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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 66 | volume XII | May-June, 2009



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 66May-June, 2009

On the Green Field Bordered with Lines and Flags

p. 1
Slađan Lipovec

How I stole Bagić

There’s something I love about the smell of earth mixed with sweat and sap, of barely woken and freshly mown grass engrained in every pore of the hand, a smell familiar to every child and every player who has taken a fall, and to every bare-handed goalkeeper: the pitch has been prepared, the nets are stretched, and it’s a Sunday, the day for football.
    Not all smells are the same, though, or equally pleasant, even if from the strict point of view they are identical. Although it was not at a match, and in fact I had stopped playing long before, the same smell found its way into my nostrils and palms during my military service. I discovered from a chance conversation that there was a library indoors. This revelation was useful on more ways than one: it was the only refuge from mindless routine, the only place where silence offered a Sunday-like, almost religious atmosphere. Admittedly, when I checked out Camus’s “The Plague” the librarian did ask me whether I was planning to take leave of my senses entirely, but she kindly pointed out a few books of poetry piled up on the floor. I bent down to see what they had, and there it was, Svako je slovo kurva (Every Letter’s a Slut), by Krešimir Bagić and Boris Gregorić.
    I returned the Camus as I was meant to, but I kept Slovo for myself without thinking twice. I made no life-long friends in the army, but I brought Bagić home with me. Because it was 1998, ten years after the book had been published.
    From his first collection on, Krešimir Bagić has suggested (not asserted) that unambiguity cannot be possible in any respect. The very title, “Every Letter’s a Slut”, indicates that it is not possible to exhaust a designation, not simply because words acquire new and different meanings in every context, but also because the words themselves are subject to change as they shift into other situations; in the ceaseless process of speech, sounds, and letters as their images, audibly migrate from one word to another. By using the continuous present to portray actual situations as surreal, Bagić and Gregorić call into question the reliability of the rules of grammar. What is more, even if in this collection the borders which are supposed to be drawn in order to distinguish one literary genre from another are not

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