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After Scene4 published unknown writings by the legendary Yugoslavian writer, Milan Oklopdžić ("Mika Oklop"), in December 2011 and March 2012, a reader named Malick sent a Letter to the Editor: "Oklop was a beautiful writer and a tenacious one." For those who are lucky enough to read what Oklop wrote in Serbo-Croatian (now Serbian), it will be wonderful news that four of his novels, spanning from 1981 to 1989, are about to be re-published sequentially in Belgrade, ultimately appearing as a set for the first time: CA Blues—which has had multiple editions—Video, Metro, and Horseless.
Even without the language, anyone can enjoy the TV spot that was made about all the new activity surrounding Mika's work (link below). Here, Scene4 has played a happy role: the video features the private photos that Mika's widow offered for Scene4, and at 3:14, you can see the cover that Scene4 editor Arthur Meiselman designed for the March piece. A great pleasure of the program is hearing Mika in a jazz club reciting to a saxophone—I had heard that this video existed but could never find it. Even at low quality, you can almost hear the gorgeous timbre of his voice. In the wonderful tribute he wrote just after Mika's July 2007 death, M. Šehović says that Mika "became a sort of Belgrade literary male model of his generation, the one who rose to [the heights of] the Beatles and the Stones." This video footage gives us a glimpse of that man.
The speaker here is writer Srdjan Srdić, analyzing the theoretical and critical aspects of Mika's novels; the show is "Babylon," the spot by Jasmina Vrbavac. Broadcast May 2013.
In fact, along with the re-issue of his novels of the 1980s, the occasion for that show—as well as for a much-covered press conference—was the recent publication of selected correspondence between Mika and Goran Markovic. Whereas Mika no doubt wrote his novels on a typewriter, he exchanged these letters with Markovic, between 2003 and 2007, by email. Although they never met face to face, they became friends as close as only internet friends can be. Goran wrote poignantly to Mika in 2005: "In the end, you deserve these words. Objectively. You are an important writer with a significant fate. [We] rarely acquire a mix of talent and courage. I know a lot of talented people who are real cockroaches and many noble souls without talent. You, however, are the best combination."
If Mika wrote in the 1980s on a typewriter and in the 2000s by email, in between he wrote to me in the 1990s by fax. From 1992 through 1998, we exchanged faxes, sometimes daily or a little less, sometimes multiple times a day. He called this our Faxvel: A Novel By Fax. We were writing a novel by faxing the stories of our lives; or perhaps we were living in a novel. We sent messages about our family lives and everyday experiences; our thoughts about Life and Work; our memories and hopes; newspaper clippings, photos and quotations. Mika sent drafts of articles, poems, advertising copy, stories, a screenplay. Among these, there were some delightful, short sketches on a range of subjects. We worked together to get them into English we both liked, and four of them follow.
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This first piece refers to Rahsaan Roland Kirk's "You Did It, You Did It," in which Kirk played multiple instruments by mouth, often simultaneously, along with a nose flute and siren, while speaking. Kirk's volcanic combination here of jazz, speech, drama, simultaneity, technique, humor and insanity clearly reminded Mika of his own life and work, and might well remind us of Mika himself:
You Did It, You Did It!
My father was a construction engineer and got nothing out of it; my mother was a housewife with diabetes. I was born May 9, 1948, tardy evidence, I think, of postwar love. My father had come back from a German prison camp in 1945, so he could have started "building" my person that same year. Instead, he tackled the job of making my older brother. That was the first sign of selfishness I noticed in my parents. I never wanted to get back at them for that, but I have to admit that even today it seems to me I got five numbers right in the lottery instead of all six. And of course I did, since I was late buying my ticket for the lottery drawing.
We lived in Čubura, which is now a suburb, but was at one time an intellectual center of postwar Belgrade. I wrote my first poem on a soiled restaurant tablecloth, and I wanted to take that tablecloth directly to the local newspaper for publication. It was called, "You Did It, You Did It!" and very soon after my poetic debut on the tablecloth I was taken off to the local police station. Every mortal has his own shooting star.
