So ya wanna know something about me, huh?
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Where to begin... (Nowadays, of course, my circumstances are entirely different: instead of footloose and single in Slovenia, I'm happily married, the father of twin boys (!) and living in Austin, Texas. But that came later, and more will be written about how all that came about. For now, this site is about my nearly five years spent on Slovene soil.) Soon after arriving in Slovenia on that memorable long-ago rainy October night, among the first things I noticed about my new home were that Slovene women generally didn't paint their fingernails, that pizza sometimes came topped with a fried egg, and that multi-hued plaid pants were in fashion among teenage girls (and a few boys). Also, you never got napkins if you just ordered a coffee. Then I noticed a few more things... Whoa! Why Slovenia?! you interrupt (leaning forward, eyes bulging in anticipation). Unsurprisingly, this is the number-one question I get. Depending on my mood, this is what I answer: 1. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Before you ask, I'm not Slovene, not even a little, and I didn't grow up speaking the language or participating in Slovene national dances in kindergarten or anything. In fact, I never even heard of the place until less than a year before I moved there. For five years, it was home; I crossed into the new millennium, or at least the '00s, one cold winter's night with the Slovenes, who seemed as prepared for it as anyone (cigarette in one hand, glass of wine in the other). And no, Slovenia isn't exactly next door to Bosnia or Kosovo -- though the people here can find those places without difficulty on their mental map. (For more on that crisis, which most Americans already seem to be forgetting, see Kosovo.) And now, I call central Texas home; in especially gauzy moments, here's the reverie I screen for myself (CAMERA PANS SLOWLY OVER A SOFT-FOCUS HILLTOP IN MAY, EARLY MORNING, THICK WITH FOG, V/O BY HAL HOLBROOK): Is Slovenia the dream, or is back home the dream I dreamed? Do I want Slovenia as a dream, or as a daily, non-paradisiacal reality? Do I want the clarity or the haziness? When I was over there, I thought that as soon as I returned for good, Slovenia would assume dreamlike status and I would think to myself: Did I really do those things? Did I really once live there, travel to those places? (CAMERA PANS SLOWLY UP AND BACK AS THE FOG LIFTS, REVEALING A VERDANT LANDSCAPE DOTTED WITH TREES, HAYRACKS, RED-ROOFED COTTAGES, AND FARMERS BURNING LEAVES, WITH SNOW-CAPPED ALPINE PEAKS ON THE HORIZON) Some day I expected that when I went home I'd let Slovenia return to being the dream, a mythical kingdom on the edge of the world that no one's ever heard of, where once I sojourned. Now, I know that things aren't that simple. Ljubljana is a beautiful city (well, at least in part): livable, manageable, sane (well, at least in part); and even though I left, I still feel as if I've adopted the place, or vice versa, for good. Even now, I don't really know why I ended up there; maybe eventually I will. Perhaps it has to do with the way I felt (still feel) when I stroll down Copova street, a showplace route for delivering pedestrians down a gentle slope into the old town, into the circular square with the statue of the national poet functioning as the hub of an infinite wheel with painted spokes radiating out across the cobblestones. Like I'm standing at the center of the universe or something, Jack. Maybe I lived there in a previous life. Or could be there's a magnet in the base of the statue of the national poet that draws people back there. I'm not going to say there's nothing I didn't miss about the New Country (that's the States to you) -- for starters, natural-food supermarkets, bagels, baseball, and relatively cheap contact lens solution come to mind -- but in the end, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Just another thought while pogoing: I've pretty much kicked the habit of giving advice (a no-win situation, I've found), but in my case, shoving my old life in a plastic bag and chucking it into the dumpster out back has turned out to be a not altogether bad thing. Perhaps you should try it sometime. |
