Dobro jutro, Slovenija

Evo, takle mamo to v Koldingu.

---------- Forwarded message ----------

To all of you out there that celebrate Feb 8th as The Day of Culture.

Let's celebrate it together @ my place (Akseltorv 7, 2nd floor, flat 202) after eight with a shot of poetry and Slovenian 'slivovka'. Bring a poem with you (or find enclosed two lovely touching and hilarious pieces by Wendy Cope as a backup) – a welcome shot of plum brandy is of course free.

See you,

S

Pastoral

I wish I was a provincial poet,
Writing a lot about nature,
Whenever I thought about London poets,
I'd mutter darkly, "I hate yer."

And off I'd stomp down the wild, wild lanes
In my jeans and my wellington boots.
A provincial poet doesn't need lipstick
Or tights or respectable suits -

The clutter of urban life. How wonderful
Just to discard it all
And spend one's time communing with everything
Perched on a dry stone wall.

And after a busy day communing
To amble back home for a bite,
Then go to the pub with some real people,
Who manage twelve pints in a night,

Which helps them get through the provincial evenings
Without too much boredom or pain.
Real people, as solid and ruddy and calm
As London bus in the rain!

Some day I'll go and live in the country
And many notebook I'll fill
With keen observations of animals (mostly
The dead ones because they keep still).

Dead sheep and squashed rabbits. Oh, how shall I love it.
My face will be peaceful and brown
And shining with love for all of creation,
Exepting those poets in town.

Kindness to animals

If I went vegetarian
And didn't eat lambs for dinner,
I think I'd be a better person
And also thinner.

But the lamb is not endangered
And at least I can truthfully say
I have never, ever eaten a barn owl,
So perhaps I am OK.