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Best Famous Taja Kramberger Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Taja Kramberger poems. This is a select list of the best famous Taja Kramberger poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Taja Kramberger poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Taja Kramberger poems.

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by Taja Kramberger |

There is no Fatwa in this Land

For Taslima Nasrin, in sisterhood
There is no fatwa in this land,
what are you thinking,
this is Europe.
A place without borders and without internal wrinkles, without possibilities for asylum and exile.
There is no fatwa in this land – it is divided into thousands of small conspiracies, tiny murders per partes, which seem like coincidental misfortunes and sap your blood, drop by drop.
There is no fatwa in this land, what are you thinking, this is Europe.
No one foresaw the exit from Eden, no one is responsible for it.
There is no fatwa in this land, it is replaced by countless cunning tattling friendships, humiliations at the workplace, the disabling of every shift, treading in place in a thick, impassable ether, in a treasury where your every move crosses a laser beam five times.
The mechanisms for the prevention of breathing multiply, the windpipe squeezed just enough for several molecules of oxygen to enter.
There is no fatwa in this land, what are you thinking, this is Europe.
A sovereign union of the poor and the tycoons, no more borders, but also no decency or dignity.
There is no fatwa in this land, but when you die, we will cash in your death as well, sell it five times over to raise its value.
After death we will make you immortal, now you be quiet and leave us your achievements and success.
Did you mention asylum or exile? Why? There is no fatwa in this land.
© Taja Kramberger, Z roba klifa / From the Edge of a Cliff, CSK, Ljubljana, 2011 © Translation by Špela Drnovšek Zorko, 2012


by Taja Kramberger |

Movimiento estudiantil

My dear students,
little pigeons from the Forja factory in Buenos Aires.
The institution we built together has become a hangar for hanging pieces of discounted meat.
Go out into the world with bright faces – leave the twilight of ignorance and dullness, you have experienced all that is necessary to understand the meaning and responsibility of the creative person in the world.
Göttingen 1937, Tlatelolco 1968, Koper 2010.
Important burnt-out sites of hopes and comprehensions, the only worthy investments in the future.
Nothing can excuse the actions of madness, what is left after is merely the disinfectant smell of crime and some newly decorated vultures.
Beware of them! The smiles on their faces are veils of death.
© Taja Kramberger, Z roba klifa / From the Edge of a Cliff, CSK, Ljubljana, 2011 © Translation by Špela Drnovšek Zorko, 2012


by Taja Kramberger |

Every Dead One Has a Name

Every dead one has a name,
only the names of the living make us falter.
Some names are impossible to utter without a stammer and a fidget, some can only be spoken through allusion, and some, mostly women’s, are forbidden in these parts.
Every dead one has a name, engraved in stone, printed in obituary or directory, but my name must be undermined, every few years soiled and substituted with another one.
A decade ago, a high-ranking party official warned me: Stay a poet, as long as there’s still time.
Still time? Time for what? I have also become a social scientist and an editor and an organiser and a translator and an activist and a university teacher.
Unbearable - all these things - all trespasses of the old parcel borders that were drawn by the dirty fingers of fraternities.
I air all the rooms, I ignore all the ratings, I open all the valvelets.
And they have put me out in the cold – like the dead.
But every dead one has a name.
© Taja Kramberger, Z roba klifa / From the Edge of a Cliff, CSK, Ljubljana, 2011 © Translation by Špela Drnovšek Zorko, 2012