Aleksandar Horvat |
Aleksandar Horvat |
| Informatičar, rođen 1966. u Ludbregu, vlasnik obrta za grafički dizajn. Od 1987. godine član je kulturno-umjetničkog društva “Anka Ošpuh” kao plesač, pjevač, glumac i recitator. U više uzastopnih mandata do danas je predsjednik društva. Volonter Gradske knjižnice i čitaonice “Mladen Kerstner” Ludbreg, kao recitator i interpretator te jedan je od inicijatora Knjižničnog literarnog kluba KLIK i recitala kajkavske poezije “Božo Hlastec” koji od 2017. organizira Gradska knjižnica. Voditelj je brojnih događanja i manifestacija u Ludbregu i okolici. | Computer scientist, born 1966 in Ludbreg. Owner of a graphic design workshop. From the year of 1987 member of the cultural and artistic association “Anka Ošpuh“ as a dancer, singer, actor and reciter. President of the association in several consecutive terms. Volunteer of Gradska knjižnica i čitaonica “Mladen Kerstner“ Ludbreg (City Libraray and Reading Room), as a reciter and interpreter and one of the initiators of Knjižnički literarni klub KLIK (Literaray Club for Kajkavian) and recital of kajkavian poetry “Božo Hlastec“ organised since 2017 by Gradska knjižnica. Director of many events and manifestations in Ludbreg and surrounding settlements. |
| Od 2016. godine ozbiljnije se bavi pisanjem te, otkrivajući novi kreativni interes, utire svoj put u poeziju. Započinje s kajkavskim jezikom, ali piše i standardnim, prisutan je u zbornicima kajkavske poezije na svim relevantnim hrvatskim poetskim recitalima. Od 2018. godine piše kolumnu na kajkavskom jeziku za Ludbreške novine, kolumnu “Kajkavski klasiki” na FB grupi Ujedinjeni kajkavski emirati i portalu RGG, te kolumnu “Kajkavsko najže” na portalu časopisa Kvaka, a redovito objavljuje na društvenim mrežama. Dobitnik je različitih priznanja za sudjelovanje na poetskim recitalima, književnim natječajima i festivalima (među ostalima Nagrada za hrvatski književni putopis u Loboru, Nagrada Matice hrvatske za kajkavsku poeziju u Zelini, Nagrada velikogoričkog ogranka Matice hrvatske “Turopoljska poculica” za kratku priču, 1. nagrada natječaja za kratku kazališnu priču “Kešnerijada 2020”) te nekoliko priznanja i pohvalnica Hrvatskog sabora kulture čiji je član od 2017. Član je Matice Hrvatske, ogranak Varaždin, član suradnik koprivničkog ogranka DHK te Društva za promicanje kulture KVAKA. | Since 2016 has been taking writing more seriously and, discovering a new creative interest; his way into poetry. He began with kajkavian vernacular, but also writes in the standard language. He is present in collections of kajkavian poetry in all relevant Croatian poetry annals. Since the year 2018 he has been writing articles for Ludbreške novine in kajkavian vernacular, his column is called “Kajkavski klasiki“ (Kajkavina classics) in a Facebook group Ujedinjeni kajkavski emirati (The United Kajkavian Emirates) and on the portal RGG and column “Kajkavsko najže“ (Kajkajvian as it were) on the portal site of the magazine Kvaka (Knob), and he regularly posts on social media. He is a winner of various acknowledgements for participating in poetry recitals, literary competitions and festivals (amongst others, Nagrada za hrvatski književni putopis u Loboru (Croatain literaray travel report in Lobor), Nagrada Matice hrvatske za kajkavsku poeziju u Zelini (Matica Hrvatska Prize for kajkavian poetry in Zelina), Nagrada velikogoričkog ogranka Matice hrvatske “Turopoljska poculica“ ( Matica Hrvatska Prize of the Velika Gorica Branch “za kratku priču, first award in a short theatre story competition “Kešnerijada 2020“) and a few acknowledgements and accolades from Hrvatski sabor kulture, which he is a member of since 2017. As member of Matica Hrvatska, Varaždin branch, associate member of the Koprivnica branch of DHK and of Društvo za promicanje kulture KVAKA. |
