Manja Žugman o pesniški zbirki mleček, žbunje: grobovi v njem Blaža Božiča

Pesniška zbirka Mleček, žbunje: grobovi v njem je med petimi nominiranimi literarnimi deli, ki se v letu 2023 potegujejo za nagrado kritiško sito. Prebiranje pesniških vrstic daje jasno vedeti, da je pesniku domače rojstno mesto Ljubljana, saj se njegova poetična pot vije od Bratovševe ploščadi, kjer se je »s tihih blokov /…/ odmotavala nit življenja«, pa tovarne Rog, ki se poslavlja od svoje dosedanje namenskosti in podobno kot mnogi drugi lokali prerašča v – po pesnikovih besedah iz nekega intervjuja, objavljenega v Mladini –  polikane in sterilne zidove, ob tem pa pojasni še, da se s tem izgublja tudi tisto pravo bistvo, pravo srce prestolnice, ki se prav zaradi tovrstnega početja spreminja nazaj v to, kar ne želi biti ne pri njenih prebivalcih in ne pri njenih odločevalcih; to je nazaj iz mesta v vas. V nadaljevanju poetičnega sprehoda se je moč ustaviti na Šišenski in si predstavljati »najvišja stanovanja na začetku« Celovške. Božič že od poprejšnjih zbirk ohranja svoje tavanje po mestnem (ob)središču in se ustavlja v lokalih, ki so posebej zapisani v spominu in zapečateni (tudi) kot kraji najlepših trenutkov mladosti, morda le trenutne omame, morda le hipnega iskanja svojega izmuzljivega središča, saj se te postaje ne nazadnje izrisujejo kot mnoge sanje in ideali, ki so v mladih očeh še (morda) videti uresničljive. Ob tem na straneh zbirke spremljamo mnoge ilustracije Mateja Stupice in kakšna izmed teh nas asociira tudi na tisto, ki je bila pospremila Croquis, pesnika Janeza Menarta. Življenja otipljivo prispodobo, ki se je prikazala v kapljicah po mizi razlitega konjaka, je bil natakar nemudoma pobrisal.

V zbirki je moč srečevati izgubljence, obstrance, prisklednike, tuja telesa, sošolke, dijakinje, veneče žene in starke, izgubljene starce, ostarele nebogljence; vse, ki »smo prah na poti« in postavljeni (ali na le-tej obsojeni) v »brejo samoto«. Vse, ki so (in smo) del tavajočega in monotonega življenjskega vsakdana, v katerem govorec iz množinske oblike zaimka preide na prvoosebni jaz in »zdrsnem za hip z roba sveta /…/ da se bo sedaj / pa res nekaj premaknilo«; vse, ki na tovrstne premike (naproti družbenim sistemom) v svoji nemoči samo in le čakajo in čakamo. Iz poprej pojasnjenega pa je sklepati, da tudi premiki ne zagotavljajo tiste prave smeri, ampak se mnogokrat ujamejo v svoja, prav paradoksalna nasprotja. Ali kot bi se pesnik najbrž na tem mestu izrazil – »v centraški trash«. Z vztrajno rabo zaimka »ti« pa v občutenje tovrstne statičnosti popelje naravnost slehernega posameznika, ki v razraščanju trasha ostaja sam in katerega leta »polzijo med prsti kot begavo morje«. Občutenje minljivosti je tako srhljivo in (še) bliže človeku.

Mestni lokali se pojavljajo iz zbirke v zbirko in so močno spojeni z govorčevimi spomini, odraščanjem in odraslostjo. To so mesta, kjer so se rojevala prijateljstva in skupen jezik. To so (bili) postanki, kjer se »na varnem« hrabri posameznik in si vedno znova zadaja upanje, da je moč zakrpati vse razpoke sveta. Ker pa se pesnik spretno poslužuje tudi rabe nasprotij, lahko vrstice, ko se zunanji svet ruši, gradi in postavlja na novo, razumevamo tudi kot odsev notranje pokrajine, notranjega zemljevida, na katerem govorec išče svoje mesto. 

