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Pečat Dragačeva - Zoran Hristić

Ljubazno zamoljen da napišem nešto o Dragačevu, odnosno o Saboru trubača (pa zar to nije jedno te isto!), našao sam se u čudu, jer to je slično kao kada bi me neko zamolio da napišem ljubavno pismo! Međutim, ipak ima logike. Dragačevo, Guča, sabor, pesma i ritam moje su stare ljubavi. 

Kada se piše o ljubavi, biraju se reči, dovoljno lepe da se zaboravi svakodnevica, da se utone u nešto nalik na san i izbegava se reč ''ali'', jer sreću ''saborišta'' ne sme ništa da pokvari. Čovek se, po prirodi stvari, vraća onome što voli... 

Zaljubljenik Sabora ima tu sreću da to može da čini svake godine, da to jedva čeka svake godine, a da pri tome u slavlju i pravim salvama zvuka zaboravi da je još jednu godinu stariji. I tako svake godine čeka ga jedna umivena, nasmejana i trešteća Guča, koja ga slatko umori, promukne, ''budilicom'' razbija mamurluk, natera ga na radost i razmazi srećom.

Provodeći vreme po zagušljivim studijama za snimanje muzike, žvaćući muku svoga posla, u svome nemiru često se setim Guče i njenog zvuka od iskona. Tada shvatim koliko tome pripadam, odakle sam i gde ću biti. U retkim časovima prividnog mira i ne pokušavam da nađem zvuk iz Guče, on sam nadolazi kao obeležje jednog naroda. Sabor u Guči je pečat Dragačeva i prsten našeg venčanja sa trubom. 

Truba u Dragačevu nikada ne svira ''krivo'', jer dostaojanstvo ljudi nameće pravila ponašanja zvuka, koji se tri dana rasplamsava do onog ''prometejskog trenutka'', kada nam se od veličanstvenosti zajedničkog sviranja ''Sa Ovčara i Kablara'' izmiče tle pod nogama, pali krv u venama i stiskaju pesnice u slavu naše ljubavi prema slobodi.

Zoran HRISTIĆ Otvaranje 9. Sabora 1978.

Shake it, Guča - Matija Bećković

It is not habitual for the host to speak, except if hosting the Trumpeters Festival in Guča, where every guest becomes the host from the moment when he enters the world capital of trumpet. As the host among hosts, I asked how long should I speak. They answered like true hosts do – tell us how long you would like to speak. Well, then, with permission – listen and hear!

The trumpet has been in use by people and angels since ever, and never and nowhere without good reason. Here, in Guča, the trumpeters are among the first ones to take into their hands the trumpets, and they do so with one reason more.  They say that the first trumpet descended to Guča looking for a place from where it could be heard the farthest. All her sisters followed her in flocks and jointly thundered into the chest of Serbia.

The call of the trumpet made all that sounds and tunes in, all the quivers and joining quivers on that loud side with which all the sides are linked, all the languages, the skies and the earth, to start roaring, storming and weeping.

The people and those musicians without scores and those with musical notations in their soles swarm to follow the sound. And the sound which makes you tremble, is the sound of the mother whose son you are – so says the poet. So it happened that since the Festival in Žiča we perhaps did not have a more joyful festival than the Festival in Guča! Life seeks an exit, and the sound seeks its rights.

 The walls destroyed by the trumpets of Jericho, are destroyed also by the trumpets of Dragačevo, and this has been going on for forty two years now. In some places they call it Woodstock, in others Mariachi, or Band-aid, or Exit, but everybody knows that Guča is the exit and that the original sounds better.

What many intellectuals do not know, Serbian peasants did not forget. It is better to blow a trumpet, than to sniff glue! Therefore, we hardly do have something more urban and more superior than the Trumpeters Festival in Guča. Obviously, the world Festival in Guča is Serbian contribution to globalization. Namely, if we would join the European Community without our tunes and colors, without our name and memories, how would they know who came to them and what they brought with them?

From the old to the new era, from the goose-feather pen to the computers, from calls across across the hills to the mobile phone and e-mail – everything that was ever created has still been in the process of transformation and creation. And this is not a Festival, but rather a volcano of health and beauty, which was activated from the heart of Serbia. And new, young volcanoes always become active where the old ones were active, too.

There is nothing we did not use to make music with: the leaf, the comb, the glass, the hair, the nails, the fingers, the horns, the belt, the stones, the eye-lashes, the mustache. There is no tree from which we did not try to make a trumpet. And there are no two leaves that did not differ, nor two stones which did not make echoes in a different way. And everything that we see on the Earth, are instruments of the big and glorious people's philharmonic orchestra. And to those trumpets which are today in Guča responding to the sun, this is what we must say: I know you, trumpet, when you used to be a willow tree!

The self-willed voices, the stubbornness of accents, the individuality of tunes – they will never cease to live and move human hearts. The biggest achievements of mind and hand which belong to the general spiritual property of mankind, all the immortal things which Earth gave to the skies, it related to the people and multiplied with the people!

Poets compared our embroideries with the wistfulness of Bach's and Schuman's solo violins. We know that embroidery, national costumes, folk dance, rituals, habit are also symbols with many meanings. But hundreds of thousands of participants in the Festival in Guča come to enjoy, dance and sing, and do not listen to interpretations!

Modern man has reached far, but it seems as if he noticed before reaching the aim that he did not take his heart and his soul with him.

