I am quite fond of Tin Ujević’s statue in the center of Zagreb. The more time I spend in the Croatian capital, the fonder I get of it, too. But a few days ago I saw something that damped my enthusiasm at once. As I was sipping my drink in a nearby café, two young men climbed onto the bronze platform that supports the statue and started dancing there. As they shook and waved their arms above their heads, their girlfriends were taking pictures of the happy event and giggling. I did not mind their shenanigans until I noticed that the statue was also shaking. And it shook quite badly, which struck me as incongruous with the poet’s stature. He looked ridiculous as the statue shook violently. It appeared it was made of tin rather than bronze. “The tin Tin,” it crossed my mind. Or Tintin, the comic-book hero of my youth. So many days later, I cannot forget the incongruous shake. Or Tin’s new and unhappy name.