Zdi se, da iz osamljenosti išče dotikanja, iz starosti vnovično otroštvo; pravzaprav čas, ko je človek od sveta zahteval, kar mu pripada. Čeprav je na prvi pogled videti pesimistično naravnan, se ne preda(ja). Njegova pesniška drža ostaja vselej trdna, močna in pokončna. Govorec še posebej verjame v moč (tudi pesniške) besede, saj »pomlad je / propadla obljuba, besede so tisto, kar je ostro / in jasno in kar bo izpričalo vse spregledano«. Čeprav je posvečen iskanju središča, je le-to ves čas prisotno, skozenj pa plujejo sivolasi otroci, ki se iz konca vračajo v svoj začetek, iz začetka izgubljajo v svoj konec.

Tematsko razvejana zbirka se osredotoča na temeljna bivanjska vprašanja, na vprašanja vrednot, iz nje veje kritična naravnanost zoper družbo, ki utesnjuje svobodomiselnost, in neomajna vera v pesniško poslanstvo, saj v »temi cvetijo neizprosne črke, / kako me bodrijo ločila«. Pesniški jezik niha od skrajno pogovornih besed, tudi vulgarnih, do vzvišenega izrazja. Poslužuje se tujih jezikov in omenja tuje avtorje, pisce, glasbenike, zaradi česar zahteva tudi razgledanega bralca. Enkrat se ustavlja v vsakdanjih, pivskih dogodkih, spet drugič se dotika religioznega. Bralcu se že zazdi, da se bo dotaknil zvezd, ko ga govorec vnovič prizemlji. Ko ostaja trdno na tleh, ga povzdigne k zvezdam. Dom išče v ljubezni, a ga ne najde, po domačnost se zateka v bare in lokale, ki so podvrženi rušenju, zaradi česar znova ostaja v primežu brezdomstva.  

Zbirko sestavljajo večinoma daljše pripovedne pesmi, ki jih zagotovo že zaradi razvejane in bogate medbesedilnosti lahko opredelimo kot zahtevna besedila, na prvi pogled (morda) manj razumska in logična, prav zato pa od posameznika zahtevajo resno delo, veliko mero ljubezni do pisane besede in željo po zapolnjevanju luknjičavih mest. Pred nami stoji odlična zbirka, ki bo svojemu bralcu ob ponovnem prebiranju omogočala vedno nove interpretacije, ga popeljala v vedno nove svetove in ga (za)nihala med odpovedjo in pritrjevanjem, pravzaprav prav v tistem prepišnem središču, ki ga ne le pesnik, temveč tudi vsak posameznik na svoji življenjski poti (vztrajno) išče.  

Manja Žugman on spurge, brush; the graves within by Blaž Božič

The poetry collection spurge, brush; the graves within is among the five literary works nominated for the Kritiško Sito Award (TN: The Kritiško Sito Award is the only literary prize awarded by literary critics for the best literary work by a Slovenian author published in the previous year.) in 2023. The very first lines of verse show the poet’s intimate familiarity with his hometown of Ljubljana, as his poetic path winds from the Bratovš Courtyard where “from the quiet blocks of flats /…/ the thread of life was unwinding”, to the Rog factory, which is bidding farewell to its previous intended purpose and, like many other establishments, is turning into – according to the poet’s words in an interview published in the magazine Mladina – a place of neat and sterile walls. The poet goes on to explain that by doing so the capital’s true essence, its true heart, is being lost, that it is turning back into something that it does not want to be, neither for its residents nor for its decision-makers, precisely because of these kinds of decisions; that is, it is turning back from a city into a village. Further along the poetic stroll, one can stop on Šišenska Street and imagine “the tallest blocks of flats at the beginning of” Celovška Street. Since his previous poetry collections, Božič has maintained his wandering around the city centre (and surrounding areas), stopping in bars that are especially etched in his memory and (also) marked as the scenes of the most beautiful moments of his youth, perhaps just a temporary daze, perhaps just a momentary search for his elusive centre, because these stops ultimately appear as many dreams and ideals that (may) still seem realisable in the eyes of young people. On the pages of the poetry collection, we see many illustrations by Mateja Stupica, and one of them reminds us of the illustration that accompanied the poem Croquis by the poet Janez Menart. Life’s tangible metaphor, which appeared in the drops of cognac spilled on the table, was immediately wiped away by the waiter.

