Ljubivoje Ršumović: “It’s important for a person to preserve that homo ludus within, that child ready to play.”

In Belgrade’s Silosi, on August 23 a magnificent mural dawned, inspired by the verses of Ljubivoje Ršumović, as a memorial and a warning about safeguarding our heritage. Ljubivoje Ršumović is our distinguished writer and poet, a children’s author and creator of children’s shows with which generations grew up and came of age: “Fazoni i fore”, “Hiljadu zašto” and “Dvogled”. For the peacefulness and tolerance he wove into “Bukvar dečijih prava”, Ljubivoje received a UNESCO award - just one in a series of formal recognitions for his work, which even today pulses with the same strength as in the time when his works were being created.

For that very reason, and at the initiative of the nonprofit organization Gaia pokret, verses from Ljubivoje Ršumović’s poem “Domovina se brani lepotom” were chosen as the theme of the new artwork in the Silosi, a kind of open-air gallery. Gaia pokret entrusted this important task to our muralist Luka Prstojević, and to calligrapher and artist of Russian origin Viktor Puškarev—for whom this was the first poem he learned in childhood in the Serbian language while staying in our country—which he immortalized on the Silosi with the help of his wife, Valerija Loginova. 

After the ceremonial unveiling of the mural and socializing in the honey garden, we sat on a bench with Uncle Ršum and talked with him about roots, childhood, and, of course, the homeland.

The reason for our gathering in the Silosi is the unveiling of a mural inspired by the verses “Domovina se brani lepotom,” your poem you wrote 67 years ago. To what extent are moral values such as honor, knowledge, and good manners impoverished today, and how can we breathe new strength into them?

I’ve already gotten some ideas about this mural - we should explain each line, magnify it with some metaphor or with some wordplay, a beautiful message. Since Gordana, whom I live with, has a master’s degree in ecology, she’ll help me turn that poem into an ecological law. In Serbia in 1914, in every school at the beginning of the year, a student oath was read, mostly ecological: that you shouldn’t throw papers around, but also that you shouldn’t do to others what you wouldn’t like someone to do to you. Since our camp of collaborators of the sun is approaching, we’ll try—with the help of younger colleagues, among other things—to create a student or youth code, that is, an oath.

Your verses are written in Cyrillic as the work of artists Viktor Puškarev and Luka Prstojević. If the homeland is defended with beauty, what is the script defended with?

It is defended, among other things, in precisely this way. All my books that I publish with Laguna are in Cyrillic. That has been my script from the beginning and, most importantly, in the time when I was a child and starting to read. To this day I still keep those books, all of which were written in Cyrillic. After World War II, books in Serbia were printed in Cyrillic, which later, unfortunately, became distorted. 

Which poems painted your growing up?

“Pričama o stvarima”. Then, the verses of Zmaj Jova, thanks to our mother who recited one of his poems to my brother and me every evening: “Kad je Bože zemlju stvarao nije hteo da prazna bude…” Both my brother and I remembered that poem for all time and, of course, we had to act the way Zmaj Jova asks God.

Your creative path has lasted for more than six decades. Can you recall any of the first experiences when you realized the power of language? 

Our father, Mihajlo, was a wise man. When he wanted my brother and me to remember something and stick to it, he would turn his advice into a folk proverb. He knew that we loved the decasyllabic verse and saw that every time tears would come to our eyes when Grandpa Božo or Grandpa Stevan, to the gusle, sang about Banović Strahinja. We were impressed by the fact that to the gusle Grandpa sings: “Netko beše Strahinjiću Bane…” That stayed with me. Also, Exupéry, the writer of “The Little Prince”—and I would say the writer who was proclaimed the greatest writer of the past millennium, as was his book. He said: “I come from childhood; that is my homeland.” It’s a book I first read in English when, as a child, I was at my grandfather’s in Chicago.

More than three decades ago you wrote the sonnet wreath “Kuća sa okućnicom” as a homage to your homeland, childhood, and parents. Why is it important to return to our roots?

It’s important for a person to preserve that homo ludus within, that child ready to play. After all, even Nikola Tesla admitted that he became fascinated by electricity while stroking his cat. So, I have proof that I’m right.

You have often pointed out that you write for “the people in children and the children in people,” and you yourself are an example of an adult who managed to preserve the child within. How did you manage to do that?

In a way, it’s a double job. Writing for children: “Čini mi se vekovima, vuk sa ovcom nešto ima.” That’s still at the level of children’s singing, but “kad je vidi kako pase vuk naprosto ne zna za se” and it all goes up to the point that “ovca ne sme da se brani, vuk se njenim strahom hrani.” That’s already a message for adults. I don’t think much when I write—it’s a kind of automatism. I start out naive and end with a message, or the other way around. I even know how to make fun of myself.

All your works are permeated precisely with motifs of childhood, play, and nature. Which practices, in your opinion, have a chance of reconciling traditional values with contemporary currents in society?

We neglected the village over a long period, building factories and wanting to have everything. That was the trouble: we didn’t understand that Serbs are a drop in a vast sea, an ocean of various nations and various mentalities and intentions. How do we preserve our being in that multitude of different people who surround us and with whom, whether we like it or not, we have relations? We can’t run away from it, but it’s good to have a wise academy of sciences, and it’s necessary to have a wise Orthodox Church and, of course, to respect every other faith and every other mentality.