Lala Rascic

For Travel in the Box 2, I collaborated with good friends and talented poets. They wrote for me.

It seems important to post as much as possible about this project on this blog because, if you remember how we started in 2007 / it was because of this project. Older posts map the development of the idea of Travel in the Box piece.

Soon the “Read More” journal will come out with texts by November Paynter and Timothy A. Weeks. This journal is an online publication published by Horsecross. It is funny that the texts in it will relate to my work that was shown in 2007 in Threshold, Perth. By now my piece has significantly developed – still I am not sure that this is the end of the line.

I cannot consider this project finalized. I think that this project should somehow be taken out of the field of visual. I should develop it into a proper collection of contemporary Bosnian and Herzegovinian and  have it exhisiting only in the form of a book and a reading – where the reading can be as thetrical it wants to be.

Starting the new faze  of the project are the specially written poems by some of the most talented young poets from Bosnia and Herzegovina. The poems have already been compiled in a limited edition of artists books, and have been performed in Ljubljana. As promised in a previous post, I am publishing the poems here in their original and in our own English translation.

Mantra – Marko Tomaš

Traveling through cities we’ve reached the last – Mehmed Begić

traveling to a Fine Land – Andreja Dugandžić

The Box – Ivona Jukić

Travel in Box – Lala Raščić

MANTRA

Dobro je, dobro je
Dišem bezolovni zrak
Dobro je, dobro je
Ja sam usamljeni Noah
Dobro je, dobro je
Zid od soli je slan i mokar
Dobro je, dobro je
Posljednji čovjek na posljednjem putovanju
Dobro je, dobro je
U budućnosti ću postati fotografija
Dobro je, dobro je
Neko će pisati red po red kako je dobro
Dobro je, dobro je
Čovjek se lako spakira za put
Dobro je, dobro je
Neke kafane se zatvaraju kasno
Dobro je, dobro je
Ljudi su pijani i muzika loša
Dobro je, dobro je
Cigarete pomažu da održiš svoj cool
Dobro je, dobro je
Odgađam živčani slom
Dobro je, dobro je
Pišem mantru kako je dobro
Dobro je, dobro je
Jutarnja afirmacija za budiste početnike
Dobro je, dobro je
Kad obrišeš paru s ogledala i vidiš poznato lice

Dobro je, dobro je
Kao stara dobra vremena
Dobro je, dobro je
Što nisi upoznat s vlastitom sudbinom
Dobro je, dobro je
Što zaborav progresivno raste kako stariš
Dobro je, dobro je
Zamisli da si četka za odijelo putujućeg trgovca
Dobro je, dobro je
Zamisli da si životno djelo ratnog zločinca
Dobro je, dobro je
Zamisli kako bi bilo da nije ovako dobro
Dobro je, dobro je
Vidiš kako su propali šeširdžija i krojač
Dobro je, dobro je
Sad si na putu
Dobro je, dobro je
Sad si na dalekom putu
Dobro je, dobro je
Sad si između dvije obale
Dva kontinenta
Dvije istorije
Dobro je, dobro je, dobro
Sad si između dvije čežnje
Dobro je, dobro je
Sad si na putu
Sad si na putu
Sad si na dalekom putu

MANTRA

It’s good, it’s good
I breathe unleaded air
It’s good, it’s good
I’m the lonesone Noah
It’s good, it’s good
The wall is made of salt it’s salty and wet
It’s good, it’s good
A final man on a final journey
It’s good, it’s good
In the future I am a photograph
It’s good, it’s good
Line by line someone writes about how good it is
It’s good, it’s good
It’s easy to pack
It’s good, it’s good
Some bars stay open late
It’s good, it’s good
Everybody is drunk and the music is bad
It’s good, it’s good
Cigarettes help you keep your cool
It’s good, it’s good
I postpone a nervous breakdown
It’s good, it’s good
I’m writing a mantra of how good it is
It’s good, it’s good
A good morning affirmation for the buddhist novice
It’s good, it’s good
To wipe the steam off a mirror and see a farmilar face

It’s good, it’s good
Like the good ole’ times
It’s good, it’s good
Not to know your destiny
It’s good, it’s good
Oblivion grows with time
It’s good, it’s good
Imagine you are a clothes brush of a travelling salesman
It’s good, it’s good
Imagine you are a war crimnal’s life achievement
It’s good, it’s good
Imagine it wasn’t this good
It’s good, it’s good
You see how the hatmaker and the tailor got ruined
It’s good, it’s good
You are on a journey
It’s good, it’s good
You are on a long journey
It’s good, it’s good
You are now between two shores
Two continents
Two histories
It’s good, it’s good, it’s all good
You are now  between two desires
It’s good, it’s good
You are on a journey
You are on a journey
You are on a long journey

