{"id":2292,"date":"2022-11-16T09:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-11-16T08:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blog.knihovnauk.cz\/?p=2292"},"modified":"2022-11-16T11:44:46","modified_gmt":"2022-11-16T10:44:46","slug":"pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.knihovnauk.cz\/index.php\/2022\/11\/16\/pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj\/","title":{"rendered":"Pocta Hemingwayovi \/ Hemingway Tribute (\u010cJ + AJ)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Americk\u00fd autor Ernest Hemingway dostal v\u00fdzvu, aby napsal smutn\u00fd p\u0159\u00edb\u011bh s pouh\u00fdmi \u0161esti slovy. S touto v\u00fdzvou se setkal n\u00e1sledovn\u011b: \u201eNa prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9.\u201c Tato pov\u00eddka je poctou jeho p\u0159\u00edb\u011bhu a jde o fiktivn\u00ed d\u00edlo.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Na prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matky pl\u00e1\u010dou nad ztracen\u00fdmi d\u011btmi a symboly t\u00e9to ztr\u00e1ty. V tom p\u0159\u00edpad\u011b si mysl\u00edm, \u017ee nejsem matka.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jak m\u016f\u017ee\u0161 truchlit pro n\u011bco, co jsi nikdy nem\u011bla? Samoz\u0159ejm\u011b to nen\u00ed tak \u0161patn\u00e9 jako u n\u011bkter\u00fdch ostatn\u00edch rodi\u010d\u016f. Rodi\u010de vytahuj\u00ed sv\u00e9 d\u011bti z rozpadl\u00fdch budov ve v\u00e1lce, dr\u017e\u00ed sv\u00e9 traumatizovan\u00e9 d\u011bti, zat\u00edmco ignoruj\u00ed sv\u00e9 vlastn\u00ed trauma, sleduj\u00ed, jak jejich d\u011bti ch\u0159adnou na rakovinu. Moje bolest ur\u010dit\u011b nen\u00ed nic ve srovn\u00e1n\u00ed s t\u00edm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pro\u010d ale d\u00fdch\u00e1n\u00ed bol\u00ed? Pro\u010d v\u0161ude kolem sebe c\u00edt\u00edm mlhu, kter\u00e1 mi pln\u00ed ch\u0159\u00edp\u00ed, pl\u00edce a smysly tichou, b\u00edlou nicotou, a kter\u00e1 se nenech\u00e1v\u00e1 probod\u00e1vat mlhov\u00fdmi sv\u011btly nad\u011bje? Pro\u010d m\u00e1m pocit, \u017ee jsem se tak siln\u011b sp\u00e1lila na slunci, \u017ee i pohyb o\u010d\u00ed za\u017eehne plameny na cel\u00e9 m\u00e9 k\u016f\u017ei?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Z o\u010d\u00ed mi nest\u00e9kaj\u00ed \u017e\u00e1dn\u00e9 slzy. Nejde o to, \u017ee nechci plakat, nebo \u017ee bych se styd\u011bla plakat. Ale nen\u00ed nic. Jsem jen k\u0159upav\u00e1 k\u016fra k\u016f\u017ee, d\u00edv\u00e1m se na v\u011bci, kter\u00e9 jsem dostala pro budoucnost odsouzenou k z\u00e1hub\u011b, soust\u0159ed\u011bn\u00e1 i nesoust\u0159ed\u011bn\u00e1 z\u00e1rove\u0148.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u0158\u00edkaj\u00ed mi, \u017ee by to mohlo b\u00fdt hor\u0161\u00ed, \u017ee je jim to l\u00edto, \u017ee se to zlep\u0161\u00ed, \u017ee jsem mlad\u00e1 a p\u0159ijdou dal\u0161\u00ed. U l\u00e9ka\u0159e ale \u0159ekli, \u017ee s t\u00edmto miminkem je v\u0161e v po\u0159\u00e1dku. Dokud nebylo. Tak\u017ee o budoucnosti nikdo nic nev\u00ed. Cht\u011bj\u00ed jen \u0159\u00edkat hezk\u00e9 v\u011bci, aby se sami c\u00edtili l\u00e9pe za to, \u017ee se v\u00e1m sna\u017e\u00ed pomoci.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perspektiva m\u011bn\u00ed v\u00e1\u0161 pohled na to, kde se nach\u00e1z\u00edte. M\u00e1 se \u010dasem m\u011bnit. Ale jak moc se m\u016f\u017ee zm\u011bnit za tak kr\u00e1tkou dobu. Jednoho dne a v\u0161e o va\u0161\u00ed minulosti, p\u0159\u00edtomnosti a budoucnosti m\u016f\u017ee vypadat \u00fapln\u011b jinak. H\u016f\u0159. A l\u00e9pe. Ale ur\u010dit\u011b jinak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

