May 12, 2015 Blog III: Thinking of Tomaž
Tomaž Šalamun was born on the 4th of July, 1941 and left the world of poets this past December 27. I met him several times during the 6 trips I made to Slovenia in the first decade of the century. He was always present, in person and not, in Slovenia. His history (in poetry and life) and the history of the nation intertwined. He spoke to my summer residency group in Bled; I was at a workshop with him in Dallas; we were at Vilenicia Literary Festival. In my experience, he was never less than gentle and encouraging, a poet’s poet and a teacher who granted his students a place at the poetry table. I miss him.
In 2012, around The Feast of the Three Kings I was in San Miguel at Jennifer Clements’ the Writer’s Week with the amazing Tomaž. He showed up at that cobblestoned and hilly town with a bad back and high spirits and never complained. For a look at that workshop and the poet, check out this remembrance by Christopher Merrill. (oh do it—it’s beautiful and contains a bit about Šalamun’s “Eclipse,” an early and delicious poem.)
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christopher-merrill/remembering-toma-alamun_b_6391256.html
I will take nails,
long nails
and hammer them into my body.
Very very gently,
very very slowly,
so it will last longer.
I will draw up a precise plan.
I will upholster myself every day,
say two square inches for instance.
Then I will set fire to everything.
It will burn for a long time,
it will burn for seven days.
Only the nails will remain,
all welded together and rusty.
So I will remain.
So I will survive everything.
At that same workshop I handed him a copy of this poem, which he pronounced, “a perfect poem” but, he added, no one in America will publish it. I have submitted it about a dozen times and so far no one has—so, because I’m thinking of Tomaž today, I’m putting it here.
On Art
Art never lets
anything be.
Art walk us a-
way. Learn every-
thing about art
but what dampens
your love for it.
Your art must change
reality
to become art,
until then it’s
just subconscious
material.
Only fire
and murder can
interrupt art.
An addiction
demands its due.
To have a peace-
ful death, you must
make all the art
you want, even
if you wouldn’t
make it twice.
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
For more on Tomaž life and writing career.
http://www.sloveniatimes.com/acclaimed-poet-salamun-die
Tomaž Šalamun was born on the 4th of July, 1941 and left the world of poets this past December 27. I met him several times during the 6 trips I made to Slovenia in the first decade of the century. He was always present, in person and not, in Slovenia. His history (in poetry and life) and the history of the nation intertwined. He spoke to my summer residency group in Bled; I was at a workshop with him in Dallas; we were at Vilenicia Literary Festival. In my experience, he was never less than gentle and encouraging, a poet’s poet and a teacher who granted his students a place at the poetry table. I miss him.
In 2012, around The Feast of the Three Kings I was in San Miguel at Jennifer Clements’ the Writer’s Week with the amazing Tomaž. He showed up at that cobblestoned and hilly town with a bad back and high spirits and never complained. For a look at that workshop and the poet, check out this remembrance by Christopher Merrill. (oh do it—it’s beautiful and contains a bit about Šalamun’s “Eclipse,” an early and delicious poem.)
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christopher-merrill/remembering-toma-alamun_b_6391256.html
I will take nails,
long nails
and hammer them into my body.
Very very gently,
very very slowly,
so it will last longer.
I will draw up a precise plan.
I will upholster myself every day,
say two square inches for instance.
Then I will set fire to everything.
It will burn for a long time,
it will burn for seven days.
Only the nails will remain,
all welded together and rusty.
So I will remain.
So I will survive everything.
At that same workshop I handed him a copy of this poem, which he pronounced, “a perfect poem” but, he added, no one in America will publish it. I have submitted it about a dozen times and so far no one has—so, because I’m thinking of Tomaž today, I’m putting it here.
On Art
Art never lets
anything be.
Art walk us a-
way. Learn every-
thing about art
but what dampens
your love for it.
Your art must change
reality
to become art,
until then it’s
just subconscious
material.
Only fire
and murder can
interrupt art.
An addiction
demands its due.
To have a peace-
ful death, you must
make all the art
you want, even
if you wouldn’t
make it twice.
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
For more on Tomaž life and writing career.
http://www.sloveniatimes.com/acclaimed-poet-salamun-die
