Been reading a lot on retrofuturism. Been reading a lot on steampunk. Being a designer; when I find colours, materials, styles and textures that I like, I turn them into words. I de-visualise them for the reader to re-visualise them.
What's going on? Sometimes A and B get bored by having to spend the eternity in Nowhereland. Therefore, they make escape plans. This time, they're trying to take a rusty ship to the sea. However, when they end up in the outside world, they're surprised to find that, unlike in their quarantine, everything's become mechanical. However, they're feeling so lonely and willing to accept any change, so they're bringing some foil plants, mechanical bird and wind-up people back with them. These strange critters cannot change their century-long habits and cannot break their world in any way.
I started writing this in a small 24-hour caffe bar accross the street from the bus station in Novi Sad, waiting for four thirty in the morning so I could go back home. I didn't have a clear idea of where the poem was going, so the anchor was thrown and I spent the rest of the night eating vanilla slices with a lonely middle-aged man who was going back to his family in the morning and had nobody to talk to in the meantime.
It sure is strange to continue writing something after so long, but it's not the first time it has happened. Some lines I wrote in 2005 turned into "Little Girl, To Hell!" after three years, when I spotted them while reading some old poetry on paper.
I'm proud of this one. Enjoy!
Ja sam kapetan ovog zarđalog broda,
pođi sa mnom, dok je ovako nemirna voda.
Ispraćemo crno do belog,
okrenućemo pogrešno do pravog.
Učinićemo sve što je u našoj moći
da napustimo ovo mesto,
završimo vidljivi na vremenskim prognozama
i otplovimo do mora.
Ne dam ti da upravljaš,
ne dam ti da upravljaš,
nemaš smisla za orijentaciju,
nemaš smisla za smisao!
Ne umeš da upravljaš ama baš ničim,
s tobom bismo se vrteli u krug,
sve bi upropastio
i plovili bismo uzvodno.
Kad ja upravljam,
izlaz je tako blizu -
velika reka koja nas vodi odavde,
no, na naše iznenađenje, tamo više nema,
stigli smo u šarenim oslikan prostor
gde ribe nose mesingane naočare
i urlaju na Sunce.
Nije kao kod nas,
gde moraju da žive pod rđom.
Moraju nam otkriti ovu tajnu!
Kako napraviti mehaničko seme
da bi proklijala mehanička biljka?
Kako izleći uglačanu mesinganu pticu
iz običnog metalnih jaja?
Kako da napravimo sopstvene ljude na navijanje
i budemo sigurni da im srca rade na zupčanike?
...onda ne bismo bili tako sami ovde.
Ovo ne bi bile hiljade godina dosade.
Ne bismo morali da se igramo pantomime sa mrtvim kamionima.
Mesingani ljudi bi mogli da dođu kod nas,
navili bismo ih kad nam treba društvo,
ostavili ih na milost i nemilost kad nam treba spas.
Njima ne bi smetali bezmirisni pupoljci,
njih ne bi uznemiravali snegokolačići,
oni ne bi čekali na red da jašu naše konje boje meda,
oni ne bi krali hranu od bakica iz našeg odreda.
Mehaničke ptice bi učile sive vukove da lete,
ne bi bilo više ove avetinjske tišine,
ne bi bilo beskonačnih solaža vetra kroz zgrade,
već prijatnog zavijanja koje se nebom prolama.
Ja bih skupljala krljušt za džinovsku lepezu
i perje od folije za sledeći plan bekstva.
Nikad nećemo izaći odavde,
nije da smo to i hteli,
nije da nam je to i trebalo,
nije da to i možemo.
I'm the captain of this rusty ship,
I'm going to take you on a trip,
We're going to fade black to white,
We're going to turn wrong to right,
We're going to do all in our might
To leave this place,
leave this place,
End up visible on weather forecast maps
And take her to the sea.
Won't let you steer,
Won't let you steer,
You have no sense of orientation,
You have no sense of sense!
You don't know how to steer anything,
You'd make us go around in circles.
You'd mess it all up
And navigate upstream.
When I steer,
The way out is so near
The big river that leads out of here,
But to our surprise, the out of here is no more,
We end up in brightly coloured space
Where fish wear brass sunglasses
And scream at the Sun
It's not like here
Where they live in rust.
They have to tell us their secret!
How to make a mechanical seed
To sprout a mechanical plant?
How to get a glossy brass bird
From a pure metal egg?
How to make our own wind-up people
And make sure their hearts are cog-powered?
....then we wouldn't be so lonely here,
These wouldn't be thousands of years of boredom.
We wouldn't have to play charade with dead trucks.
Brass people could come and be by our side,
We'd wind them up when we need company
And abando them when we need to run and hide.
They wouldn't mind the non-fragnant blossoms,
They wouldn't mind all of these snowcookies,
They wouldn't wait turns to ride our honey horses,
They wouldn't be stealing food from our old ladies.
Mechanical birds would teach grey wolves to fly,
There would not be any more of this haunting silence,
There would not be endless solos of wind through windows,
But pleasant howling across the sky.
I'll be gathering scale for a giant fan,
And foil feathers for the next escape plan.
We will never get out of here
Not that we actually wanted to.
Not that we actually need to.
Not that we actually can.