SMS from Bled

Today a combination of poetry and photography. Both are results of the same short but sweet day in Bled, Slovenia. The poem is the product of the man in the water, His second book of poetry is coming up. And the girl who fearlessly followed him in there despite the grey sky is his daughter, who once upon a time made our bestia out of clay.

“SMS”
By Aleš Mustar
Translated by Manja Maksimovič

To Manja,

“It was short but sweet”
says the message
which all modern technologies notwithstanding
will arrive with a three-day delay.
In the meantime there will be new fires,
earthquakes, bomb attacks,
maybe even a meteor shower.
I missed the last one while staying at the writers’ shack
due to the lack of above mentioned technologies,
and so remained without thousands of granted wishes.
Ducks on Lake Bled are turning white.
Do you know that Lipizzaner horses are basically black
and merely go grey prematurely?
The hair on my sideburns is turning white too.
I’m sitting on a bench, working,
versesmithing.
Before me three black swans: as if recreational dancers
– what a kind term for amateurs –
were performing Swan Lake.
The scenography is provided by Bled Castle on the cliff above,
devoid of princesses and ghosts.
The only ones to remain are entrance fee collectors
who take great care to bolt the castle gate daily.
Nevertheless, the idyll that spreads before me
leaves no room for even the smallest witticism.
The only ones to mar the beauty
are fishermen in attire
that brings to mind full combat gear
terrorising the fish,
and the visitors
blocking my view
in an attempt to take the prettiest picture possible
to be posted on social networks.
Then they whizz off,
most likely to have a cremeschnitte,
upon which their place is immediately taken by new ones.
There is not a single spot in this world
that would still deserve to be called peaceful.