I like talking about my past in the present tense. That is because everything—and I really mean ALL of it, happened to me then. Yesterday. Three days ago. In 1389. What are my plans? I was asked that same question by an exceptional newswoman from the SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE last summer, when she was interviewing my family and me. I told her—did I think it over long enough?—I told her: Mrs. Susie, you do not have the right question for my ambitions. Someone who comes from the past has weight. He can choose. Anyone who thinks of the future is just a "windfucker." I did not have the desire or patience to explain to her: someone who "fucks the wind" is someone who cannot have any abiding seriousness. We parted on that note: she to someone else's future, and I to a past that was all mine.
This 1993 sketch is told as a film, cutting between a series of phone conversations and medical trips to the doctor and the pharmacy. The link between these is the city of Manteca. Mika had chosen this agricultural town in Calfornia's Central Valley for his family, 75 miles from San Francisco and the larger Bay Area's major intellectual, artistic communities. Later his family moved to the city of Pacifica on the gorgeous, windy Northern Coast. Pacifica's award-winning television and radio stations are known for their progressive politics. He lived his final years with his family in San Francisco.
Manteca
Just when I had gotten over my personal embarrassment—Hey, Mister, how do you pronounce your last name?—a couple of astounded voices on the phone, which belonged to my San Francisco friends, deepened it further: And, just what are you doing in Manteca? Not trying to avoid the straight answer, I tell them about The Palms.
* * *
So, you are from Belgrade? says Dr. Padilla of the St. Dominic Hospital. That means you are a Serb? Yes, I am. But, you don't behave like them, he continues. I wonder what the correct answer would be. Maybe it's because I include my senses while thinking. Most of us don't: one day you may be kissed for raping someone's daughter, the next day you'd be shot for singing a folk song too loudly. So, Serbs are crazy people?, he is obviously interested. No, I don't think so. Serbs belong to a surrealistic race. When Andre Breton, a father of Surrealism wrote his first Manifesto back in 1924, most of his points came from the Serbian poets. See, if your whole life on Earth is turned toward heaven, you ARE leading a surreal life here. A Serb will easily kill you now without any reason, but would wait to apologize to you up there. It's the same with revenge: you insulted me here; talk to you later up there. Death is meaningless to Serbs. They simply DO NOT believe in dying as either physical or spiritual diminishment.
That's why you have an ulcer, right? says Doctor.
* * *
California is LOADED with palms, my friend Scott Wren, the S.F. playwright explains. What palms are t h o s e in Manteca?
I wait for his voice to deaden, then politely propose that I call him later. This ulcer's killing me, I better go to the pharmacy and get my prescription.
* * *
I couldn't dare tell Dr. Padilla I have emergency Medi-Cal stickers. They say: in case of pregnancy. The nurse was polite enough not to ask whether I was expecting twins or singles.
* * *
Avoid THRIFTY pharmacy if you do not immensely enjoy being double-checked. After being triple-checked, I was told to wait. Instead of waiting, I informed the Manager that he was running a beautiful store. Being wise, he did not thank me. He just said: What happened? Ulcer people are kinda the nervous kind. I just told him: I'm going to WALGREEN'S, and you ask them why.
The following piece, written in 1994, is self-explanatory. It will also be found in the upcoming issue of San Francisco's high-profile literary arts journal, Ambush Review (eds. Patrick Cahill and Bob Booker).
Thinking About Agents
Dear Editor,
I immensely enjoyed the article on agents. As a published novelist from the former Yugoslavia and a newcomer to the U.S. literary stage, I wish to offer some of my experience that may be helpful to another neophyte entering this battlefield. Agents are rarely used in Europe. A writer deals with the publisher directly, so when one establishes himself/herself, he or she becomes a "house writer."
Most of the Bay Area literary agents are looking for something "good and contemporary." My new (sixth) novel, THE FORMER FUTURE, deals with the turmoil back in Yugo. After briefly consulting with some of the agents, I have decided to write a cookbook, entitled What To Do With Broccoli Leftovers. There may be some bucks there.
I understand one agent didn't take on a client who brought his manuscript in person, handwritten (feather & ink), entitled Crime and Punishment. The novel was almost OK, but poor Fedor didn't know a bit about desktop publishing. In this context, here are some hints about the look of your manuscript, and the ways of sending it over to an agent:
1. Depending on the plot and characters, be very careful about choosing your font. For example, never use Roman T Scalable 14 pt Italic if you are writing about Rwanda. It just doesn't go.
