Beograd nije sav u Beogradu

Beograd nije sav u Beogradu

Mnogo veci deo Beograda je u ceznji za Beogradom, koji ga cini lepsim nego sto u stvari jeste. Beograd je u beogradskim kafanama po svetu u kojima se sakupljaju "nasi"...

"Skadarlija" u Ricvudu (Njujork). "Balkan" u Sidneju. "Cetiri breze" u Briselu. "La coza" u Karakasu. " Beograd " u Minhenu. "King Petar" u Vasingtonu...

Beograd je u tresnji na dnu koktela "Menhetn", koji upravo sise jedna srecno udata osamljena Beogradanka, sto u rimskom "Kafe Greko" rezimira svoj zivot - da li je sve to, zaista, vredelo toliko truda: bi li bolje zivela da se udala za svog Mikija i ostala na Vozdovcu?

Beograd is the World

Beograd is not entirely in Beograd.

A much larger part of Beograd is in the longing after it, which makes it more beautiful than it actually is.

Beograd is in its cafes all over the world, in which “our” people get together. Skadarlija in Richwood (New York). Balkan in Sidney. Four Birches in Bruxelles. La cosa in Caracas. Beograd in Muenchen. King Peter in Washington…

Beograd is in the cherry at the bottom of the Manhattan cocktail, which, at this moment, a woman from Beograd is sipping, in the Roman Café Greco summarizing her life – is it really worth so much effort: would she have lived better if she married her Miki and stayed at Vozhdovats?

Beograd was also in the restaurant Old Serbia, in Brussels, by the Grand Place, when the owner Dobrila, ex-“dark lady of Serbian poetry” asked about Branko Milkovich, and we told her he is a monument on Kalimegdan! She was flabbergasted! What do you mean- a monument, she used to darn socks and cook bean soup to that monument, back then, when he was absolutely unknown?

Beograd is in Hamilton (Canada), where an aged cavalry officer of the Royal army asked whether koshava still blows three, seven, or twenty one days, but koshava is non-existent anymore, one cannot find it even for medication. It got sick and tired of failure to blow us away from this hill, now it is moaning and howling somewhere in the Russian steppes.

Beograd is in the homes of those who were forced to leave it, taking with them just a tiny little piece of it, a pressed dry flower from Kalimegdan in the herbarium, a book, or a recipe for the eggplant moussaka, in the nicknames of the disappeared beauties (male and female), the photo of the graduating Third Boys’ Gymnasia students (academic year 1956/57), in Beograd’s charming accent, which even English language cannot ruin. Even the old Knez Mihailova Street with peeled off facades and broken sidewalks filled with puddles is not in Knez Mihailova anymore! It is on the soles of the aged walkers, who could not adjust their step to any of the world’s boulevards like to that old native strafta (promenade).

Beograd is in the photos of the deceased mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, who during their lives did not travel further than Zemun, now from the pictures tenderly observe our New York living room filled with people talking in seven world languages.

Beograd is there where only one head of sour kraut in the sink is made to cook sarma (dolma), and boast of our food to the Australians.

Beograd is in the way Belgradians still receive guests from around the world; in the icons of St. Nicholas and St .John, the most popular Beograd slavas (family saint patrons’ days), whose icons have traveled to Canada, and New Zealand, Beograd is…

Beograd is not in Beograd.

Beograd is there where we immigrate; present in all those Belgradians who still cannot or must not come back.

I am not there anymore, but somewhere else, from where I am desperately trying to return to myself…

Beograd is not in Beograd, because Beograd, in fact, is not a city, it is a metaphor, a way of life, a perspective on things.

Beograd is in the idea which inseminates the world wherever its spirit is moved. It is in a joke, unintentional gesture, an innate relaxed attitude, with which one meets successes and failures, there where the unit of measuring the style is charisma.

Beograd is in the names of little citizens of Switzerland, France, Sweden, Germany, and America, whose mothers are from Beograd.

Beograd is in the index finger when we call 011.

Beograd is in the saying “bez veze” (nonsense), no matter on which continent it is uttered.

Beograd is scattered in all four sides of the world.

I am longing for all these citizens of Beograd to be joined together.

Momo Kapor: The Magic of Beograd. Knjiga commerce, Beograd 2008.

(Translated into English: Dr. Mirjana N. Radovanov-Mataric)

Beograd je bio i u briselskom restoranu "Stara Srbija" pored Grand placa, kada nas je vlasnica Dobrila, nekadasnja "crna dama srpske poezije" pitala sta je sa pesnikom Brankom Miljkovicem, a mi joj ispricali kako se pretvorio u spomenik na Kalemegdanu!

Zapanjila se! Kako spomenik, kada je ona tom spomeniku stopala carape i kuvala pasulj kada je bio potpuno nepoznat?

Beograd je i u Hamiltonu (Kanada), gde nas jedan ostareli konjicki oficir Kraljevske vojske pita, "Duva li jos kosava tri, sedam ili dvadeset i jedan dan?", a kosave vec dugo ni za lek... Dojadilo joj, izgleda, to sto nije uspela da nas oduva sa ovog brega, pa sad cvili i zavija tamo negde u ruskim stepama.

Beograd je u kucama onih sto su bili prinudeni da ga napuste, ponevsi sa sobom po neki njegov delic, ispresovani kalemegdanski cvet u herbarijumu, neku knjigu, recept za musaku od plavih patlidzana, nadimke iscezlih lepotica i lepotana, fotografiju maturanata Trece muske gimnazije (skolska 1956-57), mazni beogradski akcent, koji nije uspeo da pokvari cak ni engleski. Ni stara Knez Mihajlova, oljustenih fasada i propalih trotoara sa lokvama, nije vise na Knez Mihajlovoj! Ona je na stopalima ostarelih setaca, koji ni na jednom svetskom bulevaru nisu mogli da uhvate korak nekadasnje "strafte".

Beograd je na fotografijama pokojnih majki, oceva, baka i dedova, koji u zivotu nisu putovali dalje od Zemuna, a sada sa slika blago posmatraju njujorsku dnevnu sobu po kojoj se razmileo svet sto cavrvlja na sedam jezika.

Beograd je tamo gde zakiselimo samo jednu glavicu kupusa u lavabou i od nje savijemo sarme, da se pohvalimo Australijancima ili Argentincima, nasom hranom.

Beograd je u nacinu na koji Beogradani primaju goste po svetu; Beograd je na ikonama svetog Nikole i svetog Jovana, najcescim beogradskim slavama - ikonama koje su putovale do Kanade i Novog Zelanda; Beograd je...

Beograd nije u Beogradu.

Beograd je u svim onim Beogradanima, koji jos uvek ne mogu ili ne smeju da se vrate.

Ali ni ja vise nisam ovde, vec negde drugde, odakle ocajnicki pokusavam da se vratim samom sebi...

Beograd nije u Beogradu, jer Beograd , u stvari i nije grad - on je metafora, nacin zivota, ugao gledanja na stvari.

Beograd je u ideji koja oplodava svet gde god da se ponese njegov duh. On je u nekom vicu, u slucajnom gestu, u urodenoj lezernosti sa kojom se primaju pobede i porazi, tamo, gde je jedinica za merenje stila - sarm.

Beograd je u imenima malih Svajcaraca, Francuza, Svedana, Nemaca i Amerikanaca, cije su majke Bogradanke.

Beograd je u kaziprstu kad pozivamo 011.

Beograd je u izrazu "bez veze!", ma na kom se kontinentu izgovorio.

Beograd je rasut na sve cetiri strane sveta.

Ceznem da jednog dana svi ovi Beogradani budu na okupu.