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ENBosanskohercegovačka proza u dijaspori
Ladina drvena pjesma
Nekoć davno živio je vilenjak Lado, jedan od Vilenjaka Drvodjelja s planine Prenj. Njegovi pokojni roditelji bili su Luve i Loa, par poznat po stvaranju umjetnosti u drvetu, kao i njihovi preci. Naslijeđe njihove obitelji bilo je iznimno. Lado i njegovi rođaci izrađivali su vilinski namještaj – stolove koji su pripremali hranu za svakoga, krevete s ustima punim čudesnih priča za laku noć, ormare spretne u pospremanju odjeće, stolice koje liječe bolna leđa, lampe što šire mjesečeve zrake, prozore koji šire predivan sunčani pogled i mnoge druge čudesne rukotvorine. Vilenjaci su iz udaljenih kraljevstava dolazili i kupovali ta čuda od drveta, što je Vilenjacima Drvodjeljama pribavilo veliko bogatstvo. Iz dana u dan su vilenjačke sjekire pronosile smrt među drvećem, pa je planina postala gotovo gola stijena bez zelenila i ptica u krošnjama.
– O, Prenju, hoćeš li nam oprostiti? Mi smo tako sebični. Ubijamo te zbog stjecanja bogatstva – Ladu obuze tuga kad je vidio duboke kamene bore na licu planine koju je obožavao.
– Dragi Lado, ne plači. Vidim tvoju dušu. Ne želiš drveću oduzimati živote – planina odgovori.
– Tko si ti? – Lado je bio prestrašen. Prije nije čuo planinski glas.
– Ne boj se. Ja nisam poput grmljavine. Prijatelj sam svakom živom biću – reče planina nazvana po Perunu, bogu groma starih Slavena.
– Ti govoriš… Nikada nisam pretpostavio da si živ. Kako mogu pomoći tebi i drveću?
– Postoji jedno carstvo miljama udaljeno od nas, carstvo zelenila i vječnog proljeća, Zeleno Carstvo. Njegov narod voli drveće kao vlastitu obitelj. Svako dijete mora za života posaditi stotinu stabala i pjevati čarobnu pjesmu za njihov rast. Stoga su ta stabla magična.
– Kako magična?
– Vidi, ako posiječeš drvo, ono će preko noći uskrsnuti. Sutra će biti isto kao prije.
– Kako je to moguće?
– Moguće je zbog čarobne pjesme.
– Volio bih ju naučiti! Molim te, pomozi mi da dođem do tog carstva magičnih stabala! Svijet je ogroman, a ja sam samo maleni vilenjak, tako usamljen u ovoj misli…
– Ne brini. Uspjet ćeš. Sada idi završi svoje govoreće zrcalo koje daje komplimente tužnim ljudima i budi miran. Ova stara planina treba spavati i odmoriti svoje stijene i jaruge, pa moram utišati vjetrove što pušu…
– Slatko sanjaj, planino – Lado ode u svoju radionicu.
Antun Motika (1902–1992): Jablanica (1938)Uzeo je dlijeto za rezbarenje cvjetova na drvenom okviru zrcala, ali njegova ruka zape. Prste mu zarobi oštar bol. Progovori još jedan nepoznat glas.
– Želiš li poći u Zeleno Carstvo?
– Tko si ti? – drvodjelja je ponovno bio preplašen.
– Što to praviš? Magično zrcalo, naravno! Ne neki šutljivi komad rukotvorine – zrcalo se smijalo.
– O, moj Bože! Nisam ti ni okvir završio, a ti već provociraš – pojavi se Ladin osmijeh.
– Kao što rekoh, nisam ja neki uglađeni komad namještaja!
– Čekaj, trebam staviti staklo u okvir!
– Ne bi bilo potrebno! Već ti mogu davati komplimente! – odjekivao je smijeh zrcala.
– Blesavo ogledalo! Ne trebam nikakav kompliment! Znam da koliko sam ružan, ne možeš mi pomoći! – Lado je bio oduševljen čuvši svoje novo djelo.
– Nitko ne odbija komplimente – kaza zrcalo.
– Slušaj, jako si zabavan, ali ja trebam pomoć!
– Želiš naučiti čarobnu pjesmu iz Zelenog Carstva.
– Kako ti to znaš?
– Duga priča, moj vilenjački prijatelju… Stoga, počnimo!
