of quiet.

12.
And all these meet at levees;--
Dinners convivial and political;--
Suppers of epic poets;--teas,
Where small talk dies in agonies;-- _205
Breakfasts professional and critical;

13.
Lunches and snacks so aldermanic
That one would furnish forth ten dinners,
Where reigns a Cretan-tongued panic,
Lest news Russ, Dutch, or Alemannic _210
Should make some losers, and some winners--

45.
At conversazioni--balls--
Conventicles--and drawing-rooms--
Courts of law--committees--calls
Of a morning--clubs--book-stalls-- _215
Churches--masquerades--and tombs.


15.
And this is Hell--and in this smother
All are damnable and damned;
Each one damning, damns the other;
They are damned by one another, _220
By none other are they damned.

16.
'Tis a lie to say, 'God damns'!
Where was Heaven's Attorney General
When they first gave out such flams?
Let there be an end of shams, _225
They are mines of poisonous mineral.

17.
Statesmen damn themselves to be
Cursed; and lawyers damn their souls
To the auction of a fee;
Churchmen damn themselves to see _230
God's sweet love in burning coals.

18.
The rich are damned, beyond all cure,
To taunt, and starve, and trample on
The weak and wretched; and the poor
Damn their broken hearts to endure _235
Stripe on stripe, with groan on groan.

19.
Sometimes the poor are damned indeed
To take,--not means for being blessed,--
But Cobbett's snuff, revenge; that weed
From which the worms that it doth feed _240
Squeeze less than they before possessed.

20.
And some few, like we know who,
Damned--but God alone knows why--
To believe their minds are given
To make this ugly Hell a Heaven; _245
In which faith they live and die.

21.
Thus, as in a town, plague-stricken,
Each man be he sound or no
Must indifferently sicken;
As when day begins to thicken, _250
None knows a pigeon from a crow,--

22.
So good and bad, sane and mad,
The oppressor and the oppressed;
Those who weep to see what others
Smile to inflict upon their brothers; _255
Lovers, haters, worst and best;

23.
All are damned--they breathe an air,
Thick, infected, joy-dispelling:
Each pursues what seems most fair,
Mining like moles, through mind, and there _260
Scoop palace-caverns vast, where Care
In throned state is ever dwelling.

I Speak Not

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

George Gordon Byron

Voleo bih iskreno da su vesti dole ruske patke. Alii ....

Negde oko nedelju dana pre nego što je švedska firma GGF obznanila da želi da kupi danas širom sveta najpoznatiji filesharing-search site, odjednom je skočila cena njenih akcija. Toliko, da je burzovna kontrola trgovinu onemogućila na odredjeno vreme, a na osnovu sumnje koja se tiče insider-poslova.

Ima burzovnih priča, u toj meri bajkovitih, da ladno nude štof za Holivud-salame: bajka o Netscapeu, koja označava početak WWW-Booma pripada ovoj kategoriji, hladnokrvno kockanje i klackanje osnivača Google-a, koji su virtuelnu vrednost svojeg poduzeća pustili da isprva raste, i raste - dok nisu udarili. Danas to, eto, u malom stilu radi GGF - ovaj Liliput Global Player.
Ali, mnogi su pali na nos pokušavajući isto: ovo je nešto kao deja-vu, ovaj stunt. Najpoznatiji primer je do sada Napster. Kupci su se nadali da će barem deo do tada ilegalnih korisnika pridobiti i kao legalne mušterije. Umesto toga Npaster je prijavio insolvenc, a kupac, Bertelsmann copyright-tužbe konkurenata iz muzičke industrije.
GGF kupuje takoreći samo ime i site.

Zamršena stvar, sve dok se ne odmrsi: našaoslt uvek onda neko nastrada, uglavnom pošten, avanturistički nsatrojen svet.

Uglavnom, ilegalni download taman je počeo da zahvaljujući Zalivu zadobija obrise političkog stava, kada je sve otišlo niz niskopadajući potočić berzovne igre.

