Biography of Marjan Strojan
Marjan Strojan was born in Ljubljana in 1949. Poet, translator, film critic; raised on his uncle's farm in the fifties; studied philosophy and comparative literature in the seventies; in 1979 joined the BBC World Service in London and later, as a journalist, the Cultural programme of Radio Slovenia in Ljubljana. In 2005 he held residencies at the University of Iowa and at the Sitka Institute in Alaska, U.S.A.
Marjan Strojan published four books of poetry: Excursion into Nature (Izlet v naravo, 1990), Belittled Insomnias (Drobne nespečnosti, 1991), Steamers in the Rain (Parniki v dežju, 2000) and The Day you loved me (Dan, ko me ljubiš, 2004). His fifth book, a selection from his published and unpublished work, will appear in 2006.
Marjan Strojan Poems
As I Was Prying Around the Brook Last Ev...
As I was prying around the brook last evening and look for God-knows-what around the shack, I heard from the woods a cry, like someone weeping
On the Stability of Bridges
The following must be said on the subject. Greek bridges - as well as Sumerian temples and the water- clocks of Egypt - were, in comparison, constructed to accord with entirely different principles of thought.
An Important Visit
By Admiral Nelson and Lady Hamilton, on their return from Haydn's Mass No. 11 in D minor at Eisenstadt in the year 1800.
On Returning a Book to a Public Library
into chapters or classified according to their alphabetical order, had found themselves locked behind doors of inscrutable hallways, the keys flung as liberally away as if they
Pruned, Lopped, Cut Down
Think of it - from now on our days (one after another) will run on eventfully. All of a sudden
Zinnias in Bloom (Six Ways of Looking at...
Zinnias in bloom; a train moving on, departing: maids' work on the balcony. An electric pole - a hedgehog
[All Things that Grow Indelible in the G...
All things that grow indelible in the grass - cicada's eyes, the sound of herbs, I'd gather up to hold before my eyes and press them to my lids like a cold compress.
To Fish that Took Off With My Line
The bite of morning chill like a blind flash, the first thrust of his weight connects the brain with water. A power, flat and deep, unknown that grips the line and straightens the long arch.
He sat on a timber of a young spruce cut down on a Sunday afternoon: the woods still blue and trails dug up by wheel-tracks all around too wet for anybody to pass through.
Sweetshrub (Calychantus floridus)
If you look at it from above, it stoops. If you see it from close by, it grows.
He sat on a timber of a young spruce cut down
on a Sunday afternoon: the woods still blue
and trails dug up by wheel-tracks all around
too wet for anybody to pass through.
He liked the shirt's grip on his back, the dell
all quiet and the solemn cool of things
at ease which this first Sunday's sunny spell
has brought to the belated Spring.
It wasn't all woods. From spruce over hill