March 1Mar 1 On 25. 10. 2024. at 14:33, Klara said: Za Nerudu...moram da kažem, zgadio mi se zbog njegovog priznanja da je silovao ženu koja je radila kod njega i zbog toga što je napustio i zapostavio teško obolelu kćer. Ali, znam, potpuno je druga tema i dosta su složeni mehanizmi kad pesnik ili drugi umetnik, koji pokreće naše emocije, istovremeno može biti nečovek, nanoseći patnju drugom biću. I onda, da li treba i kako to razdvojiti, pa voleti njegova dela i emociju, a zanemariti takvu ličnost što ih je iznedrila. Jesu li to iskrene emocije ili instrumentalizovane... Samo se nadovezujem, pošto sam lajkovala post sa njegovom pesmom, neću dalje, časna reč. : ) On 25. 10. 2024. at 17:03, Boksi said: +1 Dešava mi se i dan danas kada pročitam nešto što me oduševi da imam želju da pozovem autora (često pokojnog) da mu zahvalim. Ali mislim da je u većini slučajeva bolje znati što manje o osobi čije delo cenimo i čemu se divimo. Imala sam tokom godina prilike da upoznam stvaraoce iz različitih sfera umetnosti. I nisam uspevala posle toga da razdvojim lik i delo. Čim taj lik postane stvaran sve čitam ili vidim u tom ključu. On 25. 10. 2024. at 17:33, Ras said: Teško je negovati taj princip anonimnosti autora u vreme dostupnosti svega, ali da, blizak mi je i na neki ga način primenjujem. Ja licno ne znam kako se razdvaja lik i delo niti zasto bi se valjalo pretvarati da slon nije u prostoriji. Lik jeste u delu, cak i kada je anoniman, i ne znam sta bi tu cinjenicu moglo da promeni, pa i nase (toboze) neznanje. Naravno, niko nam ne brani da se trudimo da ne zarotiramo kaleidoskop, ali te druge slike i oblici nastavljaju da postoje. A idealizacije i projekcije svi mi ne poznajemo samo kod posebnih odnosa prema stvaraocima, vec i u svakodnevnom zivotu, zar ne? Zbog cega odnos prema delu i stvaraocu ne bi mogao da bude stvaran i zar to nije svrha umetnosti?
March 5Mar 5 Februar. Nabaviti mastila i plakati! Jecajima o februaru pisati, Dok tutnjajuća bljuzga Prolećem mrkim plamti. Spoiler Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать! Писать о феврале навзрыд, Пока грохочущая слякоть Весною черною горит. Б. Пастернак, 1912.
March 9Mar 9 Čovjek večera u papučama svog oca Što su bile granice sada si ti. Bio je svibanj dubok i ravan, cesta raskopana zbog radova, snijeg suh i odjednom, da kažem otvoreno: nikome nisam dugovao ništa. Stajao sam u dovratku, voda smrzla od straha močila mi je leđa. A kad sam sklopio oči, vidio sam kokice jure ka svojoj soli i znao ponekad noću pocrne, kao brabonjci. Ušao sam da se suočim s mučnom slikom: ne ljubav, glupost, glupost je srce svijeta – i sad u tim papučama unutra jedem i plačem, samo jedem i plačem u kući. Marko Pogačar
March 16Mar 16 The Mower The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, Killed. It had been in the long grass. I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world Unmendably. Burial was no help: Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time. Philip Larkin
March 16Mar 16 Smrtonosne gladi Pitala je kako si i nakon dugog ćutanja on se sjetio godine 1616-te. Žitelji oko rijeke Elbe za vrijeme jedne od suša i kao opomenu na smrtonosnu glad napisali su na jednom njenom kamenu: Ako me vidiš, plači. Mensur Ćatić
March 19Mar 19 @Ras Podsetilo me je na tvoja pisanja, tvoje šetnje i tvoj postavljen sto. Do not care if you just arrive in your skeleton. Would love to take a walk with you. Miss you. Would love to make you shrimp saganaki. Like you used to make me when you were alive. Love to feed you. Sit over steaming bowls of pilaf. Little roasted tomatoes covered in pepper and nutmeg. Miss you. Would love to walk to the post office with you. Bring the ghost dog. We’ll walk past the waterfall and you can tell me about the after. Wish you. Wish you would come back for a while. Don’t even need to bring your skin sack. I’ll know you. I know you will know me even though. I’m bigger now. Grayer. I’ll show you my garden. I’d like to hop in the leaf pile you raked but if you want to jump in? I’ll rake it for you. Miss you standing looking out at the river with your rake in your hand. Miss you in your puffy blue jacket. They’re hip now. I can bring you a new one if you’ll only come by. Know I told you it was okay to go. Know I told you it was okay to leave me. Why’d you believe me? You always believed me. Wish you would come back so we could talk about truth. Miss you. Wish you would walk through my door. Stare out from the mirror. Come