| U listopadu 2018. objavljuje svoju prvu knjigu, zbirku pjesama na kajkavskom jeziku “Grad v sredini sveta” (Zagreb 2018., Hrvatski sabor kulture) sa zavičajnom tematikom. Za društveni angažman u zajednici dobitnik je javnog priznanja Nagrada grada Ludbrega za vrijedne ostvarene rezultate i doprinos razvitku, promidžbi i ugledu Grada (ožujak 2019.). Zanimaju ga i drugi književni žanrovi poput kratkih priča, putopisa, crtica i eseja. Zaljubljenik je u prirodu, a zbog kreativnog potencijala iz hobija se još bavi amaterskom fotografijom i uzgojem bonsai drveća, povremeno i crtanjem. | In October of 2018 he published his first book, a collection of poems in kajkavian vernacular “Grad v sredini sveta“ – City in the centre of the world – (Zagreb 2018., Hrvatski sabor kulture) with native themes. For his social enterprises in the community, he recieved public acknowledgement in the Nagrada grada Ludbrega za vrijedne ostvarene rezultate i doprinos razvitku, promidžbi i ugledu Grada ( City of Ludbreg Prize for exceptional results and development, promotion and prestigious) (March of 2019). Interested in other literary genres, such as short stories, travelogues, literally sketches and essays. A nature lover, and given his creative potential, he is into amateur photography and cultivation of bonsai trees, occasionally drawing as a hobby. |
| Adresa: Ljudevita Gaja 6, 42230 Ludbreg
Telefon: 098 339 071 email: alex@almahor.hr web: http://aleksandar-horvat.iz.hr |
Address: Ljudevita Gaja 6, 42230 Ludbreg
Telephone: 098 339 071 email: alex@almahor.hr web: http://aleksandar-horvat.iz.hr |
Kralj festivala |
König des Festivals |
| Nije da se baš ništ ne razmem v drevje. Znam drevje po kori, po granama, po pupekima, po listju, po semenju i koščicama. Videl sam drevje po vulicama, vrtima, parkima, v polju, v šumama. Videl sam i mladice kaj se rivleju z drača i stoletne hladonosce, drevje v letu, drevje v zimi, po vetru, po dežđu, po mrazu… Besmrtni hrast, breza kak ferunga, šušmurasti jasen, šumeča topola, dišeča lipa, žalosna vrba, nebeski jablan, mučeči čempres, orijaška platana, medonosna gacija… Sako drevo je po nečemu posebno. | Es ist nicht so, dass ich nichts über Bäume wusste. Bäume kann ich an Rinden, Ästen, Löchern, Blättern, Samen und Kernen erkennen. Ich sah Bäume entlang von Straßen, Parks, auf Feldern, in Wäldern. Ich sah auch, wie Bäumchen zwischen den Dornen Christi wachsen; Bäume im Sommer, Bäume im Winter, während es windet, regnet, forstet… Eine unsterbliche Eiche, Birke wie ein Vorhang, Esche von unbestimmter Farbe, sprudelnde Pappel, atmende Linde, Trauerweide, himmlische Lombardische Pappel, qualvolle Zypresse, Riesenplatane, Honigtragende Akazie. |
| Ali jedno morem reči: niti jedno drevo ne slavi jesen tak svetešnje kak javor. Teško da bi našel na njemu baš kaj beloga ili plavoga, ali se druge farbe sigurno ima. Javori su kralji jesenskoga festivala, oni jedva dočekaju jesen kaj pokažeju obleke koje su celo leto krojili i napasavali. Gda stanem pred javora njegovo ruho skriva limune, cekine, žumanjke od jajca, med njima se v senku skriva napol vgašeno sonce, ogenj, zrela višnja, marelica, črlena jagoda, bordo roža i vinsko rubinska iskra, zemljano hrđava prevlači se v zlatnu. Tu i tam koji listek zasveti kak sesvečka roža, dve tri fleke bele kave i tek tu i tam malo trdoglave zelene – spomenki na leto. | Aber eines kann ich sagen: Kein Baum feiert den Herbst so heilig wie der Ahorn. Weiß oder Blau würde ich bei ihm kaum finden, aber alle anderen Farben sind definitiv vorhanden. Ahornbäume sind die Könige des Herbstfestes; sie können es kaum erwarten, dass der Herbst kommt, um die Kleider zu zeigen, die sie den ganzen Sommer geschneidert und angezogen haben. Wenn ich vor dem Ahornbaum stehe, verbirgt seine Kleidung Zitronen, Enten, Eigelb, dazwischen im Schatten eine erloschene Sonne, Feuer, eine reife Kirsche, eine Aprikose, eine rote Erdbeere, eine burgundisch-rote Rose und ein Weinrubin Funke, erdiger Rost wird zu Gold. Hier und da glänzt ein Blatt wie eine Rose aus Sesvete, zwei oder drei weiße Kaffeeflecken und nur ab und zu kleine störrische Grüne – Souvenirs aus dem Sommer. |
| Jesenski dežđ dovleče oblake pak na se skupa nahiče male iskrice, kak šljokice. Za dežđom dojde sonce, menjaju se i iskriju farbe na sakomu listu, kak kaleidoskop, dok sončevi kisti precurevaju čez granje i trgaju se v senkama. Se je spremno za jesenski bal. Dok se jesen napleše, došel bu veter i se skupa stepel, slekel, pomel i na kup del, kralj bu ostal bez odore i krune. Do drugoga festivala.
