Poetry acts as a two -sided medicine
Also trees/carry silence,/but no one/they talk about it./la leaves in the fall/increasingly yellowin Quiet in the fall writes a poet Ana Kumperger (2005), who says that periods of poetry silence are also necessary for writing.
Ana Kumperger, a student of Slovene studies and pedagogy and Andragogy at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana, began writing in elementary school and since then, she says, participates in literary competitions, including the Young Literature Festival Urškaon which she won in 2023, and a poetry tournament Pranger (2022) and Little Veronika (2022 and 2023), on which it was one of the finalists.
She took first place in the competition last year Župančič’s Frulicaalso with the help of the management of the Celje Grammar School – Center and Mentors Love Koprivc Bertoncelj published a poetry collection The lap of the stars. A collection followed shortly after A lull after the rainissued under the auspices of JSKD and mentors Alje Adam.
According to poet, poetry acts as a « double -sided medicine », « on the one hand, the author allows the author to pour all his feelings into the poem, and on the other, the reader finds himself with entirely other, his own feelings and images with which the poem internalizes, adaptes to himself. The advantage of poetry is that it is short. We take less time for novels, it is difficult to read long texts without disturbing the phone and confusing us with all possible notices and sounds. For a fast pace, which has been accelerating over the years, it may be poetry that can shorten us from endless task lists and obligations for a short time. «
She takes the writing herself, especially in the evenings, in his desk room, “I often get inspiration on the train or during the afternoon relaxation. I used to write verses in a note, now several times on my computer, although I have a pretty negative relationship to use technology in creating art.
I prefer moments when my thought stream comes to life at one time and creates a bunch of new ideas to barely follow him. That’s when I write and write because I am haunted by the thought of releasing or forgetting. Sometimes it happens the opposite – after five minutes, I only make it aware that in my hand I keep a pencil in my arm or that my fingers rest on the keyboard without writing anything. Also, this ‘poetic silence’ is necessary to create. «
Last read book? Novel On foot. (Or the art of wild and poetic life) Tomas Espedal.
A book you want to write about? A poetry collection Solitude Vinko Möderndorfer
Favorite writing space? Writing table – with classical music.
Favorite artwork? Painting Rainstorm on the Plain German-Hungarian painter Károly Lotz.
Favorite word? Royal.
Observe the world and hunt for details
In her work, Ana Kumperger does not use Rome or defined metric schemes and releases punctuation, he says, but more attentive to the rhythm and the words. “However, in content and structure, I tend to be more leaning in the traditional direction of writing, as I address the themes of death, love, solitude and transience. I am close to literary impressionism. I
When writing, it seems important to me that each song has a story whose main idea is revealed in the conclusion. Most of my songs are characterized by an unexpected turnaround in the last putty, which connects with the beginning and the introductory thesis, « adds the author.
As he says, he prefers to read Vinko Möderndorfershe is still poetry Daneta Zajc, Mile Kacic and Ferry Lainšček. “When I read a song or part of the text that touches me, I write it on a slip and save it in a phone case, such as a quote Mojce Kumerdejthat says: What you love very much already contains the pain of departure. Or Cankar’s thought Solitude was his empire. And the last whale of Minatti’s songs: How many times will have to leave/and forever leave along the way/fragment of heart? ”
Handshake and the sound of steps
In writing, Ana Kumperger strives for « in -depth perception of myself, the society I belong to, and the environment that affects my experience of reality, » he says. “I like to lose myself between details, I am paying attention to each individual flower leaf of magnolia, the rhythm of steps through the streets and the sound they create, in ways to squeeze hands between people and move their eyebrows. Everything around us is poetry, we don’t have to show it to feel it. Sometimes it is better to experience it in the moment of the present, only time needs to be taken. «
After graduation, the author is seen in different professional fields, explains, “both in the work in the editorial board, publishing houses or proofreading, as well as in the counseling service. I am most attracted to the profession of professor at high school, where I would teach Slovenian language and literature. I am more and more impressed by the work of a mentor. As a poet, I want to advise young writers and encourage them in discovering my own poetic voice. «
When enough new songs or short stories are collected, she wants to release another collection, but emphasizes that she is not too much for writing, believing that « the opportunity will be offered when I will be ready. »
Degrees in the snow
The voices of the birds died.
Every now and then with spruce
lures a thick layer of snow
and then rocking a branch
slowly diminishes.
In the fields of wandering
dense fog.
A decaying fence
along the snowy path
is covered with Ivo
In the snow they are imprinted
uncertain steps –
Each path brings new doubts.
Dropped soldiers
When lightning strikes
is the sound different
This is not a normal thunder
She’s cutting out
severe
brushing into darkness
It is followed only by dead silence
As the sky would give the earth a time
to care for wounded chestnut
Rain is still calming down for a few moments
drops only slightly caress the tree leaves
They became orphans
It sounds around the valley
a silent donation
birds frightened
looking for a new home
whistling the wind
is caught in a cereal class
clouds
collect in a pile of masses
tension is increasing
Until the sky clasps
and strikes lightning
that hits another soldier
this time maybe birch
Cock
As a kid, I loved climbing around Kutina
I pretended
that the tree is a castle
In the opening of two branches high above the ground
I had my throne
In the summer I was tearing still immature fruits
and with them with the pads of the fingers rubbed a soft skin
I was hiding in front of my neighbor’s Scottish Shepherd
sometimes even before a sister
From the beaten stems of cypress
cherry leaves and juice from daisies
I liked to make a dense mixture
and with her father’s old painting brush
rubbed into a shimmering bark
When my mom made me angry
I added tulip flowers
and her favorite
hyacinth
If anyone asked me after home
would point to this quince
now i lie in the shadow below
I envy the cat
who looks at me with the highest branches
over the years its trunk has shook and dried
it became too dangerous
to climb after her
and less and less seemed like a castle