P\u0159ich\u00e1zej\u00ed my\u0161lenky a stravuj\u00ed m\u011b. Vzpom\u00ednky, pozorov\u00e1n\u00ed, jak vzru\u0161en\u00ed miz\u00ed jako krev st\u00e9kaj\u00edc\u00ed do kan\u00e1lu, smutek nad nad\u011bj\u00ed, kter\u00e9 se dr\u017e\u00edm, z\u00e1\u0161\u0165 v\u016f\u010di matk\u00e1m, kter\u00e9 dr\u017e\u00ed sv\u00e1 miminka bl\u00edzko a hraj\u00ed si s d\u011btmi na h\u0159i\u0161ti, vztek na drsn\u00e9 matky, kter\u00e9 k\u0159i\u010d\u00ed a pl\u00e1caj\u00ed jejich d\u011bti nespravedliv\u011b.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kolik m\u00e1m dobr\u00e9ho, je toho tolik, za co mohu b\u00fdt vd\u011b\u010dn\u00e1, pro\u010d se propad\u00e1m do tohoto z\u00e1rmutku, kdy\u017e ostatn\u00ed to maj\u00ed mnohem hor\u0161\u00ed? Stahuji se do sv\u00fdch my\u0161lenek, alespo\u0148 ten prostor je uzav\u0159en\u00fd a nepot\u0159ebuji \u0159e\u0161it podn\u011bty a vstupy z vn\u011bj\u0161\u00edho sv\u011bta.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bojuji s pocity. V\u00edm, \u017ee jsou hloup\u00e9 a marn\u00e9. Ale pak m\u011b tento boj tak\u00e9 roz\u010diluje, zhor\u0161uje bolest, vy\u010derp\u00e1v\u00e1 m\u011b. Pob\u00edh\u00e1m v bou\u0159ce kolem zch\u00e1tral\u00e9 chalupy, strk\u00e1m hrnce a p\u00e1nve pod net\u011bsnosti ve st\u0159e\u0161e, proch\u00e1z\u00edm se pavu\u010dinami, abych napravila dal\u0161\u00ed trhlinu ve zdi, zat\u00edmco voda mi stoup\u00e1 kolem kotn\u00edk\u016f a navzdory m\u00fdm pokus\u016fm zu\u0159\u00ed v\u00edtr. Zav\u0159u okna a dve\u0159e p\u0159ed bou\u0159\u00ed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jsem unaven\u00e1. Tak hodn\u011b unaven\u00e1.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lehnu si a sto\u010d\u00edm se do sebe. Sly\u0161\u00edm v\u00edtr, bouchaj\u00edc\u00ed dve\u0159e a okna, c\u00edt\u00edm, jak se mi voda a \u0161p\u00edna m\u00eds\u00ed do \u0161at\u016f, po t\u011ble se mi rozl\u00e9v\u00e1 drsn\u00fd chlad podlahy. P\u0159edstavuji si mal\u00e9 d\u011btsk\u00e9 boti\u010dky, jaksi symboli\u010dt\u011bj\u0161\u00ed ne\u017e l\u00e1hve, p\u0159ikr\u00fdvky a kn\u00ed\u017eky, kter\u00e9 se tak\u00e9 za\u010daly hromadit. A mohutn\u00fd poryv v\u011btru otev\u00edr\u00e1 p\u0159edn\u00ed a zadn\u00ed dve\u0159e chaty, \u010de\u0159\u00ed vodu na podlaze a \u0159e\u017ee m\u011b do zad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boty s drobn\u00fdmi tkani\u010dkami, dokonalou neo\u0161oupanou podr\u00e1\u017ekou, hebkou a pevnou tkaninou p\u0159ipravenou chr\u00e1nit a podporovat, kdy\u017e se mali\u010dk\u00fd d\u00edv\u00e1 do sv\u011bta. Nav\u017edy pr\u00e1zdn\u00e9. Nikdy \u017e\u00e1dn\u00fd \u0161kr\u00e1banec na podr\u00e1\u017ek\u00e1ch. Na \u0161pi\u010dk\u00e1ch nikdy \u017e\u00e1dn\u00e1 \u0161p\u00edna nebo rozlit\u00e9 ml\u00e9ko.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A jak v\u00edtr proch\u00e1z\u00ed otev\u0159en\u00fdmi p\u0159edn\u00edmi a zadn\u00edmi dve\u0159mi, kolem m\u011b zu\u0159\u00ed bou\u0159e, voda prosakuj\u00edc\u00ed do m\u00e9ho domu za\u010d\u00edn\u00e1 doch\u00e1zet. Za m\u00fdmi vlasy, kolem slab\u00e9ho tvaru m\u00e9ho t\u011bla na podlaze, tak\u017ee jsem nehybn\u00fd. Nebol\u00ed m\u011b to, nevyhro\u017euje, \u017ee m\u011b utop\u00ed. Ned\u011bl\u00e1m nic, abych to zastavila. Nem\u016f\u017eu ud\u011blat nic, abych to zastavila. Jen le\u017e\u00edm, v\u0161\u00edm\u00e1m si toho, c\u00edt\u00edm, jak to plyne kolem, v\u00edm, \u017ee to odejde a j\u00e1 tu st\u00e1le budu.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a challenge, the American author Ernest Hemingway was challenged to write a sad story with only six words. He met this challenge with the following: \u201eFor sale: baby shoes. Never worn.\u201c This short story is a tribute to his story, and a work of fiction.