Day 14 & Seven years here

• Manja Maksimovič

Today I wish to celebrate, doubly so: my seventh anniversary of living in Tuscany, and the life and work of Tomaž Šalamun, the greatest modern Slovenian poet. It’s where I lean to.

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Prompt 14: “I challenge you today to write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems.”

I write poems in April and occasionally on Sundays, mind you, so I don’t think his heirs would be much impressed if I cite him as my poet of choice, but I shall.

Does the name Tomaž Šalamun ring a bell? I had been unaware of his existence until I browsed my primary school mother tongue Reader a bit and reached the parts at the end that are never discussed in class. This is what I found and the rest is history (well, I found it in Slovenian, of course, this is translation):

Have you ever seen God

running so he’ll make it by two-thirty

and

whom did God consult

when he made a butterfly as it is

when he could have made its legs six inches thick

Tomaž Šalamun, “Responsibility”, translated by Michael Biggins

I thought, oh! I thought, the world of literature is not so dull after all. I thought, fun is allowed! And later when I realised how important and esteemed he is, much like Slavoj Žižek now, I thought that it is possible to make Slovenians, and the world, pay attention by being yourself, doing it your way, and having copious amounts of fun.

My poem for today is a pretty direct response to one of his. I’m not sure how closely one is allowed to massacre a famous poet’s poem. Oh well, he is deceased, he won’t mind.

Neither am I sure if it’s better that you read mine or his first. Probably his. Here is his poem “I have a horse” in (not my) translation that I posted on my barely read first blog, upon which a writing school found it and used it in a task for their students, and suddenly I had a huge surge of visitors as that post reached 1000 views. It has never happened again.

And here is mine:

I have a dog. My dog has four legs and an attitude.
I have a record player. On my record player there is more dust than records.
I have a sister. My sister is far.
I have two coats. One to keep me warm, the other to keep me cool.
I have a plant. I have a plant to see if I can keep something alive in my room.
I have Marco. I have Marco because I love him.
I haven’t seen a match in years.
I have a body. With the body I don’t do much at all.
I have destruction. We all do. Destruction is getting visible.
I have night. Night comes to me through the window of my room. For now.
I have fun taking pictures. I take pictures because taking pictures is fun.
I don’t have money. I’m not bread-winning. I’m not even bread-baking.
I have at least 73 poems. There is no telling if they are any good. I hope I will write more of them.
I am forty-nine years old. All these years have passed like lightening. I’m not turning fifty until I can have that big party with family and friends.
I am relatively courageous. With this courage I can do absolutely nothing about human stupidity.
I have a birthday May sixteenth. I hope May sixteenth will be a nice enough day.
I have a friend whose daughter’s name is Ema.
She knew Šalamun, but in the evening when she goes to bed, she remembers her father singing her Partisan songs when little. And falls asleep.

Thank you, Mr. Šalamun, for keeping it real.

And here I am, seven proverbial years in Tuscany already! All my cells have been replaced by now. I am new.

Here are eight photos from the last day I spent in Slovenia saying goodbye to my parents in Piran by the sea, and on this day in 2013 we were off, having packed all I had, including my prince, my office chair, the plant as I’d seen in films, driving from Ljubljana all the way to Florence, where he took the wheel and brought me to my new home. And I didn’t wear socks till November. Today I walked the dog in socks, winters shoes and woollen sweater. And a mask. Some things change, but the most stays the same. And I’m staying too.

I have yet to return to Piran in the spring time. It’s always in the summer that I visit. We shall see what happens this year. I have a feeling that on May 16th it will be a Skype party.

  • I went on a last walk around Piran to say goodbye.
  • No dog yet for me. Bestia joined us two months later.
  • Piran is pretty and pretty uphill.
  • The greens that I love.
  • Leaving home ain’t easy.
  • This is how the winds blow.
  • At the finish. The orchid survived.
  • Now I had horses, at least to pass and admire.

For Day 14 of NaPoWriMo 2020

39 thoughts on “Day 14 & Seven years here”

  4. So glad I stopped by, Manja! Your poem is wonderful, and completely you! Piran looks beautiful too. I always wanted to stray to Rovinj and your neck of the woods, but not in high summer. Maytime would be fine, if a little rainy. Thunder and lightning has crashed around here all night, and should inspire poetry, but right now the world is grey. Happy belated anniversary to you! 🙂 🙂

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  7. Oh Manja, I love your dialogue with Tomaž Šalamun–how imaginative! That shift in tone in your piece in regards to destruction and courage is sobering. What you say about your plant and the body makes me smile (similar pursuits or un-pursuits here). Just wonderful! And your hometown is a gem.😍💜

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    1. Thank you so much, Romana!! ❤ I had a look now and saw that he wrote this poem in 1971, a year after I was born. And he felt destruction already. Piran on the coast is 100 km from my hometown Ljubljana, but it's the second home of my parents and where we said goodbye. It's a gem, that's true. I hope you get to see it one day.

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      1. I’m sure destruction has accompanied humankind from the very beginning. We’ve just become more efficient at it.

        Would love to see Piran, and Ljubljana–and the rest of Slovenia as well. 😍Hopefully, traveling will be a thing again in some not so distant future. 🤞

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    1. Hi, Maxie Jane, great to see you here! Just earlier I had opened your blog on Day one and will read your work as soon as I finish my today’s post. Piran is the town on the Slovenian coast and it’s pretty incredible. Hope you’ll see it one day. 🙂 I wish you much word fun to come in April.

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  17. I absolutely love this poem, Manja. Its simplicity and beauty. Especially this line, and I’m not even sure why this line, I just found it so endearing: “I don’t have money. I’m not bread-winning. I’m not even bread-baking.”

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