Showing posts with label Tomaz Salamun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tomaz Salamun. Show all posts

Monday, December 5, 2022

TOMAZ SALAMUN /JOSHUA BECKMAN ~

 




I'm usually

somehow shy

about reading

my young

poems


because they don't

go with this

body anymore


it was '64

so probably I was twenty-three

or maybe twenty-two


I don't remember

no I started one in '63


so I was twenty-four

or twenty-three


p. 3



_________________

from TOMAZ

Beckman / Salamun

Wave Books, 2021

_________________

  • The author of more than forty poetry collections, with more than a dozen in English translation, Slovenian poet Tomaž Šalamun (July 4, 1941–December 27, 2014) is considered to be one of the most prominent poets of the Eastern European avant-garde. He published his first collection, Poker, in 1966 at the age of twenty-five. Early in his career, he edited the literary magazine Perspektive, for which he was briefly jailed on political charges. He later studied Art History at the University of Ljubljana before attending the University of Iowa and then becoming a Fulbright Fellow at Columbia University. After, he was invited to exhibit his work at the Museum of Modern Art in 1970, Šalamun lived for periods of time in the United States, working as the Slovenian Cultural Attaché in the 1990s and later teaching at a number of American universities, including the University of Pittsburgh, the University of Massachusetts, and the University of Alabama. Celebrated through many accolades, he was the recipient of the prestigious Jenko Prize and Slovenia’s Prešeren and Mladost Prizes. Šalamun passed away on December 27, 2014, in Ljubljana. 




Wednesday, April 17, 2019

TOMAZ SALAMUN ~








From Stone



I pushed him deeper into the slope.

The water was sweet and



tepid. For centuries the winch

hasn't worked.



Sing-alongs go to dust.

Scent is powder.



Algae, handled, harnessed

first into waves,



the into shudder. Shudder, shudder,

shudder on the shore. On the



shore by the boat. When the

drum, the ring around the



the cosmos, melts. We're inside a small house.

There's a fingerbreadth of the Lord.




__________________

Tomaz Salamun
Andes
translated by Jeffrey Young and
Katarina Vladimirov Young
Black Ocean Press