Piratski zaliv je ipak potopljen
>20O 075B0
09.07.2009.
Sajt thepiratebay.org se prodaje. Samo pre mesec dana, činilo nam se da je ova vest nekakva neslana šala. Ali danas, ona je postala realnost.
Zaliv kupuje firma Global Gaming Factory X, softverska kompanija iz Švedske, za 7,8 miliona dolara. Polovina ove sume će biti isplaćena Piratskom zalivu u gotovom i to je taman toliko koliko iznosi kazna po sudskoj presudi stokholmskog suda od 17. aprila ove godine, a koju Zaliv nije imao nameru da plati.
Ova vest je među žiteljima Piratskog zaliva izazvala čuđenje, zaprepašćenje, ogorčenje, revolt i gnev. Svih šest godina postojanja, Piratski zaliv je s ponosom držao visoko podigutu svoju crnu zastavu s mrtvačkom glavom i ukrštenim kostima. Jedan od osnivača sajta thepiratebay.org Peter Sunde, u više navrata je izjavio da stvar nije u razmeni fajlova, već u novim odnosima u mreži. Zašao sam na vebforum Zaliva i tamo naišao na mnoge izjave ljubavi, gomilu reči podrške i ne malo proklinjanja podlog kapitalizma, na svim jezicima sveta. Piratski zaliv je bio hibrid ser Frensisa Drejka i Če Gevare, nešto između net-kluba jakobinaca i kovčega s opljačkanim blagom. I sada se sve to prodaje.
Kompanija GGF je već izjavila da će iz mreže ukloniti sav materijal kojim se krši copyright. U tom slučaju, Piratski zaliv će se pretvoriti u torent-trekera, koji u ulozi lojalanog agenta radi u ime i za račun vlasnika autorskih prava, kao što je na primertorrents.ru. Ali to i nije najgora varijanta. Najgore bi bilo da se Zaliv, po čijoj su obali još nedavno lutali jednooki pirati s musketama na ramenu, pretvori u običnu online prodavnicu. U slučaju da se to desi, sajtu se mora promeniti ime, jer ne može biti ničeg sramnijeg od supermarketa pod tako slavnim imenom, podignutog na polju nedavne bitke.
Ljudi u mreži su revoltirani, a i ja zajedno s njima. Stvar je u tome što Zaliv nikada nije bio nikakav biznis-projekat. On je prosto bio umrežena zajednica stvorena trudom 25 miliona ljudi. Ovi ljudi su trošili svoje vreme i svoj internet trafik kako bi izgradili sistem za razmenu informacija. Oni su na pesku Zaliva gradili svoj slobodni svet na čijim su granicama bile postavljene table s natpisom: Ovde se ništa ne prodaje! Bio je to virtualni raj komunizma i on je sada sav, bez ostatka, izložen prodaji. I to kome! - običnoj softverskoj kompaniji koja je uredno registrovana na svim instancama i koja, sa svim mogućim pečatima, vodi besprekorno pristojan život. Njihov personal ne ume da pije rum iz flaše i njihove sekretarice ne nose za pojasom zadenute bodeže. Kakav pad! Kakva sramota!
Ugovor još nije potpisan, ali se u vezi s njim u kovitlacima šire glasine i pretpostavke. Peter Sunde uverava javnost da se ništa strašno nije dogodilo i da će kupac već započetom poslu dodati novi impuls. Reč je o decentralizaciji procesa kako bi se ostvarila veća bezbednost korisnika. Upravi kompanije, navodno neće biti dopušteno da zna koje fajlove korisnici među sobom razmenjuju. Torenti će se čuvati na serverima neke druge kompanije koja, takođe neće moći da zna koji će im se pirsi(peers) priključivati. Ali u to niko ne veruje. Ljudi koji su nastanjeni u Zalivu, svom meniju su dodali još jednu opciju: uništiti korisnički nalog. Verovatno da će uskoro uslediti masovna samoubistva korisničkih naloga i masovno napuštanje Zaliva od strane pirata.
I kuda će poći svo to pleme altruista po rođenju, svi ti gledaoci krijumčarenih filmova i čitaoci slobodno distribuiranih knjiga? Moguće je da se razaranjem Zaliva završava herojsko vreme otvorenog otpora i počinje period delatnosti malih zbijenih grupa u podzemlju. Sve će postati drugačije, jer jedna stvar je osipati paljbu po Piratskom zalivu koji je lako uočljiv kroz bilo koji durbin, pa čak i bez durbina, a sasvim druga juriti za trošnim džunkama ili čamcima s motorom po širokom moru ogromne internet mreže. Uostalom, žestina ovog rata je tako velika, da je sasvim moguće da će se najamnici kapitala i banditi šou-biznisa time i baviti.
Da će s Piratskim zalivom sve biti u redu - ne verujem. Mislim da će se sve ovo loše završiti. Prodati Zaliv će do kraja stradati, a rat u mreži će se nastaviti. Povećaće se potražnja za sistemima zaštite korisnika kao što je Tor (anonymity network). Hiljade ljudi će naučiti da koristi mogućnosti beztrekerne razmene fajlovima. Evo, ja sam danas sa mreže skinuo i instalirao na moj komjuter novitet, koji kao da je gađao i pogodio vreme kada da izađe na svetlo dana. To je Opera Unit, proizvod male Norveške kompanije, koja već mnogo godina vodi neravnopravnu borbu s monstrumom kao što je Majkrosoft. Opera Unit može da pretvori bilo koji kopjuter u server i tako korisniku omogući razdavanje fajlova. Tako se može sazdati individualni Piratski zaliv kojim se lako upravlja i koji se ničim ne može platiti.
Aleksej Polikovski, Novaja Gazeta, 06.07.2009.
Preveo sa ruskog Haim Moreno

A Meeting With Despair

AS evening shaped I found me on a moor
Which sight could scarce sustain:
The black lean land, of featureless contour,
Was like a tract in pain.

"This scene, like my own life," I said, "is one
Where many glooms abide;
Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun--
Lightless on every side.

I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
To see the contrast there:
The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
"There's solace everywhere!"

Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
I dealt me silently
As one perverse--misrepresenting Good
In graceless mutiny.

Against the horizon's dim-descernčd wheel
A form rose, strange of mould:
That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
Rather than could behold.

"'Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
To darkness!" croaked the Thing.
"Not if you look aloft!" said I, intent
On my new reasoning.

"Yea--but await awhile!" he cried. "Ho-ho!--
Look now aloft and see!"
I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven's radiant show
Had gone. Then chuckled he.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.

68. Der Wille Zur Macht, Der Europäische Nihilismus
Zbog čega sve spada na glumatanje.

Modernom čoveku nedostaje: siguran instinkt (kao posledica jednog dugog oblika delatnosti istovrsnog jednom soju čoveka); nesposobnost da se priloži nešto savršeno posledica je samo toga: - pojedinačno se škola choveku ne da nikada ponoviti (nadoknaditi).
Ono što jedan moral, jedan zakonik stvara, duboki je instinkt za to da tek automatizam čini savršenstvo mogućim u životu i u stvaralaštvu.
Ali, sada smo dostigli dijametralno oprečnu tačku, da, čak smo je i hteli dostići: najekstrmenija svesnost, samopronicanje čoveka i istorije... - time smo praktično najudaljeniji od savršenstva u bitku, činjenju i hotimičnosti (volji): naša požuda, naša volja čak i za saznanjem simptom je kobne dekadencije ... Stremimo suprotnosti onoga čemu teže snažne rase, snažne prirode - pojimanje je jedan kraj ...
Da je nauka moguća u smislu u kojem se danas izvodi, dokaz je za to da elementarni instinkti, samoodbrambeni i zaštitni životni instinkti više ne fungiraju (ne otpravljaju svoju dužnost) - ne skupljamo više, mi rasipamo kapitalije predaka, pa i u načinu na koji saznajemo.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
(Jedan primer)

Donosim vam ovde prevod uvoda "Morgenroethe" (Osvit, Zora), intimne i Nietzscheu samom najdraže njegove knjige, u površnom i često pogrešnom prevodu Božidara Zeca, i kao usporedni primer moj prevod s lista, kako bi zajedno videli i pokušali na osnovu tih par rečenica da shvatimo zbog čega su srpskim (hrvatskim) čitaocima Nietzsche i njegovo mišljenje uvek bili i ostali tako udaljeni:

-
VORREDE

In diesem Buche findet man einen "Unterirdischen" an der Arbeit, einen Bohrenden, Grabenden, Untergrabenden. Man sieht ihn, vorausgesetzt, dass man Augen für solchen Arbeit der Tiefe hat -, wie er langsam, besonnen, mit sanfter Unerbittlichkeit vorwärts kommt, ohne dass die Not sich allzusehr verriete, welche jede lange Entbehrung von Licht und Luft mit sich bringt; man könnte ihn selbst bei seiner dunklen Arbeit zufrieden nennen. Scheint es nicht, dass irgendein Glaube ihn führt, ein Trost entschädigt? Dass er vielleicht seine eigne lange Finsternios haben will, sein Unverständliches, Verborgenes, Rätselhaftes, weil er weiß, was er auch haben wird: seinen eignen Morgen, seine eigne Erlösung, siene eigne M o r g e n r ö t e? ... Gewiß, er wird zurückkehren: fragt ihn nicht, was er da unten will, er wird es euch selbst sagen, dieser scheinbare Trophonios und Unterirdische, wenn er erst wieder "Mensch geworden" ist. Man verlernt gründlich das Schweigen, wenn man solnage, wie er Maulwurf war, allein war ...

Predgovor

U ovoj knjizi čovek nalazi na poslu "podzemnika", bušača, kopača, podrivača. Čovek ga vidi, pod pretpostavkom da ima oči za takav dubinski rad, kako lagano, smišljeno s blagom neumoljivošću kroči napred, kako se ne bi odveć pojavljivala preka potreba koju sobom donosi svako dugo lišavanje svetlosti i vazduha; čovek bi njega samog pri njegovom mračnom poslu mogao nazvati srećnim. Ne čini li se da ga vodi neka vera, da ga obeštećuje nekakva uteha? da možda hoće da ima svoju sopstvenu dugu tamu, nešto svoje nerazumljivo, skriveno, zagonetno, jer zna šta će i on imati: svoje sopstveno jutro, svoje sopstveno izbavljenje, svoju sopstvenu z o r u?... Izvesno je da će se on vratiti: ne pitajte ga šta želi tamo dole, on će vam to sam reći, taj prividni Trofonije i podzemnik, tek kada opet "postane čovek". Čovek se oduči od ćutanja kada je tako dugo - kao on - bio krtica, usamljen ..

preveo- Božidar Zec, Moderna - Beograd, 1989
-

U ovoj knjizi nailazi se na "podzemaljca" na poslu, bušećeg, kopajućeg, potkopavajućeg. Vidi ga se pod pretpostavkom da se imaju oči za jedan ovakav dubonosni rad - kako polako, pribrano, sa blagom neumoljivošću napreduje, i bez toga da nužda, koju sobom donosi svako dugo odricanje od svetlosti i vazduha, sebe odveć olako odaje; moglo bi ga se čak i pri njegovoj mračnoj raboti nazvati zadovoljnim. Ne izleda li da ga vodi neka vera , da ga neka uteha obeštećuje. Da možda želi svoja vlastita duga pomračenja, njegovo nerazumljivo, skriveno, tajnovito, kako zna šta će svakako imati: svoje sopstveno jutro, svoje očišćenje, svoj sopstveni o s v i t? ... Izvesno, vratiće se - ne pitajte ga šta traži tamo dole , sam će vam reći, taj prividni Trofonije i podzemaljac, kada je opet "postao čovek". Od ćutanja se potpuno oduči, kada se tako dugo kao on bilo krticom, sam ...

Pametni ste ljudi, i sami ćete uvideti razliku izmedju ova dva prevoda. Ali, krucijelna je razlika u samoj poslednjoj reči: 'allein', koju Zec prevodi sa usamljen, dok Niče odlučno misli: sam.
Vredno je možda napomenuti da je za mene ovo bilo maltene uporedo prevodjenje, sa lista. I, možda baš u tome leži tajna približavanju Ničeu: u učenju nevinosti.

Written on a Summer Evening

The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, -
That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.

John Keats

Wir Immoralisten
Unter Künstlern
Kritik der Freigeisterei
Der Skeptiker redet.

(Mi imoralisti
Medju umetnicima
Kritiku slobodoumništva
Govori Skeptik)

1. Art is not the sublime descent of the infinite into the finite abjection of the body and sexuality. On the contrary, it is the production of an infinite subjective series, through the finite means of a material subtraction.

2. Art cannot merely be the expression of a particularity (be it ethnic or personal). Art is the impersonal production of a truth that is addressed to everyone.

3. Art is the process of a truth, and this truth is always the truth of the sensible or sensual, the sensible qua sensible. This means†: the transformation of the sensible into an happening of the Idea.

4. There is necessarily a plurality of arts, and however we may imagine the ways in which the arts might intersect there is no imaginable way of totalising this plurality.

5. Every art develops from an impure form, and the progressive purification of this impurity shapes the history both of a particular artistic truth and of its exhaustion.

6. The subjects of an artistic truth are the works which compose it.

7. This composition is an infinite configuration, which in our own contemporary artistic context is a totality.

8. The real of art is ideal [Čelle] impurity conceived through the immanent process of its purification. In other words, the raw material of art is determined by the contingent inception of a form. Art is the secondary formalisation of the advent of a hitherto formless form.

9. The only maxim of contemporary art is: do not be imperial. This also means: do not be democratic, if democracy implies conformity with the imperial idea of political liberty.

10. Non-imperial art is necessarily abstract art, in this sense: it abstracts itself from all particularity, and formalises this gesture of abstraction.

11. The abstraction of non-imperial art is not concerned with any particular public or audience. Non-imperial art is related to a kind of aristocratic-proletarian ethic: it does what it says, without distinguishing between kinds of people.

12. Non-imperial art must be as rigorous as a mathematical demonstration, as surprising as an ambush in the night, and as elevated as a star.

13. Today art can only be made from the starting point of that which, as far as Empire is concerned, doesn't exist. Through its abstraction, art renders this in-existence visible. This is what governs the formal principle of every art: the effort to render visible to everyone that which, for Empire (and so by extension for everyone, though from a different point of view), doesn't exist.

