Passing the main railway station I am looking at Zrinjevac glittering in a sudden winter: crystal, precise, illuminated and cold, like the wind that swirls the last autumn leaves, I am walking and thinking how happy I am. I am happy that poetry is on a good path, because it is getting closer to what it really is: an esoteric cottage industry. Arriving at a poetry evening, devoted to my book, I feel gratitude towards the ones who came, gratitude devoid of my obligation to them and their obligation to me, because I am not pondering over their reasons; I have not informed anyone that I’ll be there, said nothing to my family and friends. I almost failed to reveal the reason of my going out late to my dearest. I am simply glad that poetry is on a good path, because it is getting closer to what it really is: an esoteric cottage industry. And everything keeps repeating. And everything keeps repeating. And everything keeps repeating. And everything keeps repeating. And everything keeps repeating. Present. Perfect. Poetry.
Translated from Croatian by Andy Jelčić