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mothers cry over lost children, and the symbols of this loss. In that case I suppose I am not a mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How can you grieve for something you never had? Of course it is not so bad as other parents. Parents pull their children out of crumbled buildings in war, hold their traumatized children as they ignore their own trauma, watch their children waste away from cancer. Surely my pain is nothing compared to that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet why does breathing hurt? Why do I feel a fog all around me, filling my nostrils and lungs and senses with quiet, white nothingness, not allowing itself to be pierced by foglights of hope? Why do I feel like I got such a severe sunburn that even rolling my eyes ignites tongues of flame across all my skin?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No tears come down from my eyes. It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t want to cry, or that I would be ashamed to cry. But there is nothing. I am just a crispy crust of skin, looking at things I got for a doomed future, focused and unfocused at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They tell me it could be worse, they say they are sorry, they say it will get better, they say I am young and more will come. But they said at the doctor that everything was fine with this baby. Until it wasn\u2019t.  So no one knows anything about the future. They just want to say nice things to feel better about themselves for trying to help you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perspective is changing your view based on where you are. It is meant to change over time. But how much can change in such a short amount of time. One day, and everything about your past, present, and future can look completely different. Worse. And better, all at once. But certainly different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thoughts come and consume me. Memories, watching the excitement fade away like blood running down the drain, sadness for the hope I let myself hold on to, resentment at the mothers who hold their babies close and play with their children on the playground, angry at the harsh mothers who shout at and slap their children unfairly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How much good do I have, there is so much to be grateful for, why am I sinking into this grief when others have it so much worse? I retreat into my thoughts, at least that space is closed, and I don\u2019t need to deal with stimulus and input from the outside world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I fight the feelings. I know they are stupid and futile. But then this fighting also makes me angry, makes the pain worse, wears away at me. I am running around a ramshackle cottage in a thunderstorm, shoving pots and pans under leaks in the roof, walking through cobwebs on my way to fix another break in the wall, while the water rises around my ankles and the wind rages on despite my attempts to shut the windows and doors against the storm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am tired. So very tired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lay down and curl up into myself. I hear the wind, the slamming doors and windows, I feel the water and dirt mixing and seeping into my clothes, the rough cold of the floor spreads across my body. I picture the little baby shoes, somehow more symbolic than the bottles and blankets and books that had also begun to accumulate. And a massive gust of wind opens the front and back door of the cottage, rippling the water on the floor and cutting into my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shoes, with the tiny laces, perfect unscuffed soles, soft and sturdy fabric ready to protect and support as the little one faces