Josip Prudeus — Croatian poet, writer, author of children's books, by profession a teacher of Croatian language and history, a journalist for print and radio, a publicist and a film scriptwriter — was born in Samobor on 21 March 1944. As a teacher he worked in Slavonski Brod, Sibinj, Rab, Bregana, Gradanjci, Noršić Selo and Samobor. He worked as a journalist at Radio Samobor, served as director of the Municipal Cultural Centre, and in 1991 became the first head of social affairs in Samobor. In 1989 he founded the Evenings of Croatian Love Poetry — Vrazova Ljubica, a festival that became a traditional June gathering of admirers of lyric verse, both poets and listeners alike. He was the founder and first editor of the children's and youth programme of Croatian Catholic Radio, and one of the founders of the School of Children's Creativity, a programme for gifted pupils in Croatian primary schools.
He began working as a journalist in 1968. His articles appeared in many newspapers and periodicals, among them Vjesnik, Večernji list, Novi list, Samoborski list, Samoborske novine, Glas koncila, Telegram, Radio Brod, Radio Samobor, Kerempuh, Brodski list, Glas Samobora, Naš Samobor and others. From 1965 onwards he wrote and published works for children in Modra lasta, Smib, Galeb, Radost and Pogled, and on the radio stations Zagreb, Sljeme, HKR and Sarajevo. His works are represented in Croatian textbooks, reading anthologies, songbooks and workbooks. He is the author of texts for four Croatian masses, the libretto for the Croatian patriotic love opera Samo san, and the Passion play Dizma i Gesta. He wrote poems of which over 150 have been set to music, by composers including Željko Bradić, Arsen Dedić, Nikica Kalođera, Siniša Leopold and many others.
As a publicist he authored hundreds of television commercials, radio messages, advertisements, charters, diplomas, slogans and promotional names. He is the creator of the name "Vatreni" — the Blazers — for the Croatian national football team. He founded and launched the journal Framin of the Croatian Franciscan Province, and wrote a memoir recalling ninety-six deceased Franciscan friars. For ten years he published, under the pseudonym Tribus, a total of around one hundred children's stories in Mak. For the churches of Samobor he wrote two songs, one about St Martin and one about Our Lady of Okić. He also wrote the song S Papom Kristu po Mariji, which received its première at Marija Bistrica on the occasion of the Pope's visit.
On retiring, he donated to a collection — for the benefit and delight of many — everything he had gathered over a quarter of a century. The collection was installed at Samobor Primary School and includes, among other things, approximately 380 paintings, 230 ceramic works, 80 batiks, 500 DVDs, around 3,000 books and much else besides. Josip Prudeus died in Samobor on 25 January 2020.
His rich body of work bears witness to the wealth of soul of this contemporary "painter in words". With the generosity of his heart and a wealth of life experience, and as the creator of many coats of arms, emblems and insignia, he made an active and discerning contribution to the academic painter Alma Orlić in designing the Okić coat of arms, on the occasion of the 800th anniversary of the first recorded mention of the name Okić; and with his wonderful poem in the beautiful local Kajkavian tongue he explained the reasons for the coat of arms' creation as well as its symbolism. With the poem "Popevka je čist nekaj drugega" — "A song is something quite different" — he wittily leafed through eight hundred pages of the history of the Okić area. We sincerely thank him for everything he has done and present both poems here in full.
The Okić coat of arms
Kings have long borne their coats of arms,
And bishops, towns, and noble lords,
Knights, counts, burghers and masters,
The wise, the foolish, the wicked and the just.
Each one adorned his arms in his own fashion,
Adding crosses, roses, cannon and swords,
Hearts and arrows, crown and sceptre,
Lions and dragons, birds and serpents.
Our arms bear Okić at their centre.
At the top a tower that has crumbled these hundred years.
To the right and left, two white churches:
Mary of Okić, and Saint Martin.
All around, no muskets and no sabres —
The Croatian of Okić does not deck himself with these.
Beneath the blue mantle of Mother Mary,
Red cherries and the noble vine.
The arms are simple, and so are we;
Our churches are our pride and our emblem.
As yesterday, today, and for ever and ever,
Okić is God's and Croatian. Amen.
A song is something altogether different
Two parish priests of Okić,
Tending to their parish cares,
Took it gladly to heart
To write a book about Okić.
Alongside baptisms and pilgrimages,
Weddings and funerals,
Catechism, then sermons…
They decided to print a book
About Okić. And rightly so!
