Ivica Ajanovski
The Outsider
Kazi mi, kogo najmnogu go
sakas, ti zagadocen
coveku: tvojot tatko ili
majka, tvojata sestra ili
brat?
Nemam nitu tatko, nitu majka, nitu sestra,
nitu brat.
Tvoite
prijateli, mozebi?
Go koristis zborot sto
nikogas ne go sfativ.
Tvojata
zemja?
Ne znam kade taa bi mozela da
se naogja.
Ubavinata?
Nea bi ja sakal so seto svoe srce, samo ako taa
bese bozica i besmrtna.
Parite?
Niv gi mrazam isto kolku sto ti
go mrazis Gospod.
Pa, togas, nepoznat tuginecu, sto e
toa sto ti go sakas?
Gi sakam oblacite ... oblacite sto
pominuvaat ... onamu nekade ...
onamu nekade
... onie prekrasni oblaci!
(Sarl Bodler)
Roden sum vo Skopje, Makedonija. Doma zboruvame na makedonski, no,
moite
roditeli megusebe zboruvaat i na srpsko-hrvatski jazik. Imeno, majka
mi e
Hrvatka, a tatko mi Makedonec, koj poteknuva od egejskiot del na
Makedonija.
Toj bil dete-begalec za vreme na etnickoto-cistenje vo periodot
na
Graganskata vojna vo Grcija (1946-1949). Roditelite na tatko mi
(moite baba
i dedo od strana na tatko mi) megusebe zboruvaa na grcki koga ne
sakaa da gi
razbereme, no, ne sakale da go naucat i tatko mi, velejki deka za
niv toa
bil jazikot na okupatorite.
Moite drugi baba i dedo (od stranata na majka mi), isto taka, ziveeja
vo
Makedonija, a megusebe zboruvaa na hrvatski jazik. Vsusnost, site
tie luge
koi gi spomenav go zboruvaa makedonskiot jazik, site ja cuvstvuvaa
i sakaa
Makedonija i nikogas ne posakuvaa da ja napustat. Site, osven mene.
Jas edvaj cekav da zaminam. Imav golema strast za citanje knigi,
a
stranskata literatura mi bese sekojdnevna neophodna dusevna hrana.
Mnogupati, vo moite sonista znaev da otidam vo nekoi dalecni stranski
zemji
i kulturi.
Kako sto se iskazal Flober: "Koga stanuva zbor za pojmot
rodna zemja, obicno
lugeto imaat pretstava deka toa e izvesno parce zemja locirano na
nekoja
geografska karta, koesto e oddeleno od drugite zemji so nekoja crvena
ili
sina linija. No, ne... Za mene, mojata rodna zemja e zemjata koja
ja sakam,
odnosno, toa e onaa zemja koja gi ostvaruva moite sonista i koja
pravi ubavo
da se cuvstvuvam vo nea. Jas sum vo isto tolkava merka Kinez, kolku
sto sum
i Francuzin i ne se raduvam za nasite pobedi nad Arapite, bidejki
me
rastazuvaat nivnite porazi. Gi sakam onie grubi, izdrzlivi, smeli,
istrajni
i primitivni lugje, koi napladne znaat da prilegnat vo senkata pod
stomacite
na nivnite kamili i dodeka pusat na svoite chibuci da pravat segi
i da se
potsmevaat so nasata razviena civilizacija, kojasto treperi od bes
i gnev
poradi toa..."
Se sekavam deka koga imav deset godini, baba mi imase obicaj
da kaze: "Koga
Ivica cite kniga, moze nekoj da go bodne so igla i nema nisto da
pocustvuva,
tuku ke prodolzi so citanjeto." Taka, eden den, bratuced
mi ja zede od baba
mi iglata za pletenje i dodeka citav me probode so tolkava sila
i zestokost,
sto mojot vresok se slusase na nekolku kilometri... "Babo,
ti ni kaza deka
Ivica ke prodolzi da ja cita knigata, a toj vresna?" - ironicno
prasa
bratuced mi.
...Odvaj docekav da ja napustam zemjata. Za vreme na moite filmski
studii
prestojuvav vo Moskva, no posle sest godini dojde vreme da zaminam.Bev
tazen, no, znaev deka e vreme da steknam nekoi novi iskustva. Viorot
na
zivotot i rabotnite okolnosti me nosea niz Saraevo,Helsinki,Stokholm
preku
Berlin za konecno da se skrasam vo London.Toj kratok prestoj traese
polni
sesnaeset godini. Bese grad tocno po moj vkus: kosnica na najroznovidni
kulturi,religii i obicai. Sepak se smestiv vo Celsi,pored samata
reka Temza,
od kade gi nabjluduvav jahtite,brodovite i camcite. Polovinata od
vremeto
pominato vo London go iskoristiv da patuvam sirum svetot: od Madagaskar
do
Bazaruto, od Transkai do Kejp Nord,Norveska. Vo eden period pominav
celi
sest meseci na brod, krstarejki ja juznata hemisfera. Se cuvstvuvav
kako
Sarl Bodler, koj, koga bil pritisnat od atmosferata vo Pariz, koga
svetot mu
izgledal "monoton i malecok", toj ke zaminel ottamu, ednostavno
''zaradi toa
sto custvuval potreba da zamine'' i da patuva do nekoe pristaniste
ili do
nekoja zeleznicka stanica:
Kocijo, povedi me so tebe!
Brodu, ukradi me odovde!
Odvedi me nekade daleku, daleku odovde. Ovde kalta e
sozdadena od nasite solzi!