Extracurricular activities: From 1985 to 1987 I edited, coordinated and published four issues of X It Out, "Boston's Magazine of Reality." It was a product of its time (and, of course, of the mid-'80s version of myself), and although with 20-20 hindsight I'd have done a few things differently, I'm quite glad to have made the effort, thank you, and proud to have worked with several collaborators and contributors who have accomplished notable, semi-famous things since (to mention just one example, the first issue was graced by two Thalia Zedek poems; hi, Thalia). You can view the cover of issue #4 on the links page, and some very selected contents in the Archive section. In a quasi-revival of my long dormant zine-publishing instincts, after relocating overseas I wrote and sent several newsletters titled Letter From Ljubljana to a few friends, family and unwary onlookers. LFL went online in '98 (blogging before blogging was cool!); all issues from #5 on can be found in the Slovenia section (and Srebrniceva is an adapted excerpt from a previous effort). OK, why 'Pogoer'? It's a reference to the up-and-down jumping 'dance' clubgoers used to do at punk shows, which supposedly originated because of lack of space in which to do any other kind of dance -- thus the 'pogo stick' notion. It is perhaps most associated with the Ramones. I've been known to pogo at clubs on occasion, though those days are largely behind me now (unless the Rezillos are in town). In the mid-'80s, I wrote a few columns for a Boston magazine under the heading 'Thoughts While Pogoing' -- itself a takeoff on an old newspaper column I'd seen years before called 'Thoughts While Shaving.' (I have no idea of the identity of the old newspaper hand responsible for that.) In 'Thoughts While Pogoing' I referred to myself (tongue firmly in cheek) as the Pogoer, a sort of twentysomething punk Everyman trying to figure out what it all meant. Truth be told, I was always more of an observer than a true punk, but my heart was in the right place. So now you know. Serendipitously, the word 'pogoer' is close to the Slovene word pogovor, which means a conversation or discussion. Since this website is a conversation of sorts, I suppose I could have called it pogovor.org...but pogoer.org does have a certain ring to it. Guests, Living Or Dead, Whom I'd Invite To A Fantasy Dinner Party: ...in case anyone wants to know. Kirsty, Eva Tanguay, Ricky Ritzel (an erstwhile collaborator with Mrs. Pogoer), Oscar Levant, Ray Davies, Nick Lowe, Dervla Murphy (great Irish travel writer), Colonel Sanders, Pope John Paul I (a/k/a Albino Luciani), Buddy Holly. And Donna, of course. (The Colonel will probably insist on helping out in the kitchen; fine with me.)
The CV, of Sorts: I am a freelance writer who has been published in numerous magazines/newspapers/combinations of both, including Spin, Air & Space, Historic Traveler, the Chicago Tribune, Button, Business Central Europe (R.I.P.), the Village Voice, the Prague Post, the Boston Phoenix (click here to read my July 1999 piece on, what else, Slovenia, in connection with Mr. Clinton's visit), and the Los Angeles Times, not to mention Ljubljana Life. For about a year in the mid-'80s I was a columnist for the late magazine Boston Rock, for what that's worth, which seems to be about zilch (but, long time passing and who cares). This is my spot on mediabistro.com's Freelance Marketplace: http://www.mediabistro.com/fm/PD.asp?user_id=22128& (Hire me, I'm surprisingly good and a pleasure to work with.) The estimable Mrs. Pogoer and I have a joint business venture, Wordbucket Marketing Communications (lots of things to buy, lots of things to sell, lots of stuff to read), serving all your professional prose-related needs, highly recommended: http://www.wordbucket.net And the zgodba continues...stay tuned. Questions, comments, non sequiturs about any or all of the contents of this site? Send me an e-mail at wes (at) p0g0er.org (only use o for 0) -- or leave a public message for posterity in the guestbook. Credits: First hvalas go to Vuk Cosic and Irena Woelle, web artists v Ljubljani, for their indispensable help with this trendy millennial project you're blinking at confusedly (bringing it seamlessly into the new era); Spela, Igor, Luka, Ziva, Tomaz and the rest of the ljudmila ljudje; Mojca and Ksenija for Slovene assistance; and Kay Divant for careful editing of the Srebrniceva diary. And to all my other friends on both continents for their support and interest. Special recognition must, of course, go to my bride, the very special Mrs. Pogoer (a/k/a Donna), who was the only one who could have gotten me to leave...if only to take her along on the continuing journey. This website is dedicated to all the experienced optimists of the world. Copyright notice: All contents of this website (c)2000-2006 by Wesley M.
Eichenwald. Reproduction in whole or part by
any means, printed or electronic, is strictly prohibited without express
permission of the author.
About the above pix: in the kitchen of the apartment on Kissena Blvd.; in a park (Kissena?) shortly after my second birthday;
and doing my best Lou Reed impression at Niagara Falls (American side) back in April 1990.
"To be truly radical is to make hope possible rather than despair convincing." |
Origins: If you're talking originally, I hail from Flushing,
Queens, New York City, USA, home of the New York World's Fair (1939-40 and 1964-65) and the Mets baseball
team. (Queens is also the breeding ground of the Ramones, Cyndi Lauper
and several other well-known musicians, like those guys who did "Mrs.
Robinson"...)
