Graffiti and poetry

My first public “literature” were the graffiti on the left and right river bank of Ljubljanica (The sun is shining and your hair is fuzzy; This little dance across the empty street; It’s a strange evening, this evening; When you are twentyseven…)

These were the vagabond deeds, the freedom of “forbidden” excitement, some sort of street-haiku poetry. Its poetic quality was not only in the words themselves, but in the combination of all the elements – the banks by the river, the streets, exposure to the passengers, the intimacy of the handwriting and the message. The attraction of a street-poetry is also in its vulnerability, because it is sooner or later painted over - especially if it’s written on forbidden places - and because the graffiti somehow belong to everybody. My poetry found its shape also in the books, but it was never as satisfying as the graffiti.

Lately I regard words only as a description of something which is hardly describable with words. I find the painting language more direct, maybe even more primal.