Peter Semolic
April 20, 2016 at 6:00 PM
He is also a member of the editorial board and co-founder of the Slovenian online literary magazine Poiesis and an important ambassador of the Spread Poetry, Not Fear movement.
HORSE
At the farm where we went to get milk,
They also had a horse. “Uncle, can I go see it?”
He was an ordinary farm horse, brown and with a black mane,
but the only one I knew up close touched it.
In my dreams we were rushing across the Ljubljana Marshes,
miraculously stretched out into endless prairies.
I don't know, but I suspect he didn't dream anything -
He stood in the stable, grinding fodder, numb from everyday life.
Or the old sleigh slowly and noddingly dragged
and with more effort the iron plow through the damp earth.
He never really galloped, he never rolled.
on the dewy grass, he just walked or stood – he even slept standing up,
with a slightly bent front leg.
When he finally lay down, he lay down to die.
(from the collection The Other Coast)

