SZEMÉLYES BUDAPEST című Nemzetközi Alkotópályázatunkra továbbra is folymatosan érkeznek a művek a világ minden tájáról. Ma ismét egy külföldi alkotóval ismerkedhettek meg.
Óscar Palazón Ferré egy középiskolai tanár, író és műfordító Katalóniából. Imagino Budapest című könyve már kiadásra került 2014-ben, ebből kaptunk tőle szemelvényeket.
while I gaze out the window and imagine Budapest
or some other city where I have never been
The rain is barely noticeable. It doesn’t soak your clothes. In fact, it hardly wets your skin, as if it fell asking for an apology. It has rained like this for centuries here, I say, which would explain the contagious melancholy of this country’s literature. Me too, sometimes I feel a bit amphibious.
There’s no soundtrack here. The buildings at the other side of the river have their own music. We only have to sit down and watch them in order to hear it. In other words, this city’s architecture works on the brain like the local beer. You’re right, this moment could never be spoilt, not even by a toothache. I notice how the textures of the landscape cling to my stomach walls with that pleasant warm rough vibration. I notice the beginning of the process at the end of which these images will become memories, like a sort of fermentation or transfiguration that I wouldn’t be able to explain.
The trees in the botanical garden are like words in the local language. We would never find the courage to say them aloud. As we’re so contradictory, we suddenly feel the urge to write our names on the pedestal of an equestrian statue. You might think I’m a coward, but sometimes it’s necessary to get rid of the adjectives.
We want to visit the outskirts of this city, the districts that nobody talks about, not even the guidebooks. We want to see the suburbs and the faces of the people who live there and the trees that grow in their streets. We want to know how castaways feel. The inertia that disoriented bodies undergo, the distress in not knowing how you return to the starting point, the dizziness of an intruder in a non-existent territory, the hum produced by invisibility. This is what will save us.
The certainty of our bodies makes us keep walking up to the following bridge. We’re not in a hurry to arrive. The river flows lazily, like a prehistoric animal. Some seagulls shriek on the roof of the Town Hall. The cornice of the building has moldings featuring flowers and leaves. The mildew looks real. If this was a film, I’m pretty sure Every day is like Sunday would be playing right now.
We stop a passer-by in the middle of the bridge and ask him where we are. We want him to tell us the name of the city –mythical and firm– to record his voice on our mobile phone. The man accepts as if he had been waiting for us. In his mouth, the dreamt word sounds completely new and delicate, like a brief prayer or an improvised sigh. We feel a bit sad after having been pronouncing it wrongly for so many years. We won’t buy any postcards today. Obviously, we won’t take any more photos. We’ll listen to the recorded word until one of us starts crying.
The clouds are so thick and opaque that they look like blocks of granite. The light they leak is scarce and dusty. The mornings turn themselves upside down and become artificial twilights. This dull brightness makes me think of the sun eclipse we saw at your parents’ garden. Do you remember? The birds stopped tweeting because they thought dusk was falling. That doesn’t happen here. Here the birds keep crossing this matte-finish sky, as if the city was immersed in the river, like premonitory fish.
The more we know this city, the more blurred it turns. We’ll have to move away from it in order to discover it again. Would you like to come with me?
Alkotópályázatunkra továbbra is várjuk azokat a műveket, melyek megtestesítik mindazt, ami Budapestet személyessé teszi!