through the pipes. Do not care if you bring only your light body. Would just be so happy to sit at the table and talk about the menu. Miss you. Wish we could bet which chilis they’ll put on the cubes of tofu. Our favorite. Sometimes green. Sometimes red. Roasted we always thought. But so cold and fresh. How did they do it? Wish you could be here to talk about it like it was so important. Wish you could. Watched you on the screens as I was walking, as I was cooking. Wished you could get out of the hospital. Can’t bring myself to order our dish and eat it in the car. Miss you laughing. Miss you coming in from the cold or one too many meetings. Laughing. I’ll order already. I’ll order seven helpings, some dumplings, those cold yam noodles that you like. You can come in your light body or skeleton or be invisible I don’t even care. Know you have a long way to travel. Know I don’t even know if it’s long at all. Wish you could tell me. What you’re reading. If you’re reading. Miss you. I’m at the table in the back. Gabrielle Calvocoressi
April 2Apr 2 Your absence has gone through melike thread through a needle.Everything I do is stitched with its color.W. S. Merwin
April 2Apr 2 You walked, by chance, into a life I wasn’t proud of, and from that day, something started to change. I breathed better, I hated less, I freely admired what was meant to be. Before you, without you, I adored nothing. That force, you once mocked, was never a lonely force, a force of rejection. With you, I have accepted more things. I have learned to live. That’s probably why i’ve always mixed my love with so much gratitude.
April 7Apr 7 Sophie CalleSophie Calle is a French writer, photographer, installation artist, and conceptual artist. Daughter of the contemporary art collector Robert Calle, Calle's work is distinguished by its use of arbitrary sets of constraints, and evokes the French literary movement known as Oulipo. Her work frequently depicts human vulnerability, and examines identity and intimacy. She is recognized for her detective-like tendency to follow strangers and investigate their private lives. Her photographic work often includes panels of text of her own writing.The quotidian nature of her photography is what makes the art feel intimate.Calle’s documentation of love and testing the limits of intimacy is evident in her later piece, Take care of yourself. After receiving a break-up email from her then lover, Calle recycles her pain and heartbreak into an art piece by sending a copy of this email to 104 women of various professions. It is their job to interpret and analyze the email according to their skills—a fortune teller, a jurist, chess player, and ballerina all interpret the letter in their own ways. Merlino notes: “[They] split apart the personality of the lover and the dominion of the abandoned party into a certain number of described and recognizable ‘types.’ Thus they make him banal and deconsecrate him, and the rancor begins to give way.”https://daily.jstor.org/love-obsession-and-sophie-calle/http://lenscratch.com/2020/01/sophie-calle-detachment-death-and-dialogue/
April 7Apr 7 leto je topim se na podu ležimlenjost mi ne dâ da se pomerim sa podaklima podešena na najhladnijesimulacija tvog prisustvai dok tako ležim, zamišljam ti i ja usupermarketukupujemo i ono šta nam nije potrebno,neka se nađedodaješ mi piškote, ko to uopšte jede danasnikad nismo našli mirali svi ti duhovi, istorije bolesti, hronike neizrecivih mučninasve smo ih pripitomilii svaki put kad naslonim glavu na tvoju ključnu kostpomislim kako je udobnolinija moje volje na horizontu nestaježivim za toda s tobom sedim i gledam te-veO. Lakićević
April 8Apr 8 10 hours ago, Klara said:leto je topim se na podu ležimlenjost mi ne dâ da se pomerim sa podaklima podešena na najhladnijesimulacija tvog prisustvai dok tako ležim, zamišljam ti i ja usupermarketukupujemo i ono šta nam nije potrebno,neka se nađedodaješ mi piškote, ko to uopšte jede danasnikad nismo našli mirali svi ti duhovi, istorije bolesti, hronike neizrecivih mučninasve smo ih pripitomilii svaki put kad naslonim glavu na tvoju ključnu kostpomislim kako je udobnolinija moje volje na horizontu nestaježivim za toda s tobom sedim i gledam te-veO. LakićevićJesi li išla na koncert Autoparka nedavno?
April 8Apr 8 @Ras Ako misliš na 22. mart, nisam. : ) Ali jesam na onaj poslednji pre 5-6 godina. Volim Ognjenku, divna je i kao gost u Raljama osećanja. 🎀
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