PILLOW - WEPT
03.29.03 . 11:02 a.m.
A poet lies, a river flows, a woman breathes.
We speak the truth with blows, a breaking in
two. What’s between pieces of bread when they break?
What’s inside Warsaw burning?
——Tomaz Salamun, from "Walls"
...this is an excerpt from a poem by Tomaz Salamun. This man writes some of the most beautiful poetry, ive ever heard.
he is a Slovenian poet.
i couldnt find some of the poems that TRULY touched me...but heres a small, small, small sample. this doesnt even come close.
Destiny rolls over me. Sometimes like an egg. Sometimes
with its paws, slamming me into the slope. I shout. I take
my stand. I pledge all my juices. I shouldn't
do this. Destiny can snuff me out, I feel it now.
If destiny doesn't blow on our souls, we freeze
instantly. I spent days and days afraid
the sun wouldn't rise. That this was my last day.
I felt light sliding from my hands, and if I didn't
have enough quarters in my pocket, and Metka's voice
were not sweet enough and kind and
solid and real, my soul would escape from my body, as one day
it will. With death you have to be kind.
Home is where we're from. Everything in a moist dumpling.
We live only for a flash. Until the lacquer dries. "
"Not just me.
Everyone I touch becomes
the food of this flame."
"p r o l o g u e I
God is made of wood and doused in gasoline.
I take a cigarette to burn a spider’s leg.
The gentle swaying of grasses in the wind.
Heaven’s vault is cruel."