Ogledalo to reče, a Lado se odjednom nađe u nepoznatoj šumi.
– Gdje sam to? – Lado je zapeo među visokim granatim stablima s mnoštvom ptica na granama.
– Tko pita? – prolomi se dubok i zastrašujući glas.
– Ja, Lado, miroljubivi vilenjak. Tko govori? – vilenjak umalo izgubi glas.
– Ja, gospodar Zelenog Carstva. Ne boj se. Siguran si ako nisi drvosječa ili drvodjelja. Štoviše, ti si oboje! – glas postade opak i mračan.
Lado je mogao čuti otkucaje krvi u svojim žilama.
– Kakva katastrofa! Umrijet ću daleko od domovine, bez ikoga da me pokopa sa žirovima na grudima… – pretpostavio je da mu je smrt blizu moleći se Perunu.
– Hej, hej! Šalim se! – hrast je mahao svojim dugim granama.
– O, dragi Bože! Mislio sam da si neko čudovište spremno me prebiti! – Lado sretno odahnu.
– Ne, ja sam miroljubivo drvo sa sjajnim smislom za humor, pretpostavljam!
– Tjeraj takvu šalu s nekim drugim!
– Ne, ne, ne! Ne ljuti se na mene! Mi smo zabavni i otvorenog srca! Ja sam gospodar ove drvene države, najsigurnije države na svijetu. Mi smo prijateljski raspoloženi prema miroljubivim strancima i osjećam dobrotu u tvojem srcu. Ja sam moćni irski hrast. Gerry mi je ime! Kako ti mogu pomoći, čudače?
– Drago mi je! Moja planina Prenj reče da ću ovdje pronaći čarobno drvo. Trebam ga zbog liječenja naše uništene šume Munike.
– Munika? Nikada nisam čuo za takvo drvo.
– Onda ti moram ispričati priču o našem dragocjenom drvetu. Želiš li ju čuti?
– Naravno, pretvorio sam se u uho! – veselo kaza Gerry, a onda Lado započe priču.
– Munika je vrsta bora, ali jako posebna, endemični bor. U mojem kraju raste na planinama Prenj, Velež, Čvrsnica i Čabulja. Možeš ju pronaći u južnim zemljama, a ovdje, u tvojem carstvu, možeš ju nazvati Heldreich pine. Izrasta trideset metara do neba, a promjer joj je do jednog i po metra. Dok je mlada, njezina je kora sivo-bijela. Kad ostari, postaje pepeljastosiva i nalik zmijskoj koži ili panciru. Moj narod izrađuje vilenjački namještaj od Munikina drveta, pokućstvo koje može obavljati kućne poslove za svoje vlasnike. Međutim, postoji jedan problem. Posjekli smo gotovo sve Munike. Sada vilenjaci moraju naći način oživljavanja naše dragocjene šume. Molim te, pomozi nam…
– Pa to je veoma tužna priča. Zamišljam da je ta jadna Munika moja daleka rodica i rado ću pomoći, ali ne očekuj neko lako rješenje. Moraš dati sve od sebe.
– Bi li me, molim te, naučio vašu pjesmu za uskrsnuće stabala? – molio je Lado.
– Vidi, sva stvorenja na Zemlji imaju svoju pjesmu. Tako i Munika ima svoju.
– Znam! Pitat ćemo laste da nam pomognu! Njihova je pjesma naša himna!
– Ima još nešto… – hrast Gerry zatvori oči i duboko udahnu te nastavi.
– Osjećam Munikin šapat. »Ne sijecite me, posijecite drugo drveće, puno bolje za rezbarenje. Uzmite orahe, kruške, trešnje, jabuke, dud, hrast, javor, brijest, bukvu i jasen. Idite u sela Bijela, Grušča, Čičevo, Ribari i Borci. Učite od seljaka kako djelati i živjeti s drvećem kao sa svojom familijom. Ne zaboravite da vas stabla hrane zrakom i poezijom života…« To mi je rekla.
Ladu dirnuše ove riječi. Njegove suze padale su na bujnu zelenu travu i hrastov korijen.
– Sada se vrati svojem domu i sama od sebe poteći će drvena pjesma – Gerryjeve grane zagrliše vilenjaka.
U taj se čas Lado nađe u svojoj radionici, ispred svojeg ogledala.
– Pogledaj u sebe, dragi prijatelju, i naći ćeš bogatstvo duše umjesto zlata – reče ono.
