Život ovog insekta nije samo jedan dan. Veći deo svog života provodi u dubinama korita reke u rečnom mulju, skriven od pogleda gde vodi bitke za opstanak. Upućeni kažu, čak tri godine. Onog dana kada ga ugledamo je u stvari njegov poslednji dan. Ali zato prvi u novom svečanom odelu. Spreman za svatove. Mekano i krhko telo ukrašeno je sa nešto drečave boje pa privlači pogled, objektive kamere, radoznale turiste i domaće ljubitelje flore i faune. Dok se kod nekih javi i nešto ponosa jer se sve odigrava baš na ovom mestu kao da su upravo oni sami zaslužni za to.
Vremenom, rojenje je sve glasnije kao muzika prigodna za veselje i ljubavni žar, sve dok u smiraj dana, pijani svatovi i mladenci omamljeni, iscrpljeno padaju na površinu vode darujući svoja beživotna tela gladnim ribama prepuštajući se zloj sudbini.
U noći mladog leta, jedan za drugim, nestaju iz naših pogleda u večni mrak. U isto vreme, njihovi potomci skriveni u malim jajašcima, lagano tonu ka dnu u blatnjavo korito.
Tisa ih je usvojila i pruža im dom ne garantujući ništa. Valjda im je dobro, tamo odakle su im očevi i majke stasavali vekovima? Zatim, sve ide ispočetka. Samo jedan mandat, tri godine. Bez izbora.
Moj izbor će biti zanimljiva tema njihovog životnog ciklusa. Onog skrivenog jer se tu mašta nesputano razvija. I onog vidljivog, jer se ne vidi sve onako kako izgleda. Nije uvek romantika.
Tiski cvet (lat. Palingenia longicauda) je insekt koji spada u vodene cvetove.
Matematičkom definicijom izraza niska (engl. string) kao komparacija sa zadatkom koji sam postavio, sačuvati tragove sećanja na prošla vremena. Restauracija izbledelih emocija.
Digitalno obrađena fotografija. Konvertovana u vektorski raster, naslagana u slojevima, obojena bojenim prelazima, gradacijama bojenih tonova i pridodatim elementima tekstura sa drugih fotografija. Uporedi sa originalom.
Kereš – “Kőrös” (sa dugom formom slova “ö” oba koja se ne izgovaraju u srpskom, nego zamenjuju nenaglašenim “o”) Šta god, Kereš ili “Kireš” na mađarskom znači kružni (tj. koji pravi krugove), što je u vezi sa mnogo zaokreta koje reka pravi dok se probija kroz ravnicu.
U novije doba ovaj deo grada nasut je peskom i danas su na tom mestu nove kuće i zgrade. Ovaj pogleda na panoramu grada nudi lirsku atmosferu grada koji nas ne ostavlja ravnodušnim.
Mesto gde se je socijalni život oduvek široko razvijen.
Da vam barem malo, rečima, dočaram koliko je to složen i mučan proces da stignem do prihvatljivog rezultata.
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?
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.