the world. Forever empty. Never a scratch on the soles. Never a spot of dirt or spilled milk on the toes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And as the wind goes through the open front and back doors, the storm raging around me, the water leaking into my house starts to run out. Past my hair, around the weak shape of my body on the floor, leaving me still. It doesn\u2019t hurt me, doesn\u2019t threaten to drown me. I am doing nothing to stop it. I can do nothing to stop it. I just lay there, noticing it, feeling it flow past, knowing it will leave and I will still be here.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Americk\u00fd autor Ernest Hemingway dostal v\u00fdzvu, aby napsal smutn\u00fd p\u0159\u00edb\u011bh s pouh\u00fdmi \u0161esti slovy. S touto v\u00fdzvou se setkal n\u00e1sledovn\u011b: \u201eNa prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9.\u201c Tato pov\u00eddka je poctou jeho p\u0159\u00edb\u011bhu a jde o fiktivn\u00ed d\u00edlo. Na prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9. Matky pl\u00e1\u010dou nad ztracen\u00fdmi d\u011btmi a symboly t\u00e9to ztr\u00e1ty. V tom p\u0159\u00edpad\u011b […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":2294,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[37],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2292","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literatura"],"yoast_head":"\nPocta Hemingwayovi \/ Hemingway Tribute (\u010cJ + AJ) - Magaz\u00edn Knihovny \u00dasteck\u00e9ho kraje<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/blog.svkul.cz\/index.php\/2022\/11\/16\/pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"cs_CZ\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Pocta Hemingwayovi \/ Hemingway Tribute (\u010cJ + AJ) - Magaz\u00edn Knihovny \u00dasteck\u00e9ho kraje\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Americk\u00fd autor Ernest Hemingway dostal v\u00fdzvu, aby napsal smutn\u00fd p\u0159\u00edb\u011bh s pouh\u00fdmi \u0161esti slovy. S touto v\u00fdzvou se setkal n\u00e1sledovn\u011b: \u201eNa prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9.\u201c Tato pov\u00eddka je poctou jeho p\u0159\u00edb\u011bhu a jde o fiktivn\u00ed d\u00edlo. Na prodej: d\u011btsk\u00e9 boty. Nikdy neno\u0161en\u00e9. Matky pl\u00e1\u010dou nad ztracen\u00fdmi d\u011btmi a symboly t\u00e9to ztr\u00e1ty. V tom p\u0159\u00edpad\u011b […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/blog.svkul.cz\/index.php\/2022\/11\/16\/pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Magaz\u00edn Knihovny \u00dasteck\u00e9ho kraje\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/svkusti\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2022-11-16T08:00:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2022-11-16T10:44:46+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/blog.svkul.cz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/hemingway-g01a1ef383_1920.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1920\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1280\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Anne Heaton Petrak\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Napsal(a)\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Anne Heaton Petrak\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Odhadovan\u00e1 doba \u010dten\u00ed\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"7 minut\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/blog.svkul.cz\/index.php\/2022\/11\/16\/pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/blog.svkul.cz\/index.php\/2022\/11\/16\/pocta-hemingwayovi-hemingway-tribute-cj-aj\/\",\"name\":\"Pocta Hemingwayovi \/ Hemingway Tribute (\u010cJ + AJ) - 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