Vunderkindova smrt
"Many years ago I published a number of poems, and forgot about them. I was fifteen years old at the time. Actually, I was thirteen or fourteen when I wrote them, and they were published as "Poems of a Fifteen-Year-Old" in the magazine Forum."
"I haven't written poems for years. Until the war, in fact. Then, after many years, I reread my old, boyish poems and — decided to publish them. Why? They were and are my analecta, which I renounced, and which I denied, because they were not too valuable to me. On the other hand, what does that mean? My assessments have deceived and deceived me so many times. After all, why not? That boy I once was, swore by Yesenin, Lorca, Tadijanović, but also by Cummings. Then everything passed and disappeared, all ambitions, hopes and aspirations, the boy grew older and older. What was left of him, what was it? And why, finally, didn't he throw it away? I guess because that green fruit was printed..."
One copy is available