14. Since it is sure of its ability to control the entire domain of the visible and the audible via the laws governing commercial circulation and democratic communication, Empire no longer censures anything. All art, and all thought, is ruined when we accept this permission to consume, to communicate and to enjoy. We should become the pitiless censors of ourselves.

15. It is better to do nothing than to contribute to the invention of formal ways of rendering visible that which Empire already recognises as existent.

alain badiou

Thčses sur l’art contemporain

1. L’art n’est pas la descente sublime de l’infini dans l’abjection finie du corps et du sexe. Il est au contraire la production, par le moyen fini d’une soustraction matérielle, d’une série subjective infinie.

2. L’art ne saurait ętre expression de la particularité, qu’elle soit ethnique ou moďque. Il est la production impersonnelle d’une vérité qui s’adresse ŕ tous.

3. La vérité dont l’art est le processus est toujours vérité du sensible, en tant que sensible. Ce qui veut dire : transformation du sensible en événement de l’Idée.

4. Il y a nécessairement pluralité des arts, et quelles que soient les intersections imaginables, aucune totalisation de cette pluralité n’est, elle, imaginable.

5. Tout art est venue d’une forme impure, et la purification de cette impureté compose l’histoire, et de la vérité artistique, et de son exténuation.

6. Les sujets d’une vérité artistique sont les Suvres qui la composent.

7. Cette composition est une configuration infinie, qui, dans le contexte artistique du moment, est une totalité générique.

8. Le réel de l’art est l’impureté idéelle comme processus immanent de sa purification. Autrement dit : l’art a pour matériau premier la contingence événementielle d’une forme. L’art est formalisation seconde de la venue d’une forme comme informe.

9. La seule maxime de l’art contemporain est de n’ętre pas impérial. Ce qui veut dire aussi qu’il ne doit pas ętre démocratique, si démocratique signifie : conforme ŕ l’idée impériale de la liberté politique.

10. Un art non impérial est forcément un art abstrait, au sens suivant : Il s’abstrait de toute particularité, et formalise ce geste d’abstraction.

11. L’abstraction de l’art non impérial ne considčre aucun public particulier. L’art non impérial est lié ŕ un aristocratisme prolétaire : il fait ce qu’il dit, sans acception des personnes.

12. L’art non impérial doit ętre aussi solidement lié qu’une démonstration, aussi surprenant qu’une attaque de nuit, et aussi élevé qu’une étoile.

13. L’art se fait aujourd’hui ŕ partir seulement de ce qui, pour l’Empire, n’existe pas. L’art construit abstraitement la visibilité de cette inexistence. C’est ce qui commande, dans tous les arts, le principe formel : la capacité ŕ rendre pour tous visible ce qui, pour l’Empire, et donc aussi pour tous, mais d’un autre point de vue, n’existe pas.

14. Convaincu de contrôler l’étendue entičre du visible et de l’audible par les lois commerciales de la circulation et les lois démocratiques de la communication, l’Empire ne censure plus rien. S’abandonner ŕ cette autorisation de jouir est ruine de tout art, comme de toute pensée. Nous devons ętre, impitoyablement, nos propres censeurs.

15. Mieux vaut ne rien faire que de travailler formellement ŕ la visibilité de ce qui, pour l’Empire, existe

You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.


I who have seen you amid the primal things
Was angry when they spoke your name
IN ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world could dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion see-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.



undefinedTi ušla si iz noći
Sa cvećem u ruci,
A sada ćeš izaći iz dar-mara ljudi,
Iz pometnje govora o tebi.

Ja koji te videh usred prvobitnih vješči
Bio bih besan kada bi govorili tvoje ime
Na prosečnim mestima.
Hteo bih da mi hladni talasi poplave misli,
A svet neka se osuši kao mrtav list,
Ili kao maslačkova krljušt i bude pometen,
Kako opet mogao ja bih te naći,
Sam(u).
undefined

Jedna sumanuta naga žena potkresuje krstače uz grohotno cerekanje. Samo jedan beli mermerni obelisk strči iznad drugih za čitavu glavu. (Luda ga neka izdaleka obilazi.)

Zveckaju lnaci na zglobovima jednog para koji ulazi u kapelicu pod mermernim obeliskom. Jedan učeni crni pas otključava im lokot sa lanca i počne da jede biftek sa senfom koji mu je devojka bacila u jednu ulubljenu kacigu.
On pali kandilo a ona se svlči gola. Posle obljube, zadihani, pale na plamenu kandila cigarete i otresaju pepeo u očne duplje jedne lobanje na čijem je temenu istetovirano srce i datumi.


Jedna starica sa zvončićem oko vrata pevuši uspavanku. Druga lepi jednu kosku markama sa starih razglednica koje čita u pomrčini.

Ispod jedne ploče zagrgolji nešto, zatim iskoči jedan šareni kliker i baci ga natrag u rupu kao u automat. Iz rupe se vrati kao iz pokvarenog mehanizma – jedan medaljon veči od nokta.
Žena ga stavi pod jezik I ode.


Grobar izvlači kučinu iz usta jednog topa I uvlači glavu u cev. Unutra se čuju zvuci usne harmonike. “Ajnc, tref, pik, kec.”
Grobar govori nešto u cev kao u mikrofon. Onda pade preda nj jedna cokula okovana klincima. Iz nje se prosu šaka požutelih domina. On okrenu kartu koja je bila izletela.
Brzo vrati kučinu u cev I utaba je ilovačom.

Jedan mladić sa crnom maskom karnevalskog princa na krečom premazanom licu spušta se niz lijanu sa meseca. Balansira po žici raspetoj izmedju krstača kao po mrežama koje se suše na mesečini. Pauk krstaš sanja o ribama. Jedan slepi miš udara u mrežu negde na drugom kraju groblja. Krstaš se trče iz sna. Mladić sa karnevalskom maskom gubi ravnotežu I pada na jednu svežu humku sa belim ružama.
Sa humke pobeže jedan crni mačor noseći u zubima slepog miša. Mladić pipa Krstaču prstima I prepozna je po kosi. Vadi srebrne makaze da odseče jedan pramen.

