Door Martin S. Past
A guest is a strange duck in the pool. If you would watch a pool with 10 ducks for several days, and suddenly another duck appears, you’ll be able to recognize this newcomer for maybe several days. He’ll be apart, alone, acting slightly different. But after all the other ducks have accepted this newcomer, it will be hard for you to still recognize him.
The ducks will swim together but we.... Swimming in the pool of language means: no lack of confusion.
I try to learn the language a little but everybody gives me too many possibilities to say a word. We breath in the same sky and we breath out the same air.
Because of that it become all too difficult to remember.
My komsir changed one day into susjed. ‘That is the same word’ is told to me but no letter is identical.
Cahpucino s Mlekom. Serbian never will be spoken in the whole of BiH. Even if it was only that the international community wouldn’t like the Cyrillic. And also the created Croatian language will be spoken no more or no less. BSH (bosanskom sbrbo hrvatskom) will also be dominated by a minority. And the language is like air; it belongs to every-one. Also to me and I try a little. ‘Mozda samo u glavu’
What is not maybe, what is not only in your head but also in your hands right now is a new issue of Album. A magazine that tries to connect young writers from all around even if there wouldn’t be any form of appreciation for it. To be able to sell a book like this would already give too many problems.
For a stranger like me that is strange.
Because of that strange fact an initiative like this can only exists by the grace of donators, and it is doomed to disappear in case all these donators are foreign, like me. Strangers disappear or become normal.
I don’t know what I learn, I just learned what I know.
Als de mensen nu niet vallen over het feit dat een andere schrijver een nieuwe taal gebruikt, of een oude taal gebruikt, of wat dan ook voor taal of stommiteit uithaalt...
Oh what if people wouldn’t bother the fact other writers uses a new language, an old language, a self-made language or do whatever kind of stupidity.
Poetry is the word of revolution, but recently there have been so many revolutions been taken over by politicians that now, maybe, we must try to launch a revolution for compromise. For compromise with the enemy, the politician.
And I do not understand a damn fuck about this book.
So I want to know something else.
The question I had in mind and why I accepted the invitation to be published as guest-writer in this second edition of Album is of a complete different kind.
I still do not understand anything that is said in this book and the frustrations and fear that I see I do not see in a book like this but just on the streets. Many young people do not know how to think relaxed about some subjects or they can not speak out their opinion just like that, because there was an extreme mental pressure putted on them for many years. Not only during the war this happened, but also the years before the war quite some parents were not able to explain their kids the logic of hyper-inflation. Which was identical in most parts of ex-YU, contrary to the war itself which was different in every square meter of the country. My question in general, but with this mental pressure in the back of the head, was: Can young people in Banja Luka understand the young people in Sarajevo, and vice versa?
To me it seems to be useful when young writers would concentrate on this question for a while. So not concentrating on what they understand themselves but what they understand about the other. To ventilate such a thoughts could support reassuring thinking, and therefor they will be accepted more easily than created.
Forget the oppressing thoughts and rules of the authorities and institutes. They decide about the borders of the country only. They never decided whether man is living on the land or not.
A little peace, an ease of mind and relaxation during thinking is a benign pleasure.
Not that I will understand it suppose you will succeed. For that the language is too big for me. But I might feel it, suppose the words, and it’s energy, is carried out with force.
a kiss and happiness to you all