Louise Glück dobitnica Nobelove nagrade za književnost 2020!



Danas je zvanično dodijeljena Nobelova nagrada za književnost za 2020. godinu. Ovogodišnja dobitnica je američka pjesnikinja Louise Glück.


Norveški komitet je ove godine imao jako velik izbor. Čak 318 kandidata je bilo nominovano za ovogodišnju nagradu, što je četvrta najveća grupa nominiranih u historiji nagrade. No, iako komitet ne otkriva ko su sve bili nominirani autori, svi smo nekako potajno očekivali da Haruki Murakami nakon godina i godina očekivanja napokon dobije najveće književno priznanje. Nažalost, morat će se strpiti još neko vrijeme.


Louise Glück je američka pjesnikinja koja je svoju prvu knjigu Firstborn izbacila 1968. godine, te je ubrzo nakon toga stekla titulu jedne od najznačajnijih suvremenih američkih spisateljica. Do sada je u karijeri objavila dvanaest pjesničkih zbirki i nekoliko zbirki eseja o poeziji.


Iz komiteta koji joj je dodijelio nagradu za književnost s kojom dolazi i pozamašni novčani fond, izjavili su sljedeće: "Nobelova nagrada za književnost za 2020. godinu dodjeljuje se pjesnikinji Louise Glück za njezin nepogrešiv pjesnički glas koji strogom ljepotom individualno postojanje čini univerzalnim."



U nastavku možete pročitati i nekoliko njenih pjesama, ako do sada niste imali prilike:


The Night Migrations


This is the moment when you see again

the red berries of the mountain ash

and in the dark sky

the birds' night migrations.


It grieves me to think

the dead won't see them—

these things we depend on,

they disappear.


What will the soul do for solace then?

I tell myself maybe it won't need

these pleasures anymore;

maybe just not being is simply enough,

hard as that is to imagine.


The Past


Small light in the sky appearing suddenly between two pine boughs, their fine needles


now etched onto the radiant surface and above this high, feathery heaven—


Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine, most intense when the wind blows through it and the sound it makes equally strange, like the sound of the wind in a movie—


Shadows moving. The ropes making the sound they make. What you hear now will be the sound of the nightingale, Chordata, the male bird courting the female—


The ropes shift. The hammock sways in the wind, tied firmly between two pine trees.


Smell the air. That is the smell of the white pine.


It is my mother’s voice you hear or is it only the sound the trees make when the air passes through them


because what sound would it make, passing through nothing?


Vespers


In your extended absence, you permit me use of earth, anticipating some return on investment. I must report failure in my assignment, principally regarding the tomato plants. I think I should not be encouraged to grow tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold the heavy rains, the cold nights that come so often here, while other regions get twelve weeks of summer. All this belongs to you: on the other hand, I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly multiplying in the rows. I doubt you have a heart, in our understanding of that term. You who do not discriminate between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence, immune to foreshadowing, you may not know how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf, the red leaves of the maple falling even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible for these vines.


The Drowned Children


You see, they have no judgment.

So it is natural that they should drown,

first the ice taking them in

and then, all winter, their wool scarves

floating behind them as they sink

until at last they are quiet.

And the pond lifts them in its manifold dark arms.

But death must come to them differently,

so close to the beginning.

As though they had always been

blind and weightless. Therefore

the rest is dreamed, the lamp,

the good white cloth that covered the table,

their bodies.

And yet they hear the names they used

like lures slipping over the pond:

What are you waiting for

come home, come home, lost

in the waters, blue and permanent.


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