prose

Jasna Žmak: Three stories

Freelance dramaturg, playwright and scriptwriter, assistant researcher at the Department of Dramaturgy at the Academy of Drama Art of the University of Zagreb where she graduated in 2011. She is the co-screenwriter of three short feature films. Her author script was chosen as a part of the Zagrebačke priče 2 (Zagreb Stories 2) omnibus. She coordinates the screen-writing project Hrvatski filmski savez Palunko (Croatian Film Clubs' Association Palunko) and the editor of the screen-writing portal palunko.org. Since 2009 she is the director of the advanced screen-writing workshop in Kino klub Zagreb (Cinema Club Zagreb) and the art editor of Filmske mutacije – festival nevidljivog filma (Film Mutations – Invisible Film Festival). As an attendant she took part in several screen-writing workshops (Sarajevo Talent Campus, Visions of Paris...), and also as a member of the jury in several screen-writing competitions. As a dramaturge she worked together with producers Oliver Frljić and Borut Šeparović. She is a member of the editorial staff of the magazine for performing arts Frakcija (Fraction) and web portal drame.hr. She publishes short stories and critical reviews.



all you know about me

 

I won you over with my stories. Long before you met me, you met them, you created an image of me through sporadic publication of my stories, an image made of the words of my fiction. Reading my words you throught they were my reality. You believed my stories were my autobiography.

What confused you was that you often, in a strange way, found yourself in them, that you often felt you yourself were a character in my stories. But that's impossible, you persuaded yourself, two people who don't know each other can't share one biography. That's why you'd quickly drive away that thought and let yourself read fiction that wasn't.

You hadn't yet fallen in love with me back then, but you had fallen in love with my stories. And if my stories were me, as you believed, then perhaps you were a step away from falling in love with me as well... but back then you didn't yet know me in real life and you were convinced that you couldn't fall in love with something you don't know, let alone someone. That's why you'd swiftly ignore those thoughts and return to my made up words.

When you finally met me, you thought you knew all about me. You were convinced you knew all my loves, all my habits, all of me, just all of it.

When you came into my life, in reality, you told me that, you said you already knew everything about me. The first time you entered my apartment, you felt like home. The first time you lay in my bed, it felt like you'd already been in it.

That's why it confused you when you realised I know nothing of love from experience, and everything from dreams... It confused you that I could write about love without ever having lived it.

You're like Jules Verne, you told me, you never were where your stories take place.

Not physically, I replied, but in language, yes. You just laughed and gave no reply.

I didn't know you before my stories, that's true, in real life I didn't know anything about you, I didn't even know you exist, that someone like you exists.

But all the things I didn't know about you I wrote down as if I knew, as if I had been there. All the things I didn't know about you fit into one collection, my collection, the one you're reading right now. Long before you existed for me, I wrote you.

My collection was my journey into the center of you.

 

 

untranslateable

 

Your stories can't be translated, you concluded today after two weeks of persistent attempts to translate at least the shortest one into English. You came out of your own living room and said in a resigned manner: You can't even translate them to Serbian, let alone English.

Actually, you concluded that on the first day, but you didn't have the heart to tell me that right away, or maybe you didn't have the heart to tell it to yourself, a professor of English language and literature, a professor of Croatian language and literature, who can't translate a story of barely a page from one language to another. These two professors inside of you tried and tried, but they didn't succeed. They spent two weeks in that room, with four pounds worth of dictionaries and a couple of poorly sharpened pencils. But nothing helped, the translation never occurred...

When you finally stepped out and admitted defeat, (Like poetry, your prose is untranslateable, that's how you put it), I wanted to tell you I told you so. Because I've known for a while now that my stories don't exist in a language different than our own, they can only be read in the language in which I write them, this little disappearing language.

Yes, my stories are made in something that's disappearing. And my stories will some day disappear like that language, without a sound, like that tree that falls in the forest, but there's no one around to hear it. They'll fall with a whisper.

English too will one day disappear, I tell you, to comfort you, everything disappears eventually. And everything that appears is always created on something that disappears, that's how I want to continue my talk, but then I still give up. Because I know you know that already.

How can it be, you want to ask me, and how can you live with it. How is it possible that there are so many unread books, so many sentences written out, that used to be important to someone, and today are completely forgotten? How can you write, knowing that all you write will some day disappear?