1

Jedan je crveni tramvaj napravio dva-tri usijana kruga i onda je odleteo u reku kao opušak bačen sa mosta.
Jedna džez truba telali početak policijskog časa. Prostitutke obezglavljeno jure u skloništa.
Jedan pas skitnica silazi u pisoar. Gluvonema prostitutka laje na mesec. Jedna žena u crnini vodi lagano jednog belca na klanicu.
Jedan zalutali dečak spava na raskrsnici ispod semafora.

2

Ljudi sa belim kukuljačama cede iz jedne goleme tube crne gliste imalina i razvlače ih po požutelim zubalima ulica. Kaldrmom plove jata papirnih lađa i parčad krvave binde. Sa drveća venu mrtvački plakati.
Jedan žuti kamionet zastaje pred porodilištem, iz njega iznose male bele kovčege. Jedan drugi zastaje pred kafanom, iznose iz njega đulad i vraćaju zelene ispaljene čaure.
Izlaze slepe somnabulne žene iz barova i odlaze na mesec.

3

Jedna je kokoška snela jaje na klupi u parku. Jedan pevac izlazi iz suknje zaspale žene i aplaudira. Žena, uplašena pevanjem petla, abortira u jarku jednog krupnog plavog dečaka. Jedan taksista mu pupčanu vrpcu preseca i odlazi.
Jedan sivi golub, zaplašen plačem detinjim, pada sa krova na pločnik. Žudno pije iz lokve. Tragom njegovog kljuna niču crveni lokvanji. Žena kupa dete u lokvi i baca ga radosno uvis. Jedna probuđena starica preti iza stakla krezubim vilicama. Na trećem spratu se naglo otvori jedan prozor i izlete par belih golubova.

))<>((

Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser
If on womankind he might his anger wreak,
And thence a law did grow,
One might but one man know;
But are other creatures so?

Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
Are birds divorced, or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night?
Beasts do no jointures lose
Though they new lovers choose,
But we are made worse than those.

Who e'er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours
And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal?
Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbors,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
Good is not good unless
A thousand it possess,
But dost waste with greedines.

(Written on the occasion of the massacre carried out by the British Government
at Peterloo, Manchester 1819)

As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

I met Murder on the way -
He had a mask like Castlereagh -
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed the human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knocked out by them.

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow this mark I saw -
'I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!'

With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.

And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.

And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down;
Till they came to London town.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing
'Thou art God, and Law, and King.

'We have waited, weak and lone
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our Purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'

Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering - 'Thou art Law and God.' -

Then all cried with one accord,
'Thou art King, and God and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!'

And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education
Had cost ten millions to the nation.

For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were rightly his;
His the sceptre, crown and globe,
And the gold-inwoven robe.

So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air:

'My father Time is weak and gray
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!

He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me -
Misery, oh, Misery!'

Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting, with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.

When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale:

Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.

On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning's, lay;
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.

With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men - so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked, - but all was empty air.

As flowers beneath May's footstep waken,
As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

And the prostrate multitude
Looked - and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:

And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.

A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt - and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose

As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe

Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood, -
As if her heart had cried aloud:

'Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another;

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.

'What is Freedom? - ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well -
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

'Tis to work and have such pay
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell,

'So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.

'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak, -
They are dying whilst I speak.

'Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye;

'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More that e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.

'Paper coin - that forgery
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.

'Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.

'And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you -
Blood is on the grass like dew.

'Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood - and wrong for wrong -
Do not thus when ye are strong.

'Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their wingčd quest
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air.

'Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one -
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!

'This is slavery - savage men
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do -
But such ills they never knew.

'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand - tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery:

'Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the cave of Fame.

'For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home.

'Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude -
No - in countries that are free
Such starvation cannot be
As in England now we see.

'To the rich thou art a check,
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim, thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.

'Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold
As laws are in England - thou
Shield'st alike the high and low.

'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never
Dream that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue
Of which Priests make such ado.

'Thou art Peace - never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.

'What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth, even as a flood?
It availed, Oh, Liberty,
To dim, but not extinguish thee.

'Thou art Love - the rich have kissed
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free
And through the rough world follow thee,

'Or turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy belovčd sake
On wealth, and war, and fraud - whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.

'Science, Poetry, and Thought
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.

'Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless
Art thou - let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.

'Let a great Assembly be
Of the fearless and the free
On some spot of English ground
Where the plains stretch wide around.

'Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity.

'From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every hut, village, and town
Where those who live and suffer moan,

'From the workhouse and the prison
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young and old
Groan for pain, and weep for cold -

'From the haunts of daily life
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares
Which sows the human heart with tares -

'Lastly from the palaces
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around

'Those prison halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wail
As must make their brethren pale -

'Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold -

'Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free -

'Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.

'Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.

Let the charged artillery drive
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.

'Let the fixčd bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood
Looking keen as one for food.

'Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.

'Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war,

'And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armčd steeds
Pass, a disregarded shade
Through your phalanx undismayed.

'Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute,

'The old laws of England - they
Whose reverend heads with age are gray,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo - Liberty!

'On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.

'And if then the tyrants dare
Let them ride among you there,
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, -
What they like, that let them do.

'With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay
Till their rage has died away.

'Then they will return with shame
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek.

'Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand -
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street.

'And the bold, true warriors
Who have hugged Danger in wars
Will turn to those who would be free,
Ashamed of such base company.

'And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.

'And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'

Von der Ruhe

Das Öffentliche, hat das ein Bürger
In stiller Witterung gefaßt,
Soll er erforschen
Großmännlicher Ruhe heiliges Licht,
Und dem Aufruhr von der Brust,
Von Grund aus, wehren, seinen Winden; denn Armut macht er
Und feind ist er Erziehern der Kinder.

Ehe die Gesetze, der großmännlichen Ruhe heiliges Licht, erforschet werden, muß einer, ein Gesetzgeber oder ein Fürst, in reißenderem oder stetigerem Schicksal eines Vaterlandes und je nachdem die Rezeptivität des Volkes beschaffen ist, den Charakter jenes Schicksals, das königlichere oder gesamtere in den Verhältnissen der Menschen, zu ungestörter Zeit, usurpatorischer, wie bei griechischen Natursöhnen, oder erfahrener, wie bei Menschen von Erziehung, auffassen. Dann sind die Gesetze die Mittel, jenes Schicksal in seiner Ungestörtheit festzuhalten. Was für den Fürsten origineller Weise, das gilt, als Nachahmung, für den eigentlicheren Bürger.