Marko Tomaš, 2009

PROLAZEĆI KROZ GRADOVE
DOŠLI SMO DO POSLJEDNJEG

U redu je, prolazeći gradove
došli smo do posljednjeg
Trajalo je jedan život
i to je bilo previše
U blizini nema nikoga -
samo glas koji govori
i onaj koji ga sluša,
zatim jednom
pa onda drugom nogom
izlazi iz kutije
Unaokolo samo tišine
Svaka nova
govori jače od prethodne
- koraci su jedini putokazi
a poslije mraka dolazi sloboda
Tražiš je iako znaš da ne postoji
Ona je iluzija
poput ljubavi koja obećava
i ti ne možeš da se ne raduješ
Slušaš glas,
ponavljaš: U redu je
nisu ove lomače zbog tebe
I to što su gradili ispod prozora
nisu vješala
Koliko god da te čekaju
pustinje tuđih misli više ne plaše
Izađi i nasmij se
Ispred tebe su ulice
Zagrli prvog koga sretneš
Reci Jebi se Volim te
Smjesti osmijeh
na taj dlan
kojim brišeš daljine
i produži dalje
ne osvrćući se
sanjajući
kako te još uvijek budim
sa prozora pjesme
da nastaviš putovanje

TRAVELLING THROUGH CITIES
WE’VE REACHED THE LAST

It’s all right, traveling through cites
we’ve reached the last
It took a lifetime
and that was too much
Nothing around -
except a voice
and the one listening,
and then with one
and then the other leg
steps out of the box
Only silences around
every new one
speaks louder than the one before
- footsteps are the only signals
after dark freedom comes
You search for her knowing she doesn’t exist
she is an illusion
like a promise of love
and you can’t help but rejoice
You listen to the voice
you repeat: it’s all right
these pyres are not for you
and what they built beneath your windows
they are not gallows
However they wait on you
the deserts of their thoughts do not frighten
Step outside and smile
Streets are in front of you
Wrap your arms around the first you meet
Say Fuck you I love you
Place a smile on
the palm of your hand
swipe the frontier
and continue
don’t look back
dream
that I’m still waking with you
with a window of a song
to continue the journey

Mehmed Begić, 2009.

putujem u Dobru zemlju

Došla je noć.
Ne idem nikud.
Dobra zemlja to si ti.
Tvoje ruke
U njoj.

Nisam žedna.
nisam gladna.
mogu biti parket
polica ili zid
Fiksirana.
Sama po sebi

U ovoj spavaćoj sobi
I primaćoj sobi
Ovo sada,
to je moja kuća.

toplim jezikom
oblizujem svoja
meka usta
U gaćicama gladni svemir.
jagodice titraju
u iščekivanju.
biti vlastita.

Treba iznajmiti stan,
mlada zaposlena žena traži
jednosoban stan
S centralnim grijanjem
Nema okupljanja ni dovođenja!

Zamisli kakvu bi kosu imala naša kćer.

Dobro jutro ljubavi
Kakav je to samo san bio
Vičeš iz kuhinje
Sin ti trčkara oko nogu
Nešto mi pripravljate.
Ja. Meni? On.

Nepotrebna,
niko i ništa,
Neoperativna,
Neproduktivna,
Nespremna.
Polu-pečena,
Impotentna!
Neiskorištena,
Neformirana
Ne-reformirana.
Neformatirana

Treba biti sama.
U kutiji u slovima
U dlanovima.
U 19.58.
Ti nisi kao cijeli svijet

Nedorasla
Niškorist
Amorfna.
Nepripravljena
Neuglađena.
Nedozrela .
Prosta.
Neuspjela

Jedan dva tri
Prsti u seskačvinu
Stopala u nigeriji
stidnica mi jaše ekvator.

Embrionalna.
Džaba joj.

Moje vrijeme za sve.
Za zajebat cijeli božji dan.
I sad nemam više šta
Stanem i zamislim se.
Sad će jesen.
Svježe doba.
Obojeno našim
rođendanima.

traveling to a Fine land

night has come.
I’m not going anywhere
Fine land – that is you.
Your hands in within it.

I’m not thirsty
I’m not hungry.
I could be wood,
A shelf or a wall.
Mounted
By itself.

in this bedroom
and this living room
this now,
is my home.

warm tongue
over soft lips
pants, a hungry universe
ends of fingers quiver
from waiting.
To own myself

I should  find a place
Young employed woman
looking  for one-bedroom
apartment with central heating
No guests or gatherings!

Can you imagine our daughters’ hair

Good morning love
What a dream I had
I hear you from the kitchen
Your son about your feet
Two of you prepare something for me.
Me.for me?He.