A. Horvat |
Der Herbstregen zieht Wolken mit sich, so dass sie zusammen kleine Funken werfen, wie Lametta. Nach dem Regen kommt die Sonne, die Farben auf jedem Blatt ändern sich und funkeln wie ein Kaleidoskop, bis die Pinsel der Sonne durch die Zweige streichen und in den Schatten reißen scheint. Alles ist bereit für den Herbstball. Wenn der Herbst tanzt, wird der Wind kommen und alles schlagen, ausziehen, fegen und auf einen Haufen legen, der König wird ohne seine Kleidung und Krone bleiben. Bis zum zweiten Fest.
A. Horvat, übersetz von Leon Matulec Sommer 2021 |
Kralj festivala |
King of the Festival |
| Nije da se baš ništ ne razmem v drevje. Znam drevje po kori, po granama, po pupekima, po listju, po semenju i koščicama. Videl sam drevje po vulicama, vrtima, parkima, v polju, v šumama. Videl sam i mladice kaj se rivleju z drača i stoletne hladonosce, drevje v letu, drevje v zimi, po vetru, po dežđu, po mrazu… Besmrtni hrast, breza kak ferunga, šušmurasti jasen, šumeča topola, dišeča lipa, žalosna vrba, nebeski jablan, mučeči čempres, orijaška platana, medonosna gacija… Sako drevo je po nečemu posebno. | It is not that I do not know anything about trees. I can recognize trees by their bark, branches, holes, leaves, seeds and pits. I see trees along streets, parks, in fields, in woods. I also see how saplings grow between Christ’s thorn, trees in summer, trees in winter, while it is windy, raining, frosty… An immortal oak, a birch like a curtain, ash of indeterminate color, effervescent poplar, breathing linden, weeping willow, celestial Lombardy poplar, agonizing cypress, giant plane tree, honey-bearing acacia. |
| Ali jedno morem reči: niti jedno drevo ne slavi jesen tak svetešnje kak javor. Teško da bi našel na njemu baš kaj beloga ili plavoga, ali se druge farbe sigurno ima. Javori su kralji jesenskoga festivala, oni jedva dočekaju jesen kaj pokažeju obleke koje su celo leto krojili i napasavali. Gda stanem pred javora njegovo ruho skriva limune, cekine, žumanjke od jajca, med njima se v senku skriva napol vgašeno sonce, ogenj, zrela višnja, marelica, črlena jagoda, bordo roža i vinsko rubinska iskra, zemljano hrđava prevlači se v zlatnu. Tu i tam koji listek zasveti kak sesvečka roža, dve tri fleke bele kave i tek tu i tam malo trdoglave zelene – spomenki na leto. | But one thing I can say: not one tree celebrates autumn as wholly as a maple tree. I would hardly find anything white or blue on it, but all the other colours are definitely there. Maple trees are kings of the autumn festival, they cannot await autumn to show the attire they have been tailoring and dressing the whole summer. When I stand in front of the maple tree its attire hides lemons, dockets, egg yolks, between them in the shadow an extinguished sun, fire, a ripe cherry, an apricot, a red strawberry, a burgundy rose and a wine ruby spark, earthy rust turned into gold. Here and there a leaf shines like a rose from Sesvete, two or three stains of white coffee and only here and there little stubborn green spots – souvenirs from summer. |
| Jesenski dežđ dovleče oblake pak na se skupa nahiče male iskrice, kak šljokice. Za dežđom dojde sonce, menjaju se i iskriju farbe na sakomu listu, kak kaleidoskop, dok sončevi kisti precurevaju čez granje i trgaju se v senkama. Se je spremno za jesenski bal. Dok se jesen napleše, došel bu veter i se skupa stepel, slekel, pomel i na kup del, kralj bu ostal bez odore i krune. Do drugoga festivala.
A. Horvat |
Autumn rain drags clouds together so they throw small sparks, like tinsel. After rain comes the sun, the colours on every leaf change and sparkle, like a kaleidoscope, until the sun’s brush runs through the branches and tears up the shadows. Everything is ready for the autumn ball. As autumn dances, the wind will come and hit everything, strip, sweep and put all on a pile, the king will be left without attire and crown. Until the coming of the second festival.