Lado je požurio prenijeti priču svojem narodu.
– Osjećam ju! Ta čarobna drvena pjesma oduvijek je živjela u mojem srcu!
Lado je bio sretan kao nikad do tada.
Lidija Pavlović-Grgić: Ilustracija (2026)I ti možeš čuti njegovu pjesmu. Postoji samo jedan uvjet. Ako osjećaš kako kamenje diše i lišće šapće, samo otiđi u planinu. Otvori svoje srce i poslušaj glazbu ljubavi i slobode…
Drvena pjesma
Prijatelju moj, rasti, narasti!
Neka se u tebi gnijezde ptice i snovi!
Svojom ću te rukom zalijevati,
zaštitit ću te lišćem svojim.
Neka svaka duša u zelenilu živi,
Neka svaki glas za mir moli,
I svijet će biti bolji.
Sa Suncem i Mjesecom radost dijeli
Srcem korijen svaki zagrli
I sreća će ti uskoro pjevati.
Prijatelju moj, rasti, narasti!
Neka se u tebi gnijezde ptice i snovi!
Bosnian-Herzegovinian prose in the diaspora
Lado’s wooden song
Once upon a time, there was an elf named Lado, one of the Elf Carpenters of Mount Prenj. His late parents were Luve and Loa, well known for their woodwork, as were his other ancestors. The family had a very special heritage. Lado and his cousins created magical fairy furniture: tables that cooked and served meals, beds that told wonderful bedtime stories, closets that tidied clothes, chairs that cured a sore back, lamps that spread moonlight, windows that created beautiful views filled with sunlight, and many other miraculous creations. Elves came from faraway kingdoms and bought these marvelous wooden handicrafts and this made the Elf Carpenters wealthy. Day by day, elfish axes spread death among the trees, and because of this the mountain became almost naked, bare rock without green cover, without birds in the treetops.
“Oh, Mount Prenj, will you ever forgive us? We are so selfish. We are killing you for the sake of gaining wealth,” Lado said. He was so sad when he saw the deep stone wrinkles on the face of the mountain he loved.
“Dear Lado, don’t cry. I can see into your soul. You do not want to take away the lives of the trees,” the mountain replied.
“Who’s speaking?” Lado was frightened. He had never heard the mountain speak before.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not like the thunder. I’m a friend of every living being,” the mountain said. (It was named after Perun, the thunder god of the ancient Slavs).“You can speak… I’ve never thought of you as a living thing. How can I help you? How can I help the trees?”
“There’s a realm a thousand miles from here, a realm of greenery and everlasting spring, the Green Realm. Its people love trees as though they were part of their own family. Each child there must plant at least a hundred trees in his or her lifetime, and they must sing magical songs to help the trees grow. That’s why the trees there are magical.”
“How are they magical?”
“Well, if you cut down one of those trees, it will grow up again overnight. By the next day, it’s the same as it was before.”
“How is that possible?”
“Thanks to the magical song.”
“I would like to learn this song! Please help me to go to the realm of the magical trees! The world is wide, and I am a small elf. The very thought of this makes me feel quite alone…”
“Don’t be afraid. You will succeed. Now, go, finish your talking mirror that gives compliments to sad people, and be calm. This old mountain has to sleep and give some rest to the rocks and ravines, so I must silence the wind that blows around me…”
“Sweet dreams, dear mountain,” Lado said, and he went back to his workshop.
Antun Motika (1902–1992): Jablanica (1938)He had taken his chisel for carving flowers on the wooden mirror frame, but his hand froze. He felt a sharp pain in his fingers.
Another strange voice spoke. “Do you wish to leave for the Green Realm?”
“Who are you?” The carpenter was terrified again.
“What are you making? A magic mirror, of course! I’m not some mute piece of woodwork,” the mirror laughed.
“Oh, my goodness! I haven’t even finished your frame, but you are already trying to provoke me!” Lado’s face broke into a smile.
“As I said, I’m not some polite piece of furniture!”
“Wait, I have to put the glass in the frame!”
“That won’t be necessary! I can give you compliments already,” the mirror laughed.
“You silly mirror! I don’t need compliments! I know how ugly I am. You can’t help me!” Lado was happy because his new creation had started to speak.
“Nobody rejects compliments,” the mirror said.
“Listen, you’re very funny, but I need help!”
