Summary
Marija Lamot: Dream Calendar
Marija Lamot's dream calendar is a unique poetic amalgam of materiality and dreaminess, memory and imagination, silence and loudness. External and internal landscapes receive equal poetic treatment - they participate in the creation of a subtle, yet so sharpened image of the world that rests on some austere, miraculous magic of what escapes. Places of impermanence are conductive, pulsating cores of the collection that inscribe a porous geography of liminality: memory of childhood, illness, separations, devalued spaces, life practices and relationships. In such a cartography of the world and its temporality, which is impossible to abolish, pain and longing exist as constants, but they are joined, consistently and unpredictably enough, by their persistent opposition counterparts – moments of clear and fresh insights, the joy of small things, cheerfulness in the hidden corners of everyday life. In four cycles - Evening photos, Calendar of sleep, Snow on the roof of silence, Legacy - the poet leads us into the intimate spaces of "silent wakefulness", opening different capsules of her own microworld, connected by distortions in time and space, separation from those and what is close, appearances in technologically mediated reality, burdens, but also benefits of heritage. Awareness of the permanent possibility of death and death as a permanent ontological background is the worldview polygon of Marija Lamot's poetry. It is poetry that, revealing the larvae of death everywhere ("I had no idea that the larva of death / grows on the wall of the room"), with a sharpened sensibility, provides an insight into exactly those repressed vessels of light that resist decay: a ragsaw with a dog, people in a village near the river, a boy with a miraculous horn, coexistence with past beings, putting the forest to sleep, blankets of snow, compartments of memory, refracting heights of the day. "Since the earth has shrunk, buried / with unnecessary things, / lost people are looking for ancient landscapes", says the poetic voice in the Calendar of Sleep, contributing at the same time, with the shovels and rakes of the tongue, to the opening of small spaces for her new breathing.
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