And now, without these two, he does not care about the entire world. And this is where the deeper substance of the Festival in Guča is hidden. Not only by returning to oneself, but returning to joy and to the sense of living.

The State is what its music is – said Confucius 500 years B.C. If we only could say this for Serbia – how well off we would be! It is unbelievable that the State can be second-hand, and music original and authentic.
Throwing garbage to the wells is one of the biggest disasters of our spiritual ecology. Famous is the case of the shepherdess which happened right here, sixty years ago. She allegedly started suddenly to call somebody from the Ovčar and Kablar mountains whose name nobody has ever heard before and to ask him nothing else but when he will be coming to Užice, without asking why he should be in Užice and whom he has there. This is how one of the most irrational creations emerged, which was sung for decades with most disastrous consequences. And nobody was wondering about those who forged this song, they were rather persecuting those who memorized the original.

Thanks God, everything ended well and at the 42nd Trumpeters Festival in Guča we heard the original version as if such wonder had never existed! Hence: Serbian Principle, accept us among the Serb people! Welcome and come with luck – and leave with even more luck!

Shake it, maple!
Matija BEĆKOVIĆ, poet and novelist Letter of the host at the opening of 42nd FESTIVAL 2002nd

Grunula je truba, Branko V. Radičević

Sve se izgleda menja. Sabor ostaje isti. Kao element. Zemlja. Vazduh. Voda. Pečenje. Lebac i slanina. Beli lukac. Kolovođa i kec. Prvi i poslednji u kolu. Sabor je čudo. I to čudo nad čudima. Trebalo je, pre trideset i pet godina, promarširati ulicama Guče. U anteriji. Sa šajkačom na glavi. U prisustvu vlasti. U pratnji trubača.

To je čudo. Taj pohod koji traje. Koji ne prestaje. Od Sabora do Sabora. Od grada do grada. U kasno leto. Pred jesen. Dumbara bubanj. Igra kolo. Ali, molim vas, zamislite: kako je to bilo pre trideset i pet godina. U prikradici. U prekorici. Kao inačica. Tek će narasti inat. Tek će se zainatiti pravi inat. U sveopštoj sumnji.

Prikradalo se. I pripremalo veliko kolo. U prikradici. Naizgled naivno i nevešto. Trebalo je imati hrabrosti. I odoleti pokudicama. Šta će vam to tu? I zašto će vam baš tu? I šta će tu Dragačevo? I zar se to sme u Dragačevu? I šta će drugi reći? I kako će se drugi ponašati? I ko će za to odgovarati? I šta ako se to u nešto neprilično izrodi? Opasno je! Nije vreme! Zašto baš trube? I šta će tu trube? Pa to podseća na ratove! I kakvi su to bili ratovi! Ima ratova i ratova. Osvajačkih, napadačkih, tlačiteljskih, nepravedenih, opakih i zlovremenih.

Šta će tu trube ? Na šta nas podsećaju? Na nekakva knjaževstva i kraljevstva?

Nije Srbin izmislio trubu. Šta će truba u kolu? Ima ona preča posla. Zna se njeno mesto. Ispraća u ratove. I maršira s vojskama. Jedan, dva. Pod komandom. Jedan, dva. Ne može u šest koraka.

I grunula je. U Dragačevu. Kao izazov. I prkos. Prisetila. Podsetila. Promladila. Dahnula vedrinom. I nadom. Jer narod igra. Ima nade. Jer narod igra. Dobro je kad narod igra. Zasvadbariće jesen. Rađaće se deca. Oživeće njive i livade. Biće leba i slanine. Zaratariće zemlja. Neće zaratovati. Ona će zaratariti. Jer bog Perun, vrhovni srpski bog, nije bog ratova, već berićeta, bog plodnosti. On opominje gromovima i munjama. On upravlja zemljom i nebesima. I šalje kišu na žednu zemlju. Oplođuje. Preporađa. Omlađuje. Stvara. Daruje.

Trebalo je lukavo, polako, strpljivo, uz neophodne dodvorice i nepotrebne pristanke, očuvati saborovinu, koja je postala dadž, napajala ljude verom i nadom da još ima zdravlja i da nije sve prošlo i da će se živeti i ploditi.

Zaigralo je veliko saborsko kolo. I porodio se veliki, opštenarodni inat. Truba se pretvorila u čudo. Oslušnite je. Drma. Čućete što nikad niste čuli. Čućete ako ste posustali. Čućete ako ste posumljali. Ima spasa. Ima nade. Čućete ako ste se odrodili. Čućete ako se još niste porodili. Čućete ako ste se zaplodili.
Moj glas je slab. Nemam snage da nadvičem trubu. Sve što sam govorim, kazaće vam truba. Ona neprestano samo o tome trubi. Treba je čuti, slušati i razumeti. Ona umesto nas progovara. Jednog dana, ko zna kada, došla je među nas iz dalekog belog sveta. I progovorila je našim glasom. Baš kao da je svirala. Kao da se usvirala. I uguslila. Videli smo je na slikama posvećenim Božijim prostorima. Anđeli navešćuju dolazak. Strašnog suda. Ona se potpuno pripitomila u Dragačevu. Ne poziva na juriš. Neće u rat. Ne navešćuje propast sveta. Dolazak Strašnog suda. Započinje kolo. Svetkuje. I razastire radost. I zato je dobrodošla. Kao preporoditeljka. Na radost. I veselje.

Branko V. Radičević, pesnik, jedan od osnivača Sabora, Slovo domaćina na otvaranju 30. Sabora 1990.

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