O spokoju

Opštepoznato*, pribrao li je
Gradjanin za kratkog predaha to,
Otkriće on tada
Veličajnog spokoja presveti sjaj,
A kovitlacu grudi
Sa dna uskratiće njegove vetrove, jer osiromašuje
I neprijatelj je vaspitačima dece on.


Pre no što zakoni, veličajnog spokoja sveti sjaj, budu ispitani, neko mora - zakonodavac ili knez, u kovitlavijoj ili postojanijoj kobi jedne otadzbine, a uvek u odnosu na reciptivitet naroda sazdane - shvatiti karakter te sudbe, za kratkog predaha, ono kraljevskije ili pučkije u odnosima ljudi: uzurpatorskije, kao kod grčkih sinova prirode, ili iskustvenije, kao kod ljudi od obrazovanja. Tada su zakoni sredstva za održavanje te kobi neometanom. Ono kod vladaoca originalno, vazi kao oponashanje za običnog gradjanina.



*Das Öffentliche - javno (prim. prev)

Dimenzije bratskog osećanja ili glupost oplodjena ludilom


Ne bi bilo zgorega ove crtice iz jednog sumanutog vremena otpočeti recima Selinovim: biti žrtva Istorije ne znači isto shto i biti Andjeo: nedostaje tu još gomila neprikosnoveno presudnijih momenata.
Na dohvat ruke nam je ona široko rasprostranjena predrasuda, teška, duboko ukopana - "čovek je ono što jede" (i to je otkrio onaj zloduh, Engels. hm... kolosalna laž ! Čovek je i štošta drugo, mnogo jebenije i gadnije od pitanja klope. Ne treba mu zavirti samo u creva već - i prvensteno - u mozak ! Uostalom, naši su dragi naučnici odavno utvrdili da postoji nešto kao mozak creva, crevni mozak... tako... otkriće se tu josh koješta. Da bi se Čovek promenio, treba ga prvo dresirati. Trpi li dresuru? Tesko. Nikakav ga sistem nece dresirati. Snaci ce se taj ! Izbeci ce svaku kontrolu!...izvrdace, shmugnuce vec negde ! Ko ga ulovi, pravi je lisac ! Josh ako je pritom srpskog roda... ! Josh jedan mit, ali, na zalost, ovaj je saobrazan istini. Na kraju, ko ga pa jebe. Zivot je i tako prekratak ! Propovedanje morala ne obavezuje ni na shta: fingiranje choveka, chisto foliranje: svaki govnar propovednik ! Sto porocniji tim drcniji !
I, najzad ono glavno : sredjena je vrlo vazna stvar, dve muve jednim udarcem (mislio sam u svoj naivnosti mladjanih dana) – kosovski Albanci ne moraju vishe da strepe pred srpskom tiranijom, dok ce Srbi ce biti ratosiljani najpodmuklije, najskarednije i najsirovije vlasti pod kapom nebeskom: sa verbalnim shibicarem i vrhovnim komadantom na chelu. Od potopa pa na ovamo, niti je bilo niti će - ako bog da! - biti klase pretvornije i surovije, lakomije i pohlepnije na isprazna bogatstva, nalik ovim srpskim prevrtljivcima i propovednicima nacionalnog otrežnjenja! Ima li igde nezasitijih i većih picajzli u privilegijama - sitničavijih, anemichnijih?! Teško, kao što ćemo videti.

Dakle, počnimo:

Mesto radnje: Čardak ni na nebu ni na zemlji, čije su stanovnici odavno već bezuslovno sve izgubili, samo da bi preziveli - u čijim odajama odavno više nema stida. Samo ćutanje mržnje i zrikanje zlobe; tamo daleko, gde su svi do jednog društveni bogalji, u kolu koje će se, izgleda, zauvek vrteti u krug.
Tog amorfnogdana 24. marta 1999. godine po ljudskom kalendaru čardak je "mučki" , "pod okriljem mraka", zasut neumoljivim bombama koje je čitav svet uroćen protiv "malog, ali nebeskog naroda" odlučio da prospe kao gnev božji nad njim. Uobraženost ubija, kao i sve drugo - i to ćemo tek videti. Narod sve prihvata kada mu se podidje ! guta sveivo! Što ga više u govna guraju, što ga više izoluju, to je uobraženiji i samoljubiviji. A to zastrašuje, verujte mi. I što je jadniji, tim se više kurči i busa u prsa, dok se svojom bedom ponosi.
Ovaj rat došao je kao poručen, mislio je vrhovni na brzinu proizvedeni komandanat i verbalni šibicar. Izvrstan štos ! Zato su ga oberučke preuzeli i onda sve do pucanja po šavovima naduvavali i negovali! Svakih pola sata rat je iznova dočaravan, da slučajno u stanovništvu ne zamre. Sada, u ovom rasvetlujućem činu svetske istorije, koji bi trebao da jednom zauvek potvrdi SPS-istinu (sve po starom-istinu) da je čitav svet uroćen protiv nas. I tačka... Kao poslednja i odlučujuća kap otrova u peharu punom jada nastaje mešavina koja opija lazju i sav srpski povijesni bitak izvrće na glavu ! Čarobni napitak, eliksir mržnje, sa nebrojeno sporednih dejstava, pogubnih. Sad se jasno vidi, ne?, ko se to o nama Srbima brine i stara, a ko hoće da nas sravni sa zemljom ? Ko nas to čuva izlišnim naredjenjima o gašenju sobnih rasvetljenja i uredbama o zamračivanju prostorija; ko stavlja u pogon izlišne sirene, koje kao hijene oplakuju ovaj sa svih strana pristisnuti i zaista jadni narod, koji je odavno prestao da umišlja svašta i ponizno prihvatio svoje muke, bedu i torturu: u zamenu za jade dobio stanove sa kupatilima i WC-ima, u koje je mogao da odlazi sa svojom proleterskom literaturom, ne bi li redovno pojedena tri dnevna obroka u menzi "Kod Zlatnog Kaveza" teškom nuždom predao u postojanu kanalizaciju za čijim sigurnim katakombama mnogi gradjani sada, dok im bombe cepaju oblake, čeznu.
Dakle, bombe su počele da kao kisha padaju sa neba: precizne bombe doduše, čije bi zrtve postajale kolateralna šteta: damaged goods, zauvek otposlani u beslovesan san; bombe-poruke, humanitarne bombe (kill for peace); sve to uz silni optimizam krajnje odlučnosti ... svi pokolji, svi ratovi vodjeni su uz muziku optimizma: zašto bi ovaj bio izuzetak ?

