The Book For My Brother: Exuberant Poems of Innocence, Desire, and Memory

by Tomaž Šalamun

This newest collection of poems from Tomaž Šalamun is exuberant, ambitious, and full of surprises. Here the devil is encountered and understood-

I see the devil's head, people, I see his whole body . . .
he longs for innocence, as we do.
Here the poet juggles many tones, languages, and countries. Desire is evoked as both frustrating and exhilarating-
I'm watered by longing, knocking my
head into the wall, on the ground, or I burn, burn,
folded up on the couch.
And memory comes back to remind us of the laws and experiences of childhood-
Once again you are let loose in the sea
only after five o'clock in the afternoon to take
a dose of sunlight like the ticking of the clock.

At once daring and clear-voiced, The Book for My Brother is an extraordinary achievement.

Genres: Poetry

108 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1997

About the author

Tomaž Šalamun was a Slovenian poet, who has had books translated into most of the European languages. He lived in Ljubljana and occasionally teaches in the USA. His recent books in English are The Book for My Brother, Row, and Woods and Chalices.

Reviews

[Paula · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have mixed feelings about this book, but I'm giving it a higher rating than I normally would because it's a book in translation. Once can tell that Salamun is worldly and knowledgeable because of the breadth of his poetic subjects. I feel like his shorter poems are stronger than his longer ones, though, in one respect because often at the end of the longer ones he includes a line or two that offers the obvious moral.

Also, one can tell that Salamun is intelligent because his poems use phrases from multiple languages within particular pieces. Which is strange, but only because ALL of these poems are already translated. And the even stranger part is that each poem is translated in tandem with Salamun and some other poet--but each poem has a different co-translator.

Still, amid the cultural references that are over my head, there are a few real gems in this book. My favorite poem is "The Writing," but that might be because I'm a writer:


The Writing

The writing
of poetry is
the most

serious
deed in the
world.

As in
love
everything

comes out.
The words tremble
if they are

right.
As the body
trembles in

love,
the words
tremble on paper.


So much said in so few words. I wish that, in other poems, Salamun was more consistent in his use of punctuation and sentences (as he is in the above poem), but otherwise I blame ignorance in comprehension on myself. This is a good collection for those who have more worldly knowledge than I do.

Edited to add: Although I agree with everything I wrote above, I decided to lower my rating simply because I studied abstract poetry this year and feel like it's not my favorite. Salamun's more concrete work is fine, but there are so few examples of it in this book that I can't recommend it as highly now that I've reread it.

[Stacie · Rating 1 out of 5]

Out of the 59 poems in this volume there were two that I liked, and only three additional ones that I didn't dislike. As I read them in translation, I will allow that the originals might be better but I doubt I'll be looking for more of this poet's work.

[Timothy Green · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some great poems, some indecipherable poems. If I could decipher them, would I find them great too? I don't know, but they sound like babble to me.

[Bojan · Rating 2 out of 5]

There are certainly poems in this book.

[Emma Zima · Rating 4 out of 5]

THE APPLE
on earth we tremble, destroy waters, nourish smoke
in the dark we lay hands on the hunger of the sun

HIS FAVORITE RIDE
why are you so mean
because we're so sad
didn't you once say you were cheerful
and glad to be alive
I did say I was cheerful and glad to be alive
but as it turns out I'm sad really

LITTLE FEARS
I am safe as long as I do not close my eyes

ROBI
The air must always be fresh, but inside the soul, inside.
Air should only circulate inside the soul.
I'll cut holes in myself.
Let a rose grow from my wounds so that my little rabbit will have company.
And let there be a carpet of clover under the rose, like the Bay of Ankaran.

THE LETTER
O how I call the body of my younger
self, I would like to hug him.
Why are you not here?
What are you afraid of?
We'll slit the spiral if you want,
we'll crucify the document.

THE CIRCLE AND THE CIRCLES ARGUMENT
5
Air enters the skin.
Doesn't stop until it dies.
Air squeezes through.
Doesn't stop until razor
sharp.

8
Stop, drop it!
Who gives the seed the right to grow?

I do.
This is why I shiver.

I am an animal.
I lie on my back.
Tongues of flame exit my head.
You should say if I am the sacred cow.
I am mute as a sphere.

Of all things, death is the mildest.
Water captures it.
I am the water.

10
Leave the ladder, you'll never catch up with me.
I would like to give you everything, really everything.
Grease, skin, hair, eyes, tongue,
nails, juice, blood. I would like for us to go
together, I really would.
Believe me.
I do not understand, why me.

[julia! · Rating 3 out of 5]

this collection was so secretly seeping with religious undertones. tomaz is not a poet i’ll be returning to soon but not one i’ll forget either?? leaning more towards 3.5

[Alexander Kosoris · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think studiousness is really threatening to overcome most, if not all, aspects of my life. It’s probably at least partially because I’ve enjoyed taking steps to not feel in over my head at all times, but I’m learning more and more that it’s not at all common. I bring this up because the discovery and subsequent reading of The Book for My Brother came from my initial queries to find a way to better familiarize myself with the culture and history of certain areas of Europe I plan to visit in the near future. I guessed that any movement away from being a glassy-eyed tourist would make the trip all the more enjoyable. All this being said, I wouldn’t necessarily suggest that my reading the first thing to really jump out at me after searching up “Slovenian poetry” is cause for celebration, per se, though I do sincerely hope to learn more and be thorough about it in future.