“You want to learn the magical song from the Green Realm.”
“How did you know that?”
“It’s a long story, my elfish friend… So, let’s begin!”
The moment the mirror had said this, Lado found himself in an unknown wood.
“Where am I?” he asked, looking around at tall trees with birds on every branch.
“Who asks?” demanded a deep, loud, frightening voice.
“I’m Lado, a peaceful elf. Who am I speaking to?” Lado had almost lost his voice.
“I am the Lord of the Green Realm. Do not be afraid. You are safe as long as you aren’t a lumberjack or a carpenter.’ But then the voice became somber and frightening again. “Unfortunately for you, you are both!”
Lado could hear the beating of his own heart.
“What a disaster! I’ll die far away from home, with no one to bury me and put acorns on my chest…” He felt death at hand and he whispered a prayer to Perun.
“Oh, come on! I was only joking!” An oak tree waved its long branches.
“Dear heaven!” Lado gave a happy sigh. “I thought you were a monster ready to knock me down!”
“No, I’m just a tree . . . with a sense of humor!”
“Oh, I do wish you would play jokes like that on someone else!”
“No, no! Don’t be angry with me! We are funny, kind-hearted trees! I am the lord of this wood, the safest
wood in the world. We are friendly to strangers who come in peace – and I sense goodness in your heart. I am a mighty Irish oak. Gerry is my name! How can I help you, stranger?”
“I am very pleased to meet you! Mount Prenj said that I would find a magic tree here. I need it to heal our ruined munika forest.”
“Munika? I haven’t heard of the munika tree.”
“So, I will tell you about our precious tree. Would you like to hear its story?”
“Of course, I would! I’m all ears!” Gerry said cheerfully.
Lado began to talk. “Munika is a very special kind of pine that grows on our mountains – Prenj, Velež, Čvrsnica, and Čabulja. You can find it in the countries of the south, and here, in your realm, you call it the Heldreich pine. It grows thirty meters high and it a meter or a meter and a half wide. Its bark is a whitish gray when it’s young. When it grows older, it turns ashy gray; it twists like a snake and shoots up like a panzer. My elf people make fairy furniture out of munika wood, furniture that does housework for its owners. But there’s a problem – we have cut down almost all the munika trees. Now, we have to find a way of bringing life back to our precious forest. Please help us…”
“Well, that’s a very sad story. I suppose the poor munika is my distant relative. I’ll gladly help but don’t expect an easy solution. Still, you must do your best.”
“Please teach me your song for growing trees,” Lado begged.
“Hmm, every creature on earth has its own song. So, the munika has its song too.”
“I know! Let’s ask the swallows to help us! Their song is our anthem!”
“There’s something else…,” Oak Gerry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then he continued. “I hear the munika whispering. ‘Don’t cut me down, cut other trees, much better for carving. Take the walnut tree, the pear tree, the cherry tree, the apple tree, the mulberry tree, the oak tree, the maple tree, the elm tree, the beech tree, or the ash. Go to Bijela, Grušča, Čičevo, Ribari and Borci and learn from the villagers there how to carve and live with the trees as if they are part of your own family. Don’t forget that trees nurture you through the air and poetry of life…’ This is what the munika is telling me.”
Lado was moved. His tears fell on the lush green grass and on the roots of the oak.
“Now, go back to your home and the song of the wood will flow of its own accord.” Gerry embraced the elf with his branches.
A moment later, Lado was in his workshop, in front of the mirror.
“Look into yourself, dear friend, and you will find the richness of your soul instead of gold,” the mirror said.
Lado hurried away to tell everyone what had happened to him.
“I have felt it!” he said. “I have felt the magical wooden song that has always lived in my heart!”
Lado was happier then than he had ever been before.
Lidija Pavlović-Grgić: Illustration (2026)
Even you are able to hear his song. There is the only one condition. If you feel the breath of the stones and whispering of the leaves, just go to the mountain. Open your heart and listen to the music of love and freedom…
Wooden song
Grow up, grow up, my friend!
Be a nest for the birds and dreams!
I will water you with my hand,
I will protect you with my leaves.
May every soul live in the green,
May every voice pray for peace,
The world will be better than it has ever been.
Share your joy with Sun and Moon
And embrace every root with your heart
And the happiness will sing to you soon.
Grow up, grow up, my friend!
Be a nest to the birds and dreams!
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