Na drugoj strani, ovoj našoj, dobrodošlo je sve što iole pomaže zavodjenju masa zatucanih godinama laži i silnim staljinstičkim pohvalama u cilju dresure sa što manje trenja. Lako je pojmiti da potlačenima beda dojadi jednom zasvagda, ali, beda je i nešto kao neophodni alat za mehanizam shvatanja istorije modernog sveta. Najcrnja, najniža oholost, prazna naduvenost, zavist, gnev, laž, busanje u grudi smešno-lažnim herojstvom (koje se uglavnom svodilo na pljuvanje u pravcu neba, iz kojeg bi se pljuvačka po neumoljivom pravilu sile ravnoteže vraćala u lice junačko-pljuvaćko); prkos živih štitova mostova koji tog dana izvesno neće biti bombardovani - branici od krvi i mesa na žili kucavici otadžbine, opsedaju i osvajaju ovo ograničeno, ali istovremeno nepregledno područje neizvesnosti; društveni karantin u kojem većina diše jednim dahom, a ostali beže u brda. Ne da bi se skrili od bombi agresora ili oslobodioca (kako hoćete), već od sramotne gluposti nemoćnog i sopstvenog naroda.

Tako sam i ja odlučio da se iz, u to doba (a i danas izgleda, jebiga - prim. autora iz sadašnjosti), centra gluposti sklonim u manastir i tamo potražim makar duhovni mir. Uvedeno je, naravno, vanredno stanje. (Valjalo je rat do u tančine dočarati i iskoristiti sve njegove prednosti, ne). Autobuske i železničke linije ukinute, na svakih stotinak metara na putevima po koja patrola Vojske Jugoslavije, koja gnev nemoći i delirijum straha može da iskali samo na sebi ravnima - pa to i radi.
Moj otac, u gipsu maltene do grla i izbezumljen - kao uostalom i svi drugi dobri i ljudi zdravog razuma; ja - potpuno zbunjen i sa ochiglednim simptomima lakšeg emocionalnog udara, želim samo da nestanem iz grada i zemlje čija je višedecenijska glupost sada oplodjena neobuzdivim ludilom - darom rata, ovim "ničim izazvanim bombardovanjem"- (fraza koja je obeležila nekoliko sledećih meseci).
Radnja se sada odvija u Kraljevu, idličnom gradiću na obali Ibra, kao opsednutog od strane okomitih i predivnih brda što se oko rodnog grada pružaju u krug: brda koja kao da opkoljavaju iz vazduha latentno opsednuti grad - brda po kojima sada padaju bombe.
Kao što rekoh, nemoćni i giposm sputani otac me preklinje da ne napuštam roditeljsko okrilje: barem dok situacija ne postane iole svakodnevnija, dok se na bombradovanje ne naviknemo. Ali ja ne želim ni da čujem. Opštu pometnju koja u tom trenutku domom hara i od koje se našoj maci ježi dlaka na ledjima, moja majka koristi ne bi li mi u limunadu smutila par bensedina - koji su me eventualno spasili od sloma nežnih, adolescenstkih živaca. Iako je otac, dan pre toga u gipsu donesen iz bolnice, u kobnom, jevrejskom nalik žaru insistirao da nikuda ne odlazim (u jednom trenutku onako besan i nemoćan sa sve gipsa ustao je sa kreveta i odmah pored njega pao i tu se koprcao kao riba na suvom), ja se kao punokrvni Srbin ne saginjem i odlazim. Napuštam roditeljski dom u pravcu Beograda, gde srećem The Druga, za kojeg znam da je, kao i ja, na sve spreman. Predlažem mu da se odmetnemo u inostranstvo: u Madjarsku. On se odmah slaže. Ubrzo nakon mog pristanka u Beograd (ili je to bilo dan posle) otiskujemo se u neizvesnost sa planom "b" u rancu: mapom, naime, na kojoj se nalazi ucrtan manastir Kovilj, u koji nameravamo da odemo i potražimo utochište (u sluchaju da ne uspemo da probijemo granu). Tako ce i biti.
Negde oko pola devet navečer stižemo autostopom do nekog ravničarskog sela, od kojeg je manastir udaljen otprilike jedan sat brzog hoda. Žurimo, nema smisla, kažem The Drugu da u sred noći upadamo na konak. Napokon smo tu. Otvaramo manastirske dveri, kucamo na manastirska vrata. Kikoćemo se, jer smo se nas dvojica uvek smejali i pravili pizdarije. Otvara nam monah (kaludjer) u crnim haljinama, crvene brade. Drži cev usisivača u ruci. Mi ga tu pozdravljamo i objašnjavamo o čemu se radi. Napolju, u gradovima, vlada nepodnošljiva glupost, glavnu reč imaju najgluplji i najglasniji, i zato dolazimo vama, u nameri da ovde osvojimo barem duhovni mir, kada je već iščezao onaj svetovnih fizičkih lica.
On nam kaže da sačekamo i zatvara vrata. Čekamo. To je potrajalo dobrih 10-15. minuta. Konačno vrata se konaka otvaraju, i pružaju pogled na stepenice, po kojima su, valjda suskladno hijerarhiji, simetrično kao u nekom blesavom mjuziklu, bili poredjani kaludjeri sa igumanom na vrhu. Ovaj što nam je vrata otvorio nam kaze da treba da pozdravimo igumana kako se pristoji. Mi prolazimo kroz ovaj nesvakidašnji špalir kako bi pozdravili igumana, kojem se po pravoslavnom običaju ljubi ruka. Ja sam to znao, ali nisam učinio - ni sam ne znam zašto, intuiitivno valjda. Ili, možda, iz prezira prema autoritativnim oblicima društva koji nas od malih nogu pritiskaju i guše, da bi nas na kraju ovde saterali. Duhovni mir je za mene podrazumevao odsustvo autoriteta. Greška, koju je bilo dobro napraviti, kako se kasnije pokazalo. Moj družbenik na ovom putovanju, Bonnie u bekstvu pred idiotizmom, nije imao pojma da se igumanu imaju celivati ruke. To je bio prvi i poslednji put da smo sreli glavnog bradonju .
Da ne dužim : naš boravak u manastiru (nota bene: pun sumnjivih civila) bio je kratak, a naš napor da dopremo do igumana, ne bi li sa njim popričali o našoj daljnoj sudbi, uzaludan: upravo nalik revnosnim pokušajima Kafkinog geometra K. da dopre do zamka.
Nakon dva-tri dana, jednog divnog sunčanog jutra koje je kosim zracima opaljivalo vojvodjansku ravnicu, jedan kaludjer nam saopštava da je patrijarh Pavle, King Kong SPC, izjavio da je napad na našu zemlju ujedno i napad na pravoslavlje, i da nas, sa tim u skladu, bratija manastira Kovilj nema nameru “tu skrivati” (sećam se tih oslobadjajucih reči kao da sam ih juče čuo) ; i da smo, valjda kao sveže tomahawksko meso, obavezni javiti se prvoj kasarni - i svoje mlade živote staviti na rapolaganje sumanutom vrhovnom komadantu; da krvcu prolijemo za pravoslavlje i Srbiju - dužni smo im, jebiga - sve; dakle, da se javimo prvoj kasarni i ponudimo se na dar! To nam je poručio iguman, reče nam mladi i već povijeni kaludjer, i izljubivishi nas tri puta dodade: "Samo pravo preko njive i doći ćete do auto puta. To je prečica." Prečica koja vodi u glupost i eventualno smrt, pomislih ja, no ipak srećan što nam nisu dopustili da ostanemo u prgavom huškačkom manastiru u kojem je dosadno kao u raju. Onda je naišao neki dobroćudni i flegmatični traktorista bez prikolice, kojeg smo zaskočili za prevoz do auto puta. Pristao je, a mi smo se popeli na blatobrane i sa kosim suncem u ochima prebrodili vojvodjansku njivu. Ovo je bio prvi put u mome mladome zivotu da sam se osećao kao pobednik i heroj. A i bilo je krajnje vreme !