But I had to start somewhere, and I don’t think Šalamun was a bad first choice, though I will admit I was in a bit over my head to start, ironically––better for this to happen in private, I suppose. The Book for My Brother delves into a place, a people, and a central Marxist ideology. While I probably misunderstood large portions because I’m unfamiliar with these things, I think it gave my next steps of research a bit of direction. I got a sense of a nation largely dismissed by their comparatively more powerful or influential neighbours, along with an internal hesitancy for its people to think more highly of themselves. (Šalamun’s poem “Incredulous Grandson,” in particular, I felt very subtly showcased a historical basis for this mindset that may be suggested by the author to be losing at least a bit of ground with the younger generation.) And the socialist tone comes on thick. I suspect the roots of this come from a relatively recent emergence of the republic in which the poet lived from decades within communist Yugoslavia, but the truth could be closer to Alex trying to overanalyze and extrapolate from more of a personal conviction of the author. I do believe that this is part of what brought to mind Pablo Neruda with Šalamun’s work, as both seem to express this in their writings. The stronger parallel, however, likely comes from both writers frequently utilizing strong images to add significant depth of feeling to the poetry.

The thing that stood out most significantly as a unique feature in The Book of My Brother was the structure, specifically in how the author uses the breaks to influence the flow and meaning. I was initially confused by this, mainly because it lacks consistency. Some poems follow the punctuation to dictate the pauses, but others use implied punctuation, where the breath comes at the end of lines, even when unmarked. The only way to tell which of these is employed is by reading, re-reading, and deciding what makes the most sense. This could actually result in something pretty cool, especially when reading aloud; I suspect it could cause significant changes in interpretation from reader to reader. The big thing that pushed me into appreciation of this fluidity of structure from poem to poem is Šalamun’s apparent playing with expected interpretation, fundamentally setting the reader up to understand a given statement and then altering the meaning in the follow-up. (Good examples that came up after I became aware of the technique include, in “The Whole Life”: “…a giant waiting to splash you with a pail of milk thirty times / bigger than normal,” and, from “Young Creatures”: “Frail little girls so ravaged sometimes / by an attack of the giggles…” Interestingly, the effect would have the potential to vanish completely when reading aloud, depending on the take of the reader.)

So I suppose Šalamun synthesizes familiar, but effective, image-heavy verse with novel techniques to make something all his own with The Book for My Brother. It’s also brimming with ambiguous, occasionally recurring, metaphors, which means that I’ll not only be likely to approach it with completely fresh eyes after better understanding the place that birthed it, but that subsequent readings in general will likely morph and evolve with each deeper entry into the fog.

[Inverted · Rating 2 out of 5]

Salamun writes a notch below poetry, which is a shame because I am quite partial to European poets. When he tries to write dryly, I feel the dryness but not the scathe, and his lines always feel like an attempt without the jump, or the final push. If there is one moment of brilliance in this collection, perhaps the single point of light, it is from an ending that goes, “in the dark we lay hands on the hunger of the sun.”

[Paula Koneazny · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tomaz Salamum's poetry seems to show up just about everywhere in the poetry journal world. So I thought it was about time to read one of his books. On my second, closer reading. I enjoy the odd leaps, the quirky juxtaposition of surreal and real. All the while, I mostly haven't a clue what he's on about.

[J.M. Hushour · Rating 3 out of 5]

Another satisfying collection of poems, but lacking a bit of the punch and sliver-weird borderless of his other works. It's a more recent one, so maybe he went out of his way to tone it down, but for all that, the poems here have all his trademarks: seemingly incongruous imagery, playful symbolism, and a litany of invective against common sense as we know it.

[Everett · Rating 2 out of 5]

Spent a lot of time trying to decode a few of these poems, which I never really got any handle on. It was like trying to get a clear view though a painted window. There were just a few rare moments where a line or two would cut through the paint, giving only a tiny glimpse of understanding. Oh translated poetry, why do I bother.

[Andrew Bourne · Rating 5 out of 5]

All of my reviews of Mr. Salamun are the same. I, in my criticism, am a one-trick pony, and he, in his poetry, is also a one-trick pony, but what an entertaining trick. I haven't grown tired of it yet. How can it be shallow and endless at the same time?

[Shappi · Rating 4 out of 5]

I agree with Dan that this is the best collection of Salamun I've read, far better than the Four Questions of Melancholy. I still find it hit or miss in places, though. I also found it interesting that I could tell the difference a bit between translators.

[Rebecca Child]

I liked what I saw as I skimmed this at the bookstore. Got it for a dollar. I think I might actually give it to my brother, but I want to read it first!

[Paul · Rating 4 out of 5]

More of the same joy.

[Pat Settegast · Rating 5 out of 5]

Run out and find two copies of this book. Read one and give the other to your best friend.

[Drunken_orangetree · Rating 4 out of 5]

good if sometimes baffling.