Unnecessary
A nothing
Inoperative
Unproductive
unprepared
half-baked.
Impotent!
Unused
Unformed
Unreformed
Unformatted

I should be alone
In a box, in letters
In palms
at 7.58 pm
You are not like the rest of the world

inept
good for nothing
amorphous
untrained
rugged
unripe
Crude
futile

one two three
fingers in Saskatchewan
feet in Nigeria
crotch on the Equator

Embryonic.
In vain

My time for everything.
To fuck up an)entire god damn day.
And now, nothing’s left
I stop and ponder .
Autumn is coming
A frigid season
Tinted by our
Birthdays.

Andreja Dugandžić, 2009.

KUTIJA

Prihvatam sopstvenu ruku spasenja.
Pretvaram sebe u predmet koji je dostojniji
putovanja od samog ljudskog bića.
Zatvaram poklopac.
Postajem odlazak.
Smirujem dah kako ga ne bih usput izgubio.
Mislim na dan
noć
podne
jutro
i na sate
čije je postojanje ovdje nebitno.
Jer vrijeme je suzbijeno sa mnom
u tom jedinom prostoru,
jedini koji će biti stvaran toliko sati.
Sekundi.
Jedinica vremena.
Vjerujem u to da ću nakon svega ugledati
ono što premašuje riječi koje koristimo
kada se tek nevješto izražavamo o
Slobodi.
Ovo je put među zidovima
od sapunice,
od drveta,
od svijeta.
Zar je uopše bitno?
Ironija mi navire u talasu zagušljivosti
kada shvatim da idem ka slobodi
zarobljeniji nego ikada.

The Box

I accept my own hand of salvation
And transform into an object more worthy
of travel than being.
I close the lid
and become the departure.
I hold my breath so I don’t lose it .
I’m thinking of the day
Night
Noon
Morning
And the hours
Whose existence is now irrelevant, here.
For time is trapped with me
In that only space,
The only one that exists for those couple of hours.
Seconds.
Measures of time.
I believe that after everything, I’ll see
That which soars above the words we say
When we speak so incompetently about
Freedom.
This is a hall between walls
of bubbles
of Wood
of the world.
Does it even matter?
Irony is seeps down on me in a wave of sultriness
When I realize I’m walking towards freedom
Less free than ever.

Ivona Jukić, 2009.

Travel in Box

Waking up from a nightmare with a pain in the neck.
Trying hard to lift head, instead
bump it against the side of the box.
Cramped enough to remember that
I’m in a box.
I am in a box.

Can’t readjust my position.
No sounds. The coast is clear.
With numb hands I bang sides.
Which way is up?

Muted thuds and a frightening thought:
I am on the bottom of a pile of crates.
Which way is up?
Gasping for breath: What was I thinking?

Which way is up?
Which way is out?

Used up all air.
While still, neck is fine.
The right arm is totally numb.
Lost control of arm and situation.
Patience leads to wild thoughts: I am buried alive.

Remember being lifted,
forklift, being dropped, banged, cursing at Jo.
Knee hurt , neck hurting, box got turned upside down
Those guys sat on it.

They treated me like cargo, remembering:
I am cargo.
I am cargo.

Strange no feeling of motion.

There was a van, a truck, and my still smelling like fish.
Then a long silence.

Have to relax.
Relax until I get THERE.

Thirsty, thirsty. Keep entertained.
Why does this mobile phone keep dying away?
Turn it on to kill time.
No coverage. Still.
Turn it off to kill time.

Where am I?
Falling asleep or fainting for lack of oxygen.

Remember waking, body is totally numb. Trying to move.

Why is this box so tight?

Felt much better before.

Should have made it bigger.

The padding was a good idea.
It was Jo’s idea. He thought this was a stupid idea.

Remember him saying: this is a stupid idea.
I’ll send him a postcard when I get THERE.

Trying to move, must move, need to move.

Hearing hissing, it’s shaking, it’s cold.

Must be airborne. Missed my first take off.

Just like everything else.

Don’t care, with last strength unlatch the roof of box,

can lift lid, movement feels air, my arm is stretched.

Stretch legs, other limbs, lift stiff body out of box.

Stand straight in the belly of cargo jet, boy.

Phone is off again.
Turn it off to buy time, turn it on to kill time.
Use light to see.

Stowaways and dry goods.

And then: Standing straight in the belly of a cargo jet,

a satisfying feeling of being lost overcomes me.

Destination becomes unimportant.

Finally I discover this is where nowhereness is!

If I knew it was this easy

would have done it before, thinking, thrill of escape,

satisfied with knowing I’m the one that got away.

Should have hijacked that rig

I slapped of to Timbuktu the other day!

Soon I’ll be home. Jo knew I was in trouble.
That’s why he helped me.
If he knew it was like this he’d have come easily.

Know this sound from movies.

It’s the gears of the airplane wheels.
The destination, it suddenly appears.

Better get back in my box.

Lala Raščić 2007/ 2009.