Three Poems by Tomaž Šalamun

27 May

Multiple moons ago, I was wheedled into attending a reading by some friends. Natch, I had better things to do, like watch LOST, or complain about not writing. But I relented and went. And what I heard was Tomaž Šalamun. If you’ve never heard of, or read, Tomaž Šalamun, then I forgive you. Once.

He read his poems in English and then in Slovenian. One poem he read made me fall out of my chair. I am not exaggerating. I say that, and people think I’m hyperbolic. I’m not. The…poem…made…me…weak. That poem is not in this bunch, but this bunch is lovely. And through reading them, you, too, will be made lovely.

grill fish, dwarves, squeeze house corners in your bags
the moon sleeps, carpets
frozen snow, I see blood on the fur coat
I see iron grids, Persian cats
I don’t want to die in the steppe, I don’t go on
I want to be killed by a cicada, the earth’s womb

Read all three poems in notnostrums.

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