The Tally

This is my 285th post, and I started posting on 10 Feb 2011.

Since the whole blog was about a creative exercise of writing each and every day, this would mean I am some 80 posts behind..

I must say I's rather enjoying myself though it felt somewhat dumb without any echo, which actually reminds me of a great Slav joke - we actually call Germans - 'those unable to speak.'

So, I will do my best not to see, hear or speak evil. Should you come to Dubrovnik, a couple of things you should know:

Crazies: A Sketch

Since I love music even more than my fellow beings (I have actually summarised the joy of living in a phrase 'to sing back vocals as if your life depended on it'), I have had this crazy idea of high profile musicians performing ad-hoc in the Rolling Stones or U2 style - on a truck or improvised stage - with a twist, however.

This would almost have to be an act of penance - for superstar status, state of the world, you name it. An act of proving oneself again before humble and uninformed audience etc. Without any huge media involvement even. To see how a tune can transform us.

Imagine, to play a single song just for the heck of it. I need to work on this one yet.

PERFECT SONG

as found in Solomon Burke:


I wish there'd be a song that would
Stop the hunger and pain
Stop the poverty and strain
For once and for all time
Could there be a song that would
Make the soldiers drop their guns
Make the sun shine for the ones
Hurt by violence and crime

I wish there'd be a song that would
Soothe the souls of those who suffer
From their lives just getting tougher
Until all hatred's gone astray

And if there'd be a song that could
Fertilize the desert
Neutralize all hazard
I would write one right away

Once I wrote it we would sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong

I wish there'd be a song that would
Perform God's miracles
Make the lame stand up and walk
Give sight back to the blind
And if there'd be a song that could
Bring love and peace on earth
Tear down every crooked church
I'd write a dozen of the kind

Once I wrote it we would sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong

Once I wrote it we could sing it
And it would be a perfect song
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid I'd get it slightly wrong
Perfect verses
Perfect chorus
But I'm afraid it can't be done

Twice on History

When I was quite young, I was taken along by my journalist sis, to act as the interpreter during an interview with Mr Noel Malcom, who had just written his history of Bosnia.

Naturally, I was still quite shocked by what had happened in Dubrovnik and related a few incidents to the renowned historian.

The answer was somewhat surprising but actually speaks well of just how insignificant each one of us is: "Are the archives safe?"

On History

There's a great rendering of Dubrovnik's history in Dubrovnik: A History by Robin Harris. Two young nobles meet in the dead of night, one saying to another:
- Why are you staring at me?
- I'm looking at you because God gave me eyes to look at another on equal terms.
And the guy punches him in the face. Of course, what's really funny is that brawls in Dubrovnik begin for the same reason almost 400 years later.

As for taste, a painter is described wanting to introduce a more daring, artistically, style in conservative Ragusa. And he failed. But the brilliant Mr Harris comments:
"I'm glad this did not put the old master down, for he was arrested 20 years later for singing lewd tunes."

Liberty

It's St Blaise Day tomorrow - the day of the patron saint of Dubrovnik or Ragusa.

As I once said, I can literally imagine no thing more meaningful than a white flag with a single word on it: Liberty. True, the backdrop is somewhat overcast and gloomy - but thinking of it - this is quite the usual prospect.

Freedom is one of the things we are Sisyphus like after: or truth or you name it. Caught both by historical processes and each other, man is literally in the middle of the Middle Age war between good and bad. As Gadamer aptly says, such insights are what gave birth to Greek tragedy.

Well, at least we still do them, albeit mechanically. We also have this 1,000 year old procession tradition. Don't be a summer simpleton - come join us sometime.

Hitchcock

All I can say is the Man Who Knew Too Much - minutes 56 through 1:07

Hitchcock - master of suspense and comic relief!

The swordfish and the jammed hand in taxidermist's tiger are brilliant. Simply brilliant.

Ah, good old times when films had to be watched and the radio listened to.

What Goes On

Apparently, what's true of text is also true of speech. Yes, I was taught writing is far more orderly - it is in fact beneficial to listen to yourself talking. You get all the unconnections and stammering as well.

But, just as in own yesteryear's diaries, what's really the same is that two weeks later, you have absolutely no idea what your speech looked like and can but pray you are less of a fool.

I once read a darling advice for young writers: write, and then afterwards read what you have written. Next, throw away any bits you particularly - like.

And then - publication. Your writing is bound to change under the feel you get when being watched. Just like physics, my favourite simile. But in case of radio - it's your personality that is at stake.

Hello, Diary

Spent a sleepless night charting out the general thread of all 10 shows and am happy to say I am done. To those who have experience creating I simply nod my head in recognition of mutual joy; to those who have none: you also cry a little.