A. Horvat, translated by: Leon Matulec, Class 2.d, Summer 2021 |
Stara klet |
Old vineyard house |
| Stara klet, seda, naborana, spocana, naherena, šepava, negdi na kraj slepoga goričkoga pota, tam gdje počne šuma. Napol je vsela v zemlju, na glavi joj scufani slamnati škrlak, vuprta je z drvenim štakama, pod črešnjinim jembrelom i senkom. Zaprta od sveta, zaklenjena v zaborav, nepotrebna težaku, sama sebi dosta, stoji tam i čeka. | An old cottage in a vineyard, grey, wrinkled, cracked, slanted, limping, somewhere at the end of a blind vineyard path, where the forest begins. It half sat down in the ground; on its head a worn-out straw hat; it is supported by wooden crutches, under a cherry tree’s umbrella and shadow. It is closed to the world, locked into oblivion, useless to the labourer, encompassed in itself, it stands there and waits. |
| Vu svojim dogim danima stara se klet veseli sakomu črešnjevomu cvetu koji ji padne na glavu, zaigranim ftičekima, šumenju gacijskoga luga, toplomu dežđu kaj ju napaja, hrustanju šodra dok prek puta prebeži srna. V proletje ji zadišiju ljubice, trava ju požegeče po poceku i kopriva vgrizne, jaglaci se nazvezdaju po travi. Po njoj se vesi bršljan, a po bršljanu slak, pak ju nakinča z belim trubenticama. V skruhnutomu zidu od blata martinček si je složil dom, tu je za pajdaš. Žareča zvezda kleti greje kosti, po noči čez mesečevo srebro sova spomenke nabraja. Zna klet kak komandira vrana, kak se svraka norca dela, kak divlji golub z šume doziva. Kosu, najbolšemu popevaču, je gnezdo skrivala pod strehom, srdila se na vrapce kaj su ga rastepli. Jesenske farbe joj pašeju k srcu, a duha pečenoga kostanja z drugoga brega ju rastuži i zmisli na dobroga staroga pajdaša. Kraj njegovogaa trčka, prek pota, sako leto zrasteju gljive. A v zimi, najviše ima rad belinu i tišinu dok proba prepoznati trage šumskoga živlenja. Stara klet ima svoja mala veselja, dok z brega gledi v dolinu i čeka. | In its long days, the old vineyard cottage rejoices at every cherry blossom that falls on its head, the playful birds, the rustling of acacia forest, warm rain watering it; the crunching sound of gravel as the roe deer runs across the way. In spring the old vineyard cottage scents the violets; the grass tickles its threshold and the nettle bites it, primroses line up in the grass. Ivy hangs on it and morning glory hangs off the ivy so it is adorned with white trumpets. In a cracked mud wall, a sand lizard made its home; it’s there as a friend. The glowing star warms the bones of the vineyard house, at night through the silvery shine of the moon an owl counts the memories. The old vineyard cottage knows how a crow sounds, how a magpie makes a fool out of it, how a wild pigeon from the forest calls out. For the blackbird, the best of singers, it hid the nest under the eaves, angry at the sparrows for tearing it apart. Autumn colours suit her heart, and the spirit of roasted chestnut from the other hill saddens and reminds it of a good old friend. Next to a stump, across the way, mushrooms grow every year. And in winter, it loves whiteness and silence the most, while trying to recognize traces of forest life. Old vineyard cottage has its little joys while it looks down from the hill into the valley and waits. |
| Čeka več letima. Čeka da još negdo pomisli na nju, pak da makar samo još jemput čuje teškoga ključa kak se dvaput obrne, a gumeši čez pocek prekoračiju. Da zacvili obločec dok pusti jutarnjega vetra kaj zanjiše ferungu, pak da vdehne z punim plučima v hladu zrele črešnje. Da se glas ljudski još jemput med zide rastepe. Stara klet, seda, naborana, spocana, naherena, šepava, još ima živu dušu koja trpi. Samoča ju je postarala, samoča bu ju v grob pospravila.
A. Horvat, 2019. |
It’s been waiting for years. It waits for someone else to think of it so that it can hear how the heavy key is turned twice one more time, and rubber boots step over the threshold. So that the window squeaks as it lets the morning wind sway the curtain, and to breathe again with full lungs in the shade of the ripe cherry tree. So that a human voice can sound between the walls once again. The vineyard cottage, grey, wrinkled, cracked, slanted, limping, still has a living soul that suffers. Loneliness has aged it, loneliness will save it in the grave.
A. Horvat, translated by: Elizabeta Evačić, Class 2.d, Summer 2021 |