Today I wish to share my space with my mother who also wrote a poem for children about letters. And my poem? Well, it’s Thursday again and this can mean only one thing.
Prompt 23: “Write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Doesn’t ‘S’ look sneaky and snakelike? And ‘W’ clearly doesn’t know where it’s going!”
What fun! And even better is the example, that’s why I repeat it here, if I may. The poem was written by Eduardo Galeano and translated by the organiser of NaPoWriMo and provider of all the prompts, who in my opinion doesn’t get nearly enough credit for all her work. She is Maureen Thorson and she has been sent from the future to tell it like it is, as her website confides.
The A has its legs open.
The M is a seesaw that comes and goes between heaven and hell.
The O is a closed circle, it will choke you.
The R is scandalously pregnant.
All of the letters of the word AMOR are dangerous.
My poem has two parts, both with an acrostic and a gallery, about the Italian and the Slovenian door situation. Italian first.
Double brass, double digit, dabba doo.
Our mind sees it as a knocker.
Our mind sees it as a double knocker.
Ready to open or close at length, at will, at your service.
And now over to Slovenia. Mind the Slovenian word for the door, VRATA.
Visit now a completely different style:
Rear or front or service, with one foot out.
Across the middle a bar as if the door had a belt.
There is a vertical line separating two halves sometimes.
Add another bar in the middle. And all tops seem to be narrower.
And finally, here is my mother’s poem for children from her book in Slovenian, Darilo (The Present), in my (liberal) translation:
WHAT LETTERS CAN DO
by Meta Maksimovič
A STANDS APART AND TRAVELS FAR.
E WHEELS HER FEET OVER THE STREET.
I HIGHLY LIFTS HIS TINY FIST.
O HOLLOW HOLE SLOWLY ROLLS.
U RUDELY LAUGHS BUT BUYS YOU STUFF.
JUST R CAN DO NOTHING MORE
THAN MURMUR, PURR AND SNORE.