2. Be extremely careful about the stamps you stick on the envelope with your work. Don't use animals if you are writing about the government.
3. It won't hurt if you spill a touch of fragrance into the envelope. Depending on the characters in your novel, use "Opium" only when you're definitely sure what you have is not a book for children.
4. One of the things that is widely overlooked is selecting the right post office to mail your work from. Don't ever use Lathrop, CA if you're sending your masterpiece to Ms. Maxine Groffsky in New York (2 Fifth Avenue). She wouldn't dig the smell.
5. Agents are very concerned about format. The best way to avoid having either a 150- or a 500-page novel is to let them do the page numbering. Leave blank spaces for numbering, especially the pages with boring passages.
6. Let them choose the topics. You're a writer, so let them tell you what to write about. They know. You're not on the market for thinking: THEY think for you. And never forget—once you sign a contract, you are married to an agent. You only divorce when you start thinking.
This last piece, also from 1994, is one of my favorites. It combines a sense of his home life—his children, their homework—with his natural historical sensibility and his loopy, incisive sense of humor.
Pre-Algebra: Data and Survey
During this unit, you will be completing a survey project. You will pick a topic, survey people, graph and analyse the data, compile your findings in a report and give a short presentation to the class. The finished project is worth 100 points. This assignment will get you started.
I. SETTING A GOAL
A. What topic do you want to know more about? Keep in mind that your topic must be approved by me!
B. What would be the purpose or benefit of knowing more about this topic?
Shoes are extremely popular in countries where people walk.
If you only go by car, shoes may not be necessary.
II. DEVELOPING A SURVEY
A. Write down 20 questions that you can ask to get the information you want. Write five questions in each of the categories below. (Keep in mind good and vs. bad questions.)
1. Questions that give numerical data
If I wear size 39 shoes in Europe, what is the equivalent in the U.S.A.?
When I buy a pair of shoes for $35.00 and get another pair for half the price, is the total of $55.00 the correct price?
My sister changes her shoes twice daily. How many shoes does she have to have for a monthly-going-to-school period?
Why is it that I can sell my new shoes at a garage sale for only ¼ of the original price?
2. Questions that give yes/no/sometimes data:
Are longer shoes cheaper than shorter ones?
Is the price of men's sneakers exactly the same as that of women's high heels?
Did Hitler lose WWII because he was wearing unpolished boots?
Is the old folk saying, "A shoe can save your head" correct?
Can a left and a right shoe be the same in shape without hurting your toes?
3. Questions that give interval data:
Did Prince Charles really divorce Princess Diana because she wore blue suede shoes?
Is it true that black shoes are closer to the sun than white ones?
Are winter shoes much cheaper than others because they last for only three months?
If you wear your shoes in the shower, you'll never get your feet wet.
4. Questions that are open-ended:
A 10-year old's shoes may look cool
If you don't wear them everyday to…
Believe me or not, but I don't know how to tie this shoe…
Try to get into Texas roots without wearing the real Texas…
The shoes on my feet don't follow this rap…
III. SELECTING A SAMPLE
1. What population (group of people) do you want to know more about?
2. Since you cannot survey everyone in your population, how large a sample group will you use?
3. How will you select a sample? Where will you find them?
In conclusion: Oklop spent half his adult life in the former Yugoslavia and half in California. As a result, his writings are in two languages. The two parts of his life are intertwined: he wrote about Belgrade in English, and about his life on the West Coast in Serbian. The re-publication of his novels in Belgrade is profoundly exciting—it will re-capture the years when the major press called "Oklopdzic's writing efforts… a distinguished voice of absolute modernity" and spoke of him as "the source of a new fiction sensibility and vision." But we won't know the whole work of the man until his Belgrade writings appear in English, and his West Coast writings appear in Serbian. A beautiful, tenacious writer, and a peace-loving man, he would have wanted those of us who champion the two halves of his oeuvre to work together.
Text and Photos © Copyright 2013 Lissa Tyler Renaud
and the Estate of Mika Oklop
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