The poetry collection introduces us to lost souls, outsiders, freeloaders, strangers, female classmates, female high school students, withering wives and old women, lost old men, helpless elderly people; all of us who are “dust on the road” and placed in (or condemned to) “expectant solitude”. All of us who are part of the wandering and monotonous everyday life, in which the narrator switches from the third person to the first person and “I slip off the edge of the world for a moment, /…/ so that now something / will really change”; all of us who, in our powerlessness, are just and only waiting for such changes (towards social systems). This makes it clear that even changes do not necessarily ensure the right direction, but often get caught in their own, paradoxical contradictions. Or as the poet would probably say here – caught “in the trash of the city centre”. The persistent use of the “intimate forms of address”, however, makes everyone who remains alone in the proliferation of trash and whose years “slip through their fingers like the restless sea” directly feel this kind of stagnation. Thus, the sense of fleetingness is eerie and (even) more visceral.

The city’s bars make recurring appearances from poetry collection to poetry collection and are strongly connected to the narrator’s memories, adolescence, and adulthood. These are the places where friendships and a common language were born. These are (were) the stops where a person gathers their courage “in safety” and repeatedly hopes that all the cracks in the world can be mended. However, since the poet also makes skilful use of opposites, the lines describing the outside world being torn down, built and rebuilt can also be understood as a reflection of the internal landscape, the internal map on which the narrator is searching for his place.

It seems that he seeks contact out of loneliness, out of old age a renewed childhood; a time, when a person demanded from the world what they were entitled to. Although he may seem pessimistic at first glance, he does not give up. His poetic stance always stays firm, strong, and upright. The narrator especially believes in the power of (also poetic) words, because “spring is / a broken promise, words are what are sharp / and clear and will bring to light all that has been overlooked”. Although he is dedicated to finding the heart of things, it is always present, and through it float grey-haired children who are returning from the end to their beginning and who from the beginning are losing themselves to their end.

The thematically diverse poetry collection focuses on fundamental existential questions and questions about values, and it exudes a critical attitude against a society that constrains free-thinking and an unwavering faith in the poetic mission, because “in the darkness merciless letters blossom /, how punctuation marks give me courage”. The poetic language ranges from extremely colloquial words, even vulgar ones, to lofty expressions. It uses foreign languages and references foreign authors, writers, and musicians, and therefore requires a learned reader. At one point it lingers on mundane, events with a glass in hand, at another point it addresses religious matters. The reader just starts to think they are about to touch the stars when the narrator grounds them again. When the reader is firmly rooted to the ground, the narrator lifts them up to the stars. The poet looks for a home in love, but does not find it; he seeks familiarity in pubs and bars that are subject to demolition, leaving him once again in the grip of homelessness.

The poetry collection consists mostly of longer narrative poems, which due to their rich intertextuality can certainly be defined as challenging texts, at first glance (perhaps) seeming less rational and logical, but precisely because of that they require serious work, a great deal of love for the written word, and a desire to fill in the blanks. This is an excellent poetry collection, which, upon re-reading, will again and again allow its reader to forge new interpretations, take them to ever new worlds, and swing them between resignation and agreement, in fact, right in the tempestuous centre that not only the poet, but what each and every person is (persistently) searching for along their life’s journey.

Objavo je omogočila Javna agencija za knjigo