Необичан цвет Тисе

Живот овог инсекта није само један дан. Већи део свог живота проводи у дубинама корита реке у речном муљу, скривен од погледа где води битке за опстанак. Упућени кажу, чак три године. Оног дана када га угледамо је у ствари његов последњи дан.

Али зато први у новом свечаном оделу. Спреман за сватове. Мекано и крхко тело украшено је са нешто дречаве боје па привлачи поглед, објективе камере, радознале туристе и домаће љубитеље флоре и фауне. Док се код неких јави и нешто поноса јер се све одиграва баш на овом месту као да су управо они сами заслужни за то.


Временом, ројење је све гласније као музика пригодна за весеље и љубавни жар, све док у смирај дана, пијани сватови и младенци омамљени, исцрпљено падају на површину воде дарујући своја беживотна тела гладним рибама препуштајући се злој судбини.


У ноћи младог лета, један за другим, нестају из наших погледа у вечни мрак. У исто време, њихови потомци скривени у малим јајашцима, лагано тону ка дну у блатњаво корито.


Тиса их је усвојила и пружа им дом не гарантујући ништа.
Ваљда им је добро, тамо одакле су им очеви и мајке стасавали вековима?
Затим, све иде испочетка.
Само један мандат, три године. Без избора.


Мој избор ће бити занимљива тема њиховог животног циклуса.
Оног скривеног јер се ту машта неспутано развија.
И оног видљивог, јер се не види све онако како изгледа.
Није увек романтика.

Тиски цвет (лат. Palingenia longicauda) је инсект који спада у водене цветове.

Dear Mother/ Drága Édesanyám

Један од карактерних ликова који се мора приметити и запамтити.
Недостатак музичке вештине надомешћен је необичним карактером личности а оно што на крају остане у сећању је песма. Драга мати…

Ниска као знаковни тип података и складиштење у меморији

Математичком дефиницијом израза ниска (енгл. string) као компарација са задатком који сам поставио, сачувати трагове сећања на прошла времена. Рестаурација избледелих емоција.

Главна улица

Дигитално обрађена фотографија. Конвертована у векторски растер, наслагана у слојевима, обојена бојеним прелазима, градацијама бојених тонова и придодатим елементима текстура са других фотографија. Упореди са оригиналом.

Понтонски мост који повезује Кањижу и Нови Кнежевац
Главна улица неког прастарог дана
Поглед на Кереш

Кереш – “Kőrös” (са дугом формом слова “ö” оба која се не изговарају у српском, него замењују ненаглашеним “о”)
Шта год, Кереш или “Киреш” на мађарском значи кружни (тј. који прави кругове), што је у вези са много заокрета које река прави док се пробија кроз равницу.

У новије доба овај део града насут је песком и данас су на том месту нове куће и зграде.
Овај погледа на панораму града нуди лирску атмосферу града који нас не оставља равнодушним.

Пијачни трг

Место где се је социјални живот одувек широко развијен.

Да вам барем мало, речима, дочарам колико је то сложен и мучан процес да стигнем до прихватљивог резултата.

The City of Silence

I cannot recall any reason why would he spot me in a crowd where I was slowly moving. It is Thursday, market day. A river of people loudly bubbling, unstoppably rinsing the market stands.

As soon as he noticed me, he rushed in urgently, didn’t want me to get away,
I guess, and stopped right in front of me, so I halted unintentionally.

The man first lifted, and then slowly, for a hundredth of a second — faster than a sun when setting — lowered his eyebrows. While watching me so, I thought it was very appropriate to offer him my curious gaze. He smiled. But there was nothing to be added, since I am always smiling.

Neither he asked me anything, nor did I answer him. A moment, long as eternity. Surprisingly, my thoughts streamed smoothly into this unexpected confluence of our encounter. It seemed like we were perfectly understanding each other. Like fish do. Flexing bodies.

