The title of my poem is Please don’t understand, and that’s why it is in Slovenian. Don’t worry, English version included. In the photos appear descendants of dragons and wolves from the last month.
Prompt 18: “Write a poem based on the title of one of the chpaters from Susan G. Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words.”
I was already impressed with the word chpater and thought it was there on purpose. Then I had a look through her chpater titles and this one caught my eye: Please don’t understand. I was able to read this chpater in full and was duly further impressed. Two lines from it I use in my poem with thanks. They appear in quotations.
Just before posting, as the last stroke of genius (hehe), I realised that in order to not be understood, the poem must be in my language, Slovenian. But I’m good at heart so I add the English original as written.
Please don’t understand Odidi, kot si prišel. Jama je zadosti velika za zmaje in vse ostalo. Živijo v svetlobi in ne prenesejo teme. “Delaj se, da si volk, ki piše.” Volk lahko vidi v noči in si verjetno misli: “Svetloba je zadnje, kar potrebujemo.” Razumeti in biti razumljen sta težki bremeni. Prepusti ju zmajem.
Prosim, ne razumi Leave as you came in. The cave is big enough for dragons and all the rest. They live in the light and cannot stand the darkness. “Pretend you’re a wolf, writing.” The wolf can see in the night and probably thinks: “Light is the last thing we need.” To understand and to be understood are heavy burdens. Leave them to dragons.
Here is an assortment of descendants of dragons and wolves, if you believe it. The photos were taken this past month in the radius where I walk my dog to visit all the beasts, only the last is from the splendid stroll along the southern Tuscany border from this Tuesday.
This day in my NaPoWriMo history (2019): An elegy for a shoe
To the other classic cream low top All Star The day I discovered the planet was getting rid of us, I was standing in the Soča river trying not to die. The river does not care for our survival instinct. The river will be here after we are long gone and will not be particularly sorry. We had been teasing her all day. Four of us in a military rubber boat with a thin floor, brazing the rapids. I was kneeling in the middle of the boat, mindful of the rocks under my knees, announcing swirls and waterfalls. It was exactly what tourists are advised against. But we were locals, sort of, from the capital, and the river was our playground. This sounds like we were ten. Actually it was more like twenty-five. When the rapids were done with, I, adrenalin-crazed but unharmed, jumped into the gloriously fresh, crystal-clear Soča. I filled a big bottle with it to take home and drink it in the capital. It felt so decadent. Then I swam to where she ran faster. And faster. I saw a rock that looked stable. I stepped on it - and the river swept me along. Just how we'll all be in time. I felt my shoe slide off, tied and all. I got angry underwater. Oh no you won’t. I gathered my strength, pulled myself to the side where the flow was weaker and breathed. You didn’t get me this time. But you got my shoe. I took the bottle home and wrote SOČA on it with big letters and drank from it for a week. I hung the other shoe in my living-room for all to see, but mostly for me. “Enjoy life,” the shoe was saying. “It’s slipping away one shoe at a time. Just don’t be a bitch about it. Don’t grab and take and think the world is here for your amusement when obviously it’s the other way around.”