You want to ask me all that, but you never do.

And I, just the same, want to tell you that I can do no other and that what seems impossible is, to me, the only thing possible.

 

 

a love story

 

I dreamt the word love didn't exist. People still had all those feelings, but they didn't know what to call them, they didn't have the words to describe them. And love wasn't the only thing to unexist, there was no falling in love, no verb to love, get to love, be enamoured, nor all of their derivations and variants, there were no amorous adjectives either. And it was the same in all of the world's languages. Love simply disappeared from the dictionary.

As soon as I woke up I immediately grabbed the dictionary, to check how love was defined anyway, convinced it was actually impossible, but also a little apprehensive that love won't be in it, and still holding out hope that love could be one of those words that have remained unchained by the shackles of definitions.

Still, I found it soon enough. It was there, in no way standing out, in no way special. Love didn't vanish from the dictionary.

Then my eyes wandered to all the other dictionaries stacked on your work desk, so, out of curiosity, I opened each one and checked what they had to say regarding love. In the end I spent a whole afternoon studying all the entries that had anything to do with that sort of feeling, I spent a couple of hours between Amor and yearning. At first I was fascinated, then I became angrier and angrier, only to become completely enraged by the end of the evening.

Because I discovered that a component of half of those definitions was - a person of the opposite sex. Yes, half of those dictionaries told me in no uncertain terms that I can't love you, that, actually, I could never have fallen in love with you. I read and couldn't believe from how many entries my feelings towards you were excluded, like they didn't exist, like they were impossible.

This upset me so much I decided I would write a dictionary, a completely new dictionary, which will exclude no one. Although I'm no philologist, although I had no experience in this sort of work, I sat at my desk and started. From A.

You were the one who interrupted the forging of my philological career, somewhere around abacus already. You approached me from behind, asked me what I was doing and then, just by the way, you gave me a kiss. You kissed me in a way that made me forget what I was doing.

When I came to my senses a few moments later I realised something that wasn't in the dictionaries. I realised some things, like, say, that kiss of yours, really have no name. And so I gave up on my dictionary and, instead, went with you into the nameless lands for which dictionaries have no words, and sometimes, neither do I. 

proza

Iva Sopka: Moje pravo, nezaljubljeno lice

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Iva Sopka (1987., Vrbas) objavila je više kratkih priča od kojih su najznačajnije objavljene u izboru za književnu nagradu Večernjeg lista „Ranko Marinković“ 2011. godine, Zarezovog i Algoritmovog književnog natječaja Prozak 2015. godine, nagrade „Sedmica & Kritična Masa“ 2016. i 2017. godine, natječaja za kratku priču Gradske knjižnice Samobor 2016. godine te natječaja za kratku priču 2016. godine Broda knjižare – broda kulture. Osvojila je i drugo mjesto na KSET-ovom natječaju za kratku priču 2015. godine. Trenutno živi u Belišću i radi kao knjižničarka u osnovnoj školi.

proza

Mira Petrović: Bye bye baby bye; Zana

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Mira Petrović rođena je 1989. u Splitu. Predaje engleski jezik iako bi više uživala s talijanskim. Piše prozu, ponekad odluta u poeziju. Objavila priče i pjesme na raznim portalima i u časopisima. Bila je u užem izboru za nagradu Sedmice i Kritične mase 2017. Jedna od deset finalista međunarodnog natječaja Sea of words 2016. Dobitnica Vranca – 2015. i Ulaznice 2016.

proza

Maja Klarić: Japan: Put 88 hramova (ulomak)

