Andrstán

Kleg's poetry stands on both sides of the wall, both imaginary and Berlin. The world, Europe, Brno. And there is no better way to get to know everything than from below: how things work for those who are at home here and for those who are at home everywhere. Behind the perspective of travelogues, awkward poetry, voices, and stories of characters, there is only one direction – an attitude and a desire not to shy away from anything that lies ahead, even if it is mostly just life, and, as Seifert used to say, chillingly bare. And sometimes it is not even life itself that stands before Klega, but only the question of why – and the answer is nothing. Then all that remains is to write about what we want, but what we will probably never get. We will talk about it – and then it will happen. Then the whole world will be underground.