Prilozi kritici književne nagrade Skender Kulenović, Darko Cvijetić

Dali su kabanicu onome koji je pokazao gdje se nalazi masovna grobnica u Tomašici
Koji je šutio dvadesetdvije godine
Jer je žestoka kiša padala kada je pokazao - evo ovdje, rekao je
Petnaest metara duboka
Gotovo hektar s hiljadu tijela

Ali ja tebi pišem Havo
Kojoj su jučer javili da su joj našli u njoj i tijela šest sinova  i oca im
Havino brdo kostiju

Mater moja Stojanka rekla bi da voćnjak naš posiječem i dam ti samo za daske
Za tabute i nišane
Šest tvojih utroba
Mogli su ih ne naći
Mogli su ih s rudom željeza na vagone pa u peći visoke u Zenici i Sisku
Mogli su šipke čelične postati i postave za brodove
Mogli su se vratiti jednom rosfrajni ucakljeni navareni jedan na drugi

I svemu bi se otad uzimala - sonetnina

I dlanovima koji su milovali kuniće
I zrnevlju u golubljoj utrobi
I kruhu ukuglanom pod jezikom

Tebi pišem Havo Trnopoljko majko šest lubanja dvanaestoro očiju dvanaestero ruku
Eno se tamni i Knešpolje i Briševo i Zecovi i Mrakovica
Pišem ti ja Stojankina ostarjela kćer

I bista Skenderova na kiši drhti pod krstom
Iščupava joj se kosa al nema ruku nema čim

Tebi Havo čija ruka kabanicu daje
Onom djetetu nečijem
Da ne kisne

Petnaest metara iznad svoje razbacane djece


 * * *


Contributions to the Skender Kulenović literary prize critique


A raincoat’s been given to the one who showed
where the mass grave in Tomašica was
To the one who’d been silent for twenty-two years
For heavy rain came down when he showed it - there, there it is, he said
Fifteen meters deep
Nearly an acre with a thousand bodies

But I am writing to you, Hava,
you who was told yesterday they’d found the bodies of your six sons and their father in it
Hava’s mound of bones

My mother Stojanka would have said to cut our orchard to give you the planks
For tabuts and nisan tombs
Of your six wombs
They could’ve failed to find them
They could’ve loaded them on wagons with iron ore
and then off to blast furnaces in Zenica and Sisak
They could’ve been smelted to rods of iron and shipbuilding plates of steel
They could’ve returned once, in Rostfrei, polished, welded one onto another

And then everything would be subject to sonnet-tax

The palms that petted rabbits
The grains in a pigeon’s belly
And the balls of bread under the tongue

I am writing to you Hava of Trnopolje, the mother of six skulls, twelve eyes, twelve arms
There, as Knešpolje, Briševo, Zecovi and Mrakovica darken with night
It’s me, Stojanka’s aged daughter, who’s writing to you

And Skender’s statue shivers in the rain under the cross
Wishing to pull its hair, but it’s armless, handless, with nothing to pull it with

To you, Hava, whose hand gives the raincoat
To that child of someone
So he wouldn’t get wet

Fifteen meters above her scattered children



prepjev na engleski  Zoran Vuković