They found a fine occasion for it,
And take pride in it together with their people:
Eight hundred years are passing
Since the name of Okić
Was first written down in history!
That is well done — hats off!
That is what true people do
Who love their folk and their homeland.
Yet I have one complaint to make
about the parish priests. What an idea:
of all people, they came to find me
to put this place into verse(?)
With so many distinguished pens about,
they sought out me, a mere rhymester —
born not in Okić, as it happens,
but in Samobor, beneath Tepec.
And now what? What can I say
about the Okić countryside,
when so many others know it better
and more justly — far too well?
But here we are. Father Pavel
speaks from the heart, just like that,
and I half-remember, half-write down
all its beauty. Line by line.
I hear so many wonderful things
and try to shape them into verse.
He has crammed me so full of beauty
(then he'll mock me afterwards
for forgetting things, getting them wrong...)
Surely that won't send me to hell?
St Martin beneath Okić —
call it what you will, right or wrong:
a small village, but an ancient one!
A close-knit people, a devout folk:
they go willingly to Mass,
and to confession whenever they sin.
Children christened with earnest faith,
couples married before the altar...
Pavel says: everything is done gladly,
and there is but one great wish:
at least one christening every week!
And when a funeral came, to have
three new ones in the cradle. In mother's lap.
Father Jura says the same —
a christening truly gladdened him!
Father Pavel paused to catch his breath,
I rinsed my throat with a drop of wine,
and listened as the story flowed —
the tale of Župančić from Okić!
Father Jura, from his little finger,
could conjure the whole story
of parish and village alike.
All the finest things. And finest of all:
how thousands of the faithful
are drawn here every year
for the pilgrimage to the Blessed Virgin,
from Zagreb all the way to Krašić,
by car, on foot... A wonderful tale.
The priest loves the organ too!
Yet one problem chafes at him:
there is simply no way to sing the Mass
at the altar
and lead the singing from the choir loft at the same time(!?)
Much went wrong. On top of everything,
the hillside collapsed, as it had long ago.
The whole village, houses, road —
just as they were, they vanished.
Terrible. Dreadful, says Jura.
I poured a cup. Another round.
Now Pavel takes his turn.
First, he reminds me
that the song must somehow tell
how little Martin parish
gave a Cardinal to the Church!
The elders love to recall
how young Father Francek,
by bicycle or on foot,
through those hard years,
from Martin to Galgovo,
from Konščica through Molvice...
served God and all the people,
always ready with an open hand.
He had little, yet gave freely.
His time was short. Today everyone
in Martin — why deny it —
remembers that priest fondly,
the one who is today His Eminence!
To the honour of the Church in Croatia,
from Krašić across to Okić
runs the road of Franjo Kuharić.
That's right, that's how it is, says Jura.
You're no small beer yourself, that neck of the woods.
The people of Okić, a glorious branch,
had their great men!!!
Great people. Scholars.
Patriots. Men of standing.
If I were to string them both ways end to end
I couldn't have written half of them down.
Like little turtle-doves
the chapels adorn that country.
All told there are seven of them here,
from Podgrađe to Kufrin.
Don't forget Livadić,
the composition "Crows from Okić"!
Then a thought strikes Pavao:
the poet must not forget
the red cherries of Okić!
The Erdödys, that glorious lineage,
and the grapevine that goes with it.
And so, amen: Pavel, Jura...
A whole novel. Third round.
(wine, I mean — Okić's finest)
And that is nothing — nothing at all
of everything they had praised about Okić,
adorned it with, and honoured it for.
To put it all into a song?
That is beyond a wiser man than me.
Even if I leapt down from Okić
and cut left and right,
far too much would still remain.
What is a song? It is but a thread.
I have not done it justice. What can one do? A pity.
Okić needs a hundred poets!!!
But so it is. Others have come
and set down all this and more
in the Okić book,
where it is written in black and white —
all that is beautiful, all that is worthy
in this land, past and present.
Written by those who love Okić,
who hold this countryside dear.
And I, at the very end,
give my thanks to Pavel and Jura.
May they forgive me. Please. I am sorry.
After all, I said at the outset
that I would put it all into a song!
On leaving Martin,
on top of everything else:
right beside the presbytery, a little zoo:
one dog, two peacocks,
white goats, turkeys, ducks,
two or three rabbits, five hens!