I

Elektrovida plastika smrti
(unuk suv, prp)

U tami stouneda
Nogama pokrštenim
U vis na zvučniku
Kvrcnuo je - Prijem:
Smrti tren
U daljini tame stouneda
Videh sada kvrc.

Ponovo živim
Reanimiran
Pisanjem.

Pokret koji je doveo do skromnijeg estetichkog raspolozenja - u suprotnosti sa izveshtachenom otmenoshcu i nepodnoshljivom nategnutoshcu baroka, njegovim visokoparno razigranim i kitnjastim stilom, jezikom pretrpanim alegorijama, aluzijama i chudnim, nastranim poredjenjima shto zaglushuju osecanje - stvari koje su u evropsku literaturu uveli Shpanac Gongora i Italijan Marino ( pobeda marinizma izvitoperila je ono erotichno u shkakljivo, patos u bombastichnost) .
zajedno sa Loensteinovim dramama, Hofmansvaldove pesme i Heroide (tj. fiktivna pisma u stihovima velichajnih junaka svetske istorije) iskovale su onaj tehnichki istanchani kitnjasti stil zbog kojeg je pesnishtvo celog tog veka (XVII) dugo i nepravedno bilo ozloglasheno. Obojica su stajali na kraju jedne epohe; u suporotnosti sa takvom njihovom veshtinom razvio se pokret koji je doveo do skromnijeg estetichkog raspolozenja za obrazovanje i pesnichko stvaranje- do jednostavnije volje za uoblichenjem.
Taj pokret zachet je vec u protivdvorskoj satiri, u Mosheroshovoj polemici protiv pomodnog majmunisanja tudjinshtini i njegovom uchenju o hrishcansko-gradjanskom, nemachkom poshtenju. Sa slicnog stava napisano je i oko tri hiljade Epigrama (Sinngedichte, 1654) shleskog posednika i i dvorskog sluzbenika Friedricha von Longau-a (1604-1655): On sa moralnom ozbiljnoshcu i u isti mah dosetljivom ironijom posmatra i kritkuje zivot onog doba u svim njegovim oblastima. U veoma duhovitom obliku, iza chije zaoshtrenosti, koja chesto odaje utisak igrarije, stoji poboznost i valjanost slobodnog duha shto pravichno oseva i nacionalno milsi, Logau razgolicuje poroke i lazi jednog sveta koji zivi od privida, obamne i poze. Svakodnevno iskustvo i zapazanje davali su mu obilno povoda; jer iza sveg baroknog sjaja i rakosha krilo se puno nevolje, jada i razocharanja.

Weisst du, was in dieser Welt
Mir am mesiten wohlgefällt?
Dass die Zeit sich selbst verzehret
Und die Welt nicht ewig währet?

Znas li sta se meni
ponajvise na ovome
svetu dopada?
To da vreme samo sebe izjeda
I svet ne traje vechno.

ali iz ovog pesimizma progovara i spokojna, nadmocna smirenost, shto pochiva u chvrstoj vezi, i na
etichkom redu duznosti i sluzbe, naroda i porodice.

Leichter träget, was er träget,
Wer Geduld zur Bürde legt.

Lakse tegli to sto tegli
onaj ko si i strpljenje uprti.

Gottfried >Keller je Longauvu - bezmalo kao rokoko-kitnjastu - shalu o Galitejinom poljupcu uneo u svoj "Epigram" (1881).
Lessing je u XVIII veku posvetio Longau blagonaklono interesovanje, privuchen gipkoshcu njegovog jezika. "Njegove reci svuda su saobrazne predmetu: emfatichne i jezgrovite kad pocuhava; patetichne i zvuchne kad kori; nezno umilne, prijatno vragolaste kada govori o ljubavi; saljive i bezazlene kad se posmeva; lakrdijashke i cudljive kada hoce da izazove samo smeh."

Danke, Fritz.