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Maja Klarić (1985., Šibenik) diplomirala je engleski jezik i književnost i komparativnu književnost na Filozofskom fakultetu u Zagrebu, s diplomskim radom na temu „Suvremeni hrvatski putopis“, a radi kao književna prevoditeljica. Vodi Kulturnu udrugu Fotopoetika u sklopu koje organizira kulturne manifestacije. Objavila je poeziju i kraću prozu u raznim novinama i časopisima: Zarez, Quorum, Knjigomat, Poezija, Tema... Zastupljena je u antologijama Erato 2004. (Zagreb), Rukopisi 32 (Pančevo), Ja sam priča (Banja Luka), Sea of Words (Barcelona), Castello di Duino (Trst), Ulaznica (Zrenjanin). Nagrađena je na međunarodnom pjesničkom natječaju Castello di Duino (Trst, Italija, 2008.), međunarodnom natječaju za kratku priču Sea of Words (Barcelona, Španjolska, 2008.). Dobitnica je UNESCO/Aschberg stipendije za rezidencijalni boravak na otoku Itaparica, Brazil, 2012. te stipendije organizacije MOKS za rezidencijalni boravak u Estoniji (Mooste, Tartu). Objavila je tri zbirke putopisne poezije - Život u ruksaku (AGM, 2012.), Quinta Pitanga (V.B.Z., 2013.) i Nedovršeno stvaranje (vlastita naklada, 2015.) te prozno-poetski putopis Vrijeme badema o hodočašću Camino de Santiago, 880 km dugom putu koji je prehodala 2010. godine. Urednica je brojnih domaćih putopisnih izdanja kao što su knjige Davora Rostuhara, Tomislava Perka, Hrvoja Jurića i ostalih.

proza

Valerija Cerovec: Hotel Horizont (ulomak iz kratkog romana)

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Valerija Cerovec (1993., Čakovec) je vizualna umjetnica i spisateljica. Završila je preddiplomski studij modnog dizajna na Tekstilno-tehnološkom fakultetu i studij komparativne književnosti na Filozofskom fakultetu, a diplomirala na Odsjeku za animirani film i nove medije na Akademiji likovnih umjetnosti. Dobitnica je nagrade “Franjo Marković” Filozofskog fakulteta. Sudjelovala je u nizu skupnih izložbi i jednoj samostalnoj naziva “23. rujna, dan kad se ništa naročito nije dogodilo”. Članica je HDLU-a.

proza

Luka Mayer: Tko, što?

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Luka Mayer (1999., Zagreb) studira šumarstvo u Zagrebu. Pohađao je satove kreativnog pisanja i radionice čitanja Zorana Ferića.

proza

Ana Romić: Tjedan dana posutih fragmentima samoće

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Ana Romić (1993., Hrvace) studirala je hrvatski jezik i književnost na Sveučilištu u Zadru gdje je magistrirala s radom Filozofija egzistencijalizma u romanu „Sam čovjek“ Ive Kozarčanina. Velika je ljubiteljica književnosti, osobito poezije koju i sama piše, te psihologije i filozofije. Živi u Zagrebu.

proza

Matea Šimić: Kuća za bivše

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Matea Šimić rođena je 1985. godine u Oroslavju, Hrvatska. Diplomirala je engleski jezik i komparativnu književnost na Filozofskom fakultetu Sveučilišta u Zagrebu. Piše poeziju, prozu i društvene komentare na hrvatskom i engleskom. Članica je Sarajevo Writers’ Workshop-a od 2012. godine. Radovi su joj objavljivani, između ostalog, u časopisu za istraživanje i umjetnost EuropeNow, časopisu za feminističku teoriju i umjetnost Bona, portalu za književnost i kulturu Strane te portalu za politiku i društvena pitanja Digitalna demokracija. Osnivačica je i urednica dvojezičnog magazina za književnost i umjetnost NEMA. Živi i radi u Barceloni.

proza

Dalen Belić: Ispovijed serijskog samoubojice

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Dalen Belić rođen je 1997. godine. Živi u Pazinu, a studira engleski i njemački jezik na Filozofskom fakultetu u Rijeci. Objavljivan je u istrakonskoj zbirci Apokalipsa laži te zbirkama Priče o manjinama i Priče o Pazinu u sklopu Festivala Fantastične Književnosti. Osvojio je drugo mjesto na Riječkim perspektivama 2017. godine i prvo mjesto 2018. Jednu njegovu priču teškometalne tematike možete pročitati na portalu Perun.hr.

proza

Monika Filipović: Ljetna večer u Zagrebu '18.

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Monika Filipović rođena je u Zagrebu 1996. godine. Studentica je politologije na Fakultetu političkih znanosti u Zagrebu. U slobodno vrijeme bavi se pisanjem poezije i kratkih priča, a trenutno radi i na svom prvom romanu. U svome pisanju najradije se okreće realizmu. Dosad nije objavila nijedan svoj rad.

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