Sekojpat koga se vrakav doma, se cuvstvuvav kako mladiot Gistav
Flober, koj
gi opisal negovite cuvstva za Francija: " Zgrozen sum i
cuvstvuvam
odvratnost koga se vrakam vo ovaa prokleta zemja, kade sto moze
da se vidi
sonceto na nebo isto tolku cesto kolku i dijamant vo svinski gaz.
Ne davam
ni pet pari za Normandija, nitu za ubavata Francija'... Mislam deka
jas mora
da sum bil prenesen od vetristata vo ovaa zemja na kal; sigurno
sum se rodil
na nekoe drugo mesto - otsekogas sum go imal ona cuvstvo koe lici
na
sekevanje ili intuicija za prekrasnte bregovi i sinite morinja.
Sum se rodil
da bidam imperator na Kochin-Kina, da pusam lule dolgo 10 metri,
da imam
6,000 zeni i 1,400 robovi, da poseduvam napravi za secenje glavi,
numidijski
konji, mermerni bazeni...
Jas isto taka veruvam deka sum bil "presaden od vetristata".
Na mojot 40-ti
rodenden , resiv da se preselam vo Italija. Voa toa vreme, koga
lugjeto na
moja vozrast dozivuvaat sredovecni krizi, jas povtorno se custvuvam
kako
tinejdjer.
Gradot sto go izbrav e Genova, so ogromno pristaniste. Od tuka mojot
pradedo
zaminal so brod za Argentina. Sekoe utro od kvartot ''Istoriski
Centar''
peski prosetetuvam niz starata luka od kade povtorno gi nabljuduvam
jahtite,
brodovite i feribotite...
Ne znam uste kolku dolgo ke ostanam ovde. Mozebi povtorno ke se
preselam. A
dotogas, ke uzivam na ubavinite i na cudata na ovaa "il bel
paese".Povtorno
se custvuvam kako dete.
Ke gi sledam oblacite.
Ivica Ajanovski
The Outsider
Tell me, whom do you love most, you enigmatic man: your father,
your
mother, your sister or your brother?
I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
Your friends?
You're using a word I've never understood.
Your country?
I don't know where that might lie.
Beauty?
I would love her with all my heart, if only she was goddess and
immortal.
Money?
I hate it as you hate God.
Well then, what do you love, you strange outsider?
I love the clouds...the clouds that pass by...over there...over
there...
those lovely clouds!
(Charles Baudelaire)
I was born in Skopje, Macedonia. At home we spoke the Macedonian
but my
parents spoke to each other in Serbo-Croatian. My mother is Croatian,
my
father a Macedonian - a refugee of ethnic cleansing during
the civil war in
Greece. My paternal grandparents spoke in Greek when they didn't
want us to
understand them. They refused to teach my father Greek as for them
it was
the language of the oppressors. My maternal grandparents lived in
Macedonia
and spoke Croatian between themselves. But they loved Macedonia
and never
wanted to leave. All except myself!
I couldn't wait to leave. I would escape in my dreams to distant
foreign
lands and cultures in literature. As Flaubert said,
"As for the idea of the native country, that is to say,
of a certain bit of
ground traced out on a map and separated from others by a red
or blue line:
no. My native country is for me the country that I love, that is,
the one
that makes me dreams, that makes me feel well. I am as much Chinese
as French
, and I don't rejoice about our victories over Arabs because I'm
saddened by
their defeats. I love those harsh, enduring, hardy people, the last
of the
primitives, who at midday, lie down in the shade under the bellies
of their
camels, and while smoking their chibouks, poke fun at our good
civilization, which quivers with rage about it..."
When I was ten years old my grandma would say, "When Ivica
reads a book, you
can prick him with a needle and he won't feel it" One
day my cousin took a
knitting needle from her and while I was reading, stabbed me in
my bum
with such force that the scream was heard for miles away. "Grandma,
you said
Ivica wouldn’t feel it if I pricked him?"
I couldn't wait to leave. My studies took me to Russia but after
six years
my studies came to an end and I had to leave. I was sad but
it was time for
new experiences. Life and work took me through Sarajevo, Helsinki,
Stockholm, Berlin and finally London.
I loved it there and I lived next to the river Thames to look at
the ships
and boats. Half of my 16 years in London were spent travelling around
the
world. From Madagascar to Bazaruto, from the Transkei to CapeNorth
in
Norway. I felt like Charles Baudelaire who, when he was oppressed
by the
atmosphere in Paris, when the world seemed 'monotonous and small'
he would
leave, 'leave for leaving sake' and travel to a harbour and a train
station,
"Carriage, take me away with you! Ship, steal me away from
here!
Take me far, far away. Here the mud is made of our tears! "
Every time I would come back home, I would feel like schoolboy Gustave
Flaubert who explained his feelings about France,
' I'm disgusted to be back
in this damned country where you see the sun in the sky about as
often as a
diamond in a pig's arse. I don't give a shit for Normandy and la
belle
France...I think I must have been transplanted by the winds to this
land of
mud; surely I was born elsewhere - I've always had what seem like
memories
or intuitions of perfumed shores and blue seas. I was born to be
the emperor
of Cochin-China, to smoke 100-foot pipes, to have 6,000 wife’s
and 1,400
catamites, scimitars to slice of heads I don't like the look of,
Numidian
horses, marble pools...'
I too believe that I was "transplanted by the winds".
On my 40th birthday I
decided to move to Italy. When people my age around me were experiencing
a
mid-life crisis, I felt like I was teenager again.
It was to be Genoa, a big port city again. Living in the 'centro
storico, I
can have my early morning walks by the port and look at the ships
and little
boats...
I don't know how long I will be here. I might move again. Until
then I will
enjoy the sheer wonder of“il bel paese”. I am a child
again.
I will follow the clouds.
(trad.:dell’autore)
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