A little gem is the final one which discusses the role of the intellectual in such difficult times as war. I present this almost mechanically, simply reading four letters exchanged between two writers from Croatia and Serbia in '92, seasoned with quite famous tunes by Balašević.

"Writing is somewhat of an escape from freedom. I remeber Đilas saying in long ago 70s: Prison would do me good. I feel like writing prose."

If this turns out well, I am sorry to say this simply cannot be translated for it would obviously need to be - reenacted.

Cultural Expansion

Well, I've been busy creating. My fifth show is based on hilarious admission I have actually not read the book being presented.

Of course, it's an ancient trick. It really aims at exposing what Sartre mocked through a character reading books alphabetically - that far, the guy reached the letter D. The whole goal of any education has always been development of the ability to differentiate what's good and what's bad.

I also offered the show to other student radios within Croatia. When the new Gvmnt in Croatia was elected, one of commentaries ran as follows:

"True, the new government with their Twitter profile seems a brand new movie in HD, compared to the old one. But then again, the standard was so low it is not much of an achievement."

Rules to This Game

Well, I did try to be gentle: the radio shows include everything from gentle beckoning to philosophy to investigating the limits of the discussion.

However, the third episode on small towns inevitably "forces a mirror to community's face" and it is no true mirror. It is somewhat distorted to drive the message across. So I'm left wondering what the response will be: well, at least in my mind's eye, anything is possible - this ranging from cancellation of the whole show to furious reactions, especially if they cannot do philosophy but continue with everyday rabid politics - since the book author is Serbian. However, I still wager on good old apathy and silence.

But I have decided not to react myself to any possible comments in any way - I will air them as-is. My whole point can be summarised in something like: "People, we have 4 radio stations - let's use them." In the fifth episode I shall incidentally explain what public debate looks like in France.

However, one thing needs to be addressed too. During my music radio show days, there were always those friends who would change something. These I jocularly teased they obviously needed own radio shows. So, one additional reason is that I am overrepresented as it is.

Working Title

First Day

Dear All,

As you might know, last year I've had a music show at a local student radio station:  http://www.zvuchi-drugachije.com.hr/ 

This Sunday, and Sundays to follow, my second volunteer season is beginning, this time with a talk show on books and ideas:  http://www.egotrip.com.hr/ 

However, things started going a bit and the Ragusa radio offered me a future original programme show (this time for cash). So far I've got nothing, but I wouldn't enjoy a repeat of a kind. What follows is just an initial idea.

I was thinking about a contact show but radio shows are a bit like novels: it is no chatter - but must be significantly structured beforehand, with an element of improvisation.

Therefore, to cut the story short, I was considering an idea for a show with actual friends, some of who are real experts in their fields. The subjects, just like in previous shows would be quite different (I think you will all see where you belong): 

- experience from university

- experience from a large company

- journalist experience

- a story on tourist board

- health of society

- books, publishing or libraries

- music in HR

- thoughts of a veteran

- church in England (foreign experience)

- entrepreneurship (in DU) or state institutions

- high schools 

- foreign gaze on DU

- sport in HR

The show would, as the initial idea as I said, comprise of a part which presents my take done in actual cooperation with true journalists and a phone conversation. Naturally, none would expect that you say anything you would not be comfortable with in any way. Of course, you would have to prepare a little i.e. make a plan of what you would like to say and answer questions you would not be informed of beforehand so an actual conversation is staged. It would not go live so changes are possible. 

Would any of you be willing to do something like this - at all? Just to stress, your name would be mentioned.

So, do let me know - and please do not be cross if you think the idea - plain crazy.

News. Glad Day.

I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual. Just kidding - this actually being a quote of the immortal Virgina.

I meant to write about this idea for something about a talking translator. Imagine a comedy with a translator that has something to say all the time. Of course, he would also have to be cursed with metaphysical doubts.

But, my small life has some news to tell. I just agreed upon a gig at the commercial radio station of Ragusa. The idea is to engender a new talk show on "culture, culture of living and policy of culture, if you will."

A challenge - and I would be paid to boot. "Let's shame those tourists when they come over, not familiar with the language and with their non-descript radio programmes." Another joke, though it is always a race.

Okay, the celebrations almost over - it is now time to work. We'll see what will eventually come out of this.

The Warning

That the following should come with a warning is the result of the war we've had. Now we have to warn our countrymen we merely like - all good men and all good poetry.

(Actually, there's this portal I'm a member of and this guy jocularly noted his ambition is to emigrate to the Caribbean, smoke cigars, drink rum and - write bad poetry. Here's to that!)

Anyways, if there was an error I can identify anywhere, it's that the Communists failed to arrest Milošević. Early on. From there it's all downhill.

But who cares? The following is my favourite Serbian poem. (In a whisper: it's about me.)


Desanka Maksimović: A Warning

Listen, I'll let you in on my secret:
never leave me alone
when somebody plays.

