18.1.2018 je v Muzeju premogovništva Slovenije ustvarjala pesnica in kulturna managerka Glorjana Veber, v okviru projekta z naslovom PODZEMNA POEZIJA - v jamskem črpališču 160 m pod zemeljsko površino.
SReČNO.
Kako globoko si upamo spustiti v svoj rudnik, v svojo jamo - vase? Kako globoko si upamo čutiti, biti krhki, ranljivi, sočutni - tihi? Do kam si dovolimo biti zmotljivi, majhni - preprosti? Zakaj sploh meja? Zakaj dovoljenje? Zakaj sploh pomislek? Za kaj? Za živost? Ali biti raje odvisni od tega, da imamo vedno prav, biti odvisni od mnenja drugih, biti odvisni od čustev drugih, biti odvisni od lastnega dela, biti odvisni od tega, da smo najboljši, biti odvisni od tega, da ne bi drugim uspelo bolje ..., biti odvisni od vseh XL potrditev, certifikatov, titul, perfekcij, kljukic, obeskov, priročnikov, nasvetov ... In to točno takrat, ko zunaj sije sonce? Je potrebno toliko tega "drugega", toliko teh "drugih"? Teh oseb, dogodkov, znakov, da je to tisti pravi trenutek - da, samo naš trenutek? To bo jutri, pojutrišnjem, čez eno leto, enkrat? Je prepozno? Je že nikoli? Je bilo takrat, pa nismo videli? Ne verjamem v pravi trenutek, samo ta trenutek mi je dovolj, vsak trenutek je tisti trenutek - točno ta, ko sem danes prišla v rudnik, v to jamo, 160 m pod zemeljsko površino, s Chanelom, v slogu sedanjosti, krhke sedanjosti, v okviru projekta Podzemne poezije, ki ga je zasnoval direktor, pesnik in slikar Stojan Špegel. In so me popeljali po poteh Antona Aškerca in so mi pod kožo tekle solze. Da, tudi pod njo znajo teči. Solze obrnjene navznoter. V takšnih rudnikih, v jamah, ki jih nosimo, z bitkami, porazi, s srečo bivanja, minljivostjo - svetlo temo. Lepoto. Ne, nisem zapisala tega zapisa, hotela sem pisati drugače, nočem tako pisati, zakaj bi morala drugače? Ne vem kaj bo nastalo izpod mojega peresa danes, spila sem kavo, pojedla kosilo in prišla sem pisati poezijo ... se jutri res vrnem? Vseeno mi je. V tej jami niso delali ljudje, živeli so tu. Kdaj je prišel zanje tisti trenutek? Pa zate? Prišla sem, da zapišem pesem, zato so me povabili, a še vedno ne vem, če jo znam. Nisem rudar, nisem pesnica - ruda sem. Iz globoke jame, iz globoke teme. In iz nje sije tišina.
Glorjana Veber
Foto // Stojan Špegel
How deep do we dare to descend into our own mine, into our own cave – into ourselves? How deep do we dare to feel, be fragile, vulnerable, compassionate – quiet? How far do we dare to be fallible, small – simple? Why should there be a boundary anyway? Why permission? Why should there even be hesitation? For what? For feeling alive? Or for being dependent on always being right, being dependent on other people's opinion, being dependent on other people’s feelings, being dependent on our own work, being dependent on being the best, being dependent on wishing other people to be less good … being dependent on all XL confirmations, certificates, titles, perfections, check marks, pendants, manuals, advice … and all that precisely when the sun is shining outside? Do we really need all these “others”? Persons, events, signs that this is the right moment – yes, only our moment? Is it tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, next year, one day? Is it too late? Is it already never? Was it then and we didn’t know? I don’t believe in right moments, this very moment is enough for me, every moment is the moment – precisely this moment, today, when I came into the mine, into this cave 160 m below the surface, with Chanel, in the style of the present, fragile present, within the framework of the Underground Poetry project designed by director, poet and painter Stojan Špegel. And I was taken down the path of Anton Aškerc and tears were running under my skin. Yes, they can run under the skin. Tears turned inwards. In such mines, caves that we carry in us with the battles, defeats, the happiness of being, transience – bright darkness. Beauty. No, I didn’t write this, I wanted to write differently, this is not how I want to write, why should I write differently? I don’t know what I will create with my pen today, I drank my coffee, I ate my lunch and I came here to write poetry…will I really be back tomorrow? I don’t care. Men didn’t work in this cave, they lived here. When did the moment came for them? And for you? I came here to write a poem, that’s why I was invited, but I still don’t know if I can. I’m not a miner, I’m not a poet – I’m the ore. From a deep cave, from a deep darkness. And from it the silence glows.
Photo // Stojan Špegel
I can be quiet for a long time. For years. But when I begin to speak, all the silence of this world is gathered inside me.
Thank you Stojan Špegel for inviting me to join the authors Ivan Dobnik, Peter Rezman, Dejan Koban, Tatjana Pregl Kobe, Zlatko Kraljić and those who are yet to follow.
160 metres before birth
How deep are you being carried
into this cave into this mine into a poem
did you descend did you leave did you think
of the surface of the skin of the sky
when you are being descended down here
in here into you without everything
and with everything
into all this blackness
among all the disappeared people
so do not look while going down
be like the horse with its eyes
covered for the descend
your elevator your rope are your body
steps content life
everything you were missed and took
is now being descended in here thinly
to feel yourself into the cold creases blanket
did you know
that you have already been to this place
then at the beginning 160 metres before birth
before outside a bird rose
exactly the one you called towards yourself today
to tell you that the heart has wings
even beneath the ground
that in darkness the eyes are glowing with history
no down here nobody is waiting anymore
even the air is more reserved
and the visits are empty except for the light
tell me how deep you are being carried
when you are in the cave
do you cringe do you dare do you start to see
are you finally alive
tell me how can I call you
in here into you without words and without a touch
how can I address you when I am not here
tell me why have you waited this long
where did you carry your poem
your ore your depth
which surface have you forgotten it on
which presence has taken it from you
this rope this passion the whole of you
and please do not answer me
when we are together
my silence is your mouth
do you feel it your ore is solid
its darkness has caught the sun for you