Todosijević Dragoljub Raša: short and embellish version of my miserable life in Belgrade
Belgrade 2009
I was born on second day of September in the year 1945 in Belgrade, in the People’s Front Street; before Second World War the name of the street was Queen Natalya’s Street. At first, we – my honest and righteous parents and me - we have lived in Romanian Street, up there, on the posh Dedinje Hill. Afterwards we have, and nobody knows why, moved to Šajkaška Street no. 17. You know, it’s down there next to “Danube” railway station. When city authorities, for no apparent reasons, have crashed that beautiful edifice in Šajkaška Street, we have moved to Cvijićeva Street no 115. Close to New Cemetery. After, let’s say, ten years, and perhaps a few more, we’ve gone to the outskirts of the town, beyond nowhere, in Jablanička Street no. 21. Much later Marinela and me finally got our flat, our own little room of freedom, on the green Senjak Hill, in small Prahovska Street no. 4a – actually in former American Street. When her parents had left this world we have settled downtown in General Ždanov Street no.9, which regained few years ago, its old, prewar name: Resavska Street.
Erstwhile, I tried to be an air force pilot. It was in Mostar. Since I was no good at this, nor did I like the boring company of the hillbilly cadets, I have returned to Belgrade. For two years I’ve took courses in drawing and sculpture in Šumatovacka Street no. 122a. Finally, in the year of 1964 I’ve enrolled the Academy of Fine Arts in Belgrade. My professors at the Academy were people of unpleasantly low talent and even lower education. There was nothing left for me but to travel throughout the world and educate myself, the ways only I did knew, in order to be able somehow to break, with my tiny powers, the invisible bondages of omnipresent provincialism. I’ve got my studio exactly after thirty years, at the so-called Old Fairgrounds, which during Second World War was a German concentration camp. Sometimes, when in my atelier I listen to the silent music on the radio, it seems to me as if souls of murdered camp inmates are visiting me.
Translation: Dusan Djordjevic Mileusnic
Todosijević Dragoljub Raša: Kratka i ulepšana verzija mog bednog života u Beogradu.
Beograd 2009
Rodjen sam drugog septembra 1945 godine u Beogradu, u ulici Narodnog Fronta; ta se ulica pre Drugog svetskog rata zvala ulica kraljice Natalije. Prvo smo – ja i moji čestiti roditelji - stanovali u Rumunskoj ulici, gore na luksuznom Dedinju. Posle smo se, ko zna zašto, preselili u Šajkašku ulicu br. 17. To vam je kraj železničke stanice Dunav. Kada su gradske vlasti iz neobjašnjivih razloga srušile to lepo zdanje u Šajkaškoj ulici preselili smo se u Cvijićevu br. 115, blizu Novog Groblja. Posle nekih desetak a možda i koju godinu više otišli smo na periferiju grada, Bogu iza nogu, u Jablaničku br. 21. Mnogo kasnije smo Marinela i ja konačno dobili naš stan, naš sobičak slobode, na Senjaku, u maloj Prahovskoj ulici br. 4a. – ustvari u bivšoj Američkoj ulici. Kada su njeni roditelji napustili ovaj svet skrasili smo se u centru grada u ulicu Generala Ždanova 9, koja je pre neku godinu ponovo dobila svoj stari, predratni naziv: Resavska.
Prvo sam pokušao da budem vojni pilot u Mostaru. Kako mi to nije išlo od ruke niti mi se svidjalo dosadno i seljobersko kadetsko društvo vratio sam se u Beograd. Dve godine sam pohadjao Kurs Crtanja i Vajanja u Šumatovačkoj ulici 122a. Konačno, 1964 godine, upisao sam Akademiju Likovnih Umetnosti u Beogradu. Moji profesori na Akademiji su bili ljudi neprijatno skromnog dara i još skromnijeg obrazovanja. Preostalo mi je da putujem svetom i da se sam obrazujem onako kako sâm znam i umem, ne bi li, eto, mojim malenim snagama nekako uspeo da skršio nevidljivi jaram svekolikog provincijalizma. Atelje sam dobio posle ravno trideset godina i to na takozvanom Starom Sajmištu koji je za vreme Drugog svetskog rata bilo nemački koncentracioni logor. Po neki put, dok u mom ateljeu preko radia slušam tihu muziku, čini mi se kao da me pohode duše pobijenih logoraša.