I might start seeing
any eyes
as deep and soft
when they are very common.

I can start thinking
I'm falling into music,
so I'll reach
for just anybody.

It might seem to me
loving briefly,
for a single day,
is beautiful and sweet.

Or I can just give away
at the moment this miraculous,
so dear a secret
of how much I love you.

Oh, never leave me alone
when somebody plays.
It will seem to me somewhere in forest
all my tears flow once again
as some sprouting fountains.

It will seem to me there's a dark butterfly
that writes with its wing on heavy water
what some fear to tell me at times.

It will seem to me somewhere in night
somebody is singing and is touching my wound
with his bitter, bloody heart.
Oh, never leave me alone,
never alone,
when somebody plays.




Existing translation I found - here.

What Skill; Almost Forgot

Have you seen the film? A Serious Man is a rare movie that begins in medias res, and in the end recoils having no end, just like life.

But do you remember the final hard won blubbering answer the rabbi gives? Not so frivolous after all, actually the best the human race came up with so far.

As to "He's thinking," for whatever feeble or flashy moments I might have - this is what I enjoy doing - there's this documentary on the EKV, a very famous band from ex-Yugoslavia. Practically the whole band was wiped out on account of, say, drugs or AIDS. 

Trust me, if you go to Serbia, just mention you like EKV - somebody is bound to buy you a drink instantly: such is the influence of someone who just loved life.

Where was I? Yes, so - a few years before the sad demise, they ask the lead what he would wish for if he caught a goldfish. This was the answer:

1 - that this never happened (the war)

2 - that I am healthy

3 - that I can make a living making music

I fully understand. And would wish for very much similair. So modest at first glance, it's actually asking for - all.

Nits and Grits of Egotrip

I love the fact that I'm doing the job of the Croatian Tourist Board. I mean, how it should be done. Imagine, if I had the funds to get private press clipping.

Indeed, if suspect once you start thinking you're the sole fountain, if I had a thousand people on payroll, trust me, one of two things would occur: either they would move mountains or they would be disbanded.

Then again, you might think me naive. You might say: you are not expect things of people. I really don't; I just love to prick a little.

But perhaps we should think again. As I was browsing the Will Hunting clips the other day I found a great scene with the real reason for doing something for yourself (and others):

- Don't give me that bullshit "I owe it to myself."
- You don't owe it to yourself. You owe it to me.

Told You He Was Good

Arrested in Own Mist

[by Tin Ujević. translated by Davor Juričić in 2012]

Arrested in own mist,
cloaked in own gloom,
each rushes to his own gist,
own star, own doom.

And children's holy play
is what every and all yearn,
happy cataract and stay
where innocence and ignorance learn.

To a pressing cloud,
to all that taints,
our tender hope is loud:
 just be pure. Be like saints.

And without the Spirit there,
without any patron bids,
even with our flesh bare,
we must be like kids, be like kids.

Another Notturno, Quite a Popular Motif in Croatian Poetry

Notturno by Tin Ujević

[translated by Davor Juričić in 2012]

My forehead glows tonite,
Tonite my eyelids tears rhyme,
For my thoughts saw a pretty sight:
I'll die tonite of all that's sublime.

Within us the soul has no rest,
It is a lantern deep down sown;
We cry quietly as we know best,
And we die - we die alone.

Notturno by Matoš, here.

My own Notturno (2005):

through clamour of streets filled with machines

through shrieks of madmen, the full midnight bill

i walk and blink -

and prefer to be still

the time is not right

to say anything light

so what if it is a pose

at least i make little noise

The Hypnotists

My afternoon more or less. Wrong time to have coffee; the whole cafe turned towards TV to watch handball. Yes, it's a bit eerie once you've decided that the audience is more of a spectacle than the game. I still prefer when they play cards.

We're fairly good in sports and, true, I'm neither particularly adept with the ball nor do I care for its movement. We're also somewhat of one big yokel: we watch Wimbledon on national TV when we have someone there.

But the real reason why I started hating the damn thing is because I decided losses made everyone less elated and more desperate about the situation in the country. Just like "regular" national pride, this was the usual cover-up for everything not really thought through.

I am familiar with fair play campaigns and do understand some of the beneficial effect. But, parodying the usual "Sports against Drugs," an interesting graffitti surfaced in Zagreb some five years ago: "Sports against Knowledge."

It's so great to know you're not a flock of one. But of course, none can be that original. Just recently I was recommended How I Became Stupid by a Frenchie. A darling idea: the character tries everything from religion to, I guess, shopping. 

If something really needs to be done, I prefer the regular bar thing. Here's a great tribute to the Croatian poet Tin Ujević that follows the ancient connexion between literature and alcohol. This is in Croatian, but I'll try to find one of his poems translated.