I got it, the conversation will not be easy. Troublesome are those who start their sentences with “I.”

“I,” repeated it several times a bit louder, “don’t have trousers!” Carefully,
I looked at him from head to toe, but not too noticeably, because of the crowd. From the top to the waist, a pretty decent old guy. From the waist to the bottom, a very bold combination even for evening outings.

Lacquered shoes, size 9.1 (US 10), and navy blue socks. An absence of trousers, duly reported. Therefore, an old man, without trousers, wearing white pants and a gray jacket, and me.

In the middle of the marketplace, face to face. I felt tightness in my throat. Choked up, unskilfully, I tried to swallow the saliva in my mouth, and with tears in my eyes, I realized that I just swallowed my chewing gum.

“The tribes of Arad and the graves of ancestors, my son, have occupied my mind!”

“You crazy, old man!” It almost left my lips.

“With your archaic speech, as if you were a character in a reader.” It crossed my mind, simply, to rebuke him lightly in my thoughts. However, looking at me even more seriously, he instantly provoked a spark of shame within me. Satisfied that it remained hidden, I allowed him to continue.

“Can you hear the sound of silence?”

Obediently, I tried to hear something and the old man continued.

“In 1887 there was a railway here, and the train rolled late into the night. From the inside, a famous poet, curiously looking into the darkness through the wagon window, to see what kind of city is this.

Whether just to cut time or ease boredom from a long trip, I do not know. The Empire ordered a curfew at that exact time. Nevertheless, from time to time, disobedient residents were sneaking around with lanterns through the darkness, wandering from tavern to tavern. Just like stunned, enamoured fireflies in the night, roaming to and fro, aimlessly from appearances alone.

Perhaps because of a chilly night, mist, or from a draft in the wagon. Who the hell knows!”

The scene seemed spooky. As if he had appeared at the graveyard and watched the procession that revered him while honouring ancestral customs. And then what?

An inspiration gave way to a poetic impulse. The wine had spoken from his innermost, his words got into agreement to exult us in a poem. I knew, up until yesterday, which book and title. He called this place a city of silence, thinking of the quiet in a graveyard. However, gentlemen, it is not a romance, it isn’t. It’s a graveyard!

You drink as if in a graveyard! I am heading over there. My one foot is already in the grave.

Where is the romance in this? Here, I’ve forgotten my trousers.

The people do not know that. Would I come to the marketplace without trousers?

This way, when to the grave, who cares.

Photo ©Aleksandar Oklobdzija

Прочитај и овај садржај: Град тишине

A_n_t_o_n_i_a

She lived on the second floor of our block, her flat was above ours. I was watching, from the perspective of a child, the embodiment of King Kong going through the phases of evolution and finally becoming an old woman. She was a woman of great soul and body, the latter, with its massiveness, making the impression of a stable person. Although she was characterised by her height and broadness, her heart surpassed them both. It was common knowledge. Neighbours, friends, friends of friends, relatives, children, everyone kept coming back to have a bowl of soup, to sweeten themselves up with some cakes or to taste coffee.

I used to be fascinated by the exquisite cleanliness and order in her small kitchen. There was always enough room in this old-fashioned kitchen, even though the washbasin stood nestled on one side, leaning against the oven, the oven against the fridge, a small table placed to the wall, squeezed in kitchen cabinets surrounded by rickety chairs.

That is why we were much closer to each other than we are today. One of the miracles that I remember happened on a late summer afternoon while I was sharing a meal with her grandchildren. That was when goolash turned into goulash. I felt free to ask for another portion.

And then one day, as if it were yesterday, somehow and suddenly she shrank, like your clothes shrink when washed. She was tiny as she came and rang the bell. Traces of being colossal were gone forever, only her heart kept its existing greatness. I understood. My perspective shifted higher, it grew up.. just like that.

Out of the blue.

Prevela: Mónika Mészáros

Прочитај и овај садржај: Антонија