Poetry for the soul

Flush or Faunus

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

You see this dog. It was but yesterday
I mused, forgetful of his presence here,
Till thought on thought drew downward tear on tear;
When from the pillow, where wet-cheeked I lay,
A head as hairy as Faunus, thrust its way
Right sudden against my face,--two golden-clear
Large eyes astonished mine,--a drooping ear
Did flap me on either cheek, to dry the spray!
I started first, as some Arcadian
Amazed by goatly god in twilight grove:
But as my bearded vision closelier ran
My tears off, I knew Flush, and rose above
Surprise and sadness; thanking the true Pan,
Who, by low creatures, leads to heights of love

I love how some people just make little gumdrops out of words. "And they just roll on your tongue - till thought on thought drew downward tear on tear..." All this to talk about the love of a dog, and for a dog. 

I'm really glad I wrote about the first few months after Cora being born, and during pregnancy, because sincerely, I have amnesia. With great intensity comes weird brain problems in my case. I can't register EVERYTHING, I don't have time to sit down and remember and reminisce and remember, replay...etc...so things slip by. So when I go back and read the words from those days, it's amazing. I'm grateful for writing. Writing and words. One is cooking, the other little morsels. 

Luna di settembre

Laura Pausini fez uma canção para uma filha (será a dela?) e lembro que na gravidez a escutava bastante, repetindo alguns trechos como poesia para a Cora-da-barriga...

Aqui vai:

Avrai gli occhi di tuo padre                       Você terá os olhos de seu pai
E la sua malinconia                                    E sua melancolia
Il silenzio senza tempo che pervade           O silêncio sem tempo que permeia
Al tramonto la marea                                  a maré no por do sol
Arriverai con la luna di settembre             Você chegará com a lua de setembro
Che verserà il suo latte dentro me              Que fará fluir seu leite dentro de mim
E ti amerò                                                  E te amarei
Come accade nelle favole per sempre        Como acontece nos contos de fada, para sempre

(...)

Ma in un attimo lo so                                   Mas em um segundo eu sei
Volerai via                                                  Você vai voar para longe
Verso l'isola lontana                                    Para uma ilha longínqua
di una città                                                  de uma cidade
Come ho fatto un giorno anch'io                 Como eu fiz também um dia
Amore mio                                                  Meu amor
Perché il sole puó scordarsi della luna...      Porque o sol pode se esquecer da lua

Pieces

Ghost figures of past present future haunting the heart....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-8LctWclW4&NR=1

When I would play my song
You used to sing along
I always seem to forget
How fragile are the very strong

I'm sorry I can't steal you, I'm sorry I can't stay
So I'll put band aids on your knees
and watch you fly away

I'm sending you away tonight
I'll put you on a bird's strong wing
I'm saving you the best way I know how
I hope again one day to hear you sing

You know we're not so far away
Get on a boat, get on a train
And if you ever think you're drowning
I'll try to slow the rain...

(Ingrid Michaelson, Bird's Song)

Two Poems

I chose two poems for today. Both are dramatic and full of frilly words, but it works for me. Both touch on the forces of nature and therein lies the drama, reflected onto the human soul. The first one is Weather, by Ambrose Pierce, the next is Dream Within a Dream, by Edgar Allen Poe, both classic poets from way back when. I love good poems for they are the expression of the word for its own sake and how beautiful they are put together in different ways...suddenly you come upon a poem and it strikes your "word eye", and for some reason, it is special to you. How is that not amazing??

Weather Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see, And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as any one can be-- Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth, With a record of unreason seldome paralleled on earth. While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth, From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth. He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote-- For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow: "Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow." Ambrose Bierce The bits and pieces that are essence for me:  fas as human eye could see the advantages of truth I venture here to quote cloudy;variable winds, with local showers;cooler;snow. A Dream Within A Dream Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? Edgar Allen Poe Essence for moi: All that we see or seem I stand amid the roar while I weep - while I weep! O God, can I not save them from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem...dream within a dream?

Lost and Found

A song by Sia tonight...

Come along it is the break of day
Surely now, you'll have some things to say
It's not the time for telling tales on me

So come along, it wont be long
'Til we return happy
Shut your eyes, there are no lies
In this world we call sleep
Let's desert this day of hurt
Tomorrow we'll be free

Let's not fight I'm tired can't we just sleep tonight
Don't turn away it's just there's nothing left here to say
Turn around I know we're lost but soon we'll be found

Well it's been rough but we'll be just fine
Work it out yeah we'll survive
You mustn't let a few bad times dictate

So come along, it wont be long
'Til we return happy
Shut your eyes, there are no lies
In this world we call sleep
Let's desert this day of work
Tomorrow we'll be free

E lembrei de um tempo...

"Here I stand six feet small
and smiling cause I'm scared as hell..."

 (J. Mayer)

Hoje o post foi presenteado...as letras da música abaixo dizem muito mais do que eu poderia sonhar em dizer hoje...
Seja pelas crianças que choram e se aconchegam no meu colo agora diariamente, seja por eu mesma.


Poema (Cazuza/Frejat)


Eu hoje tive um pesadelo
E levantei atento, a tempo
Eu acordei com medo
E procurei no escuro
Alguém com o seu carinho
E lembrei de um tempo

Porque o passado me traz uma lembrança
Do tempo que eu era ainda criança
E o medo era motivo de choro
Desculpa pra um abraço ou consolo

Hoje eu acordei com medo
Mas não chorei, nem reclamei abrigo
Do escuro, eu via o infinito
Sem presente, passado ou futuro
Senti um abraço forte, já não era medo
Era uma coisa sua que ficou em mim
E que não tem fim

De repente, a gente vê que perdeu
Ou está perdendo alguma coisa
Morna e ingênua que vai ficando no caminho
Que é escuro e frio, mas também bonito porque é iluminado
Pela beleza do que aconteceu há minutos atrás

Albachiara

Let's hand it over to Vasco Rossi...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEj8vyNZAJI

Albachiara

Respiri piano per non far rumore

ti addormenti di sera

ti risvegli con sole

sei chiara come un'alba

sei fresca come l'aria

diventi rossa se qualcuno ti guarda

e sei fantastica quando sei assorta

nei tuoi problemi

nei tuoi pensieri

ti vesti svogliatamente

non metti mai niente che possa tirare attenzione

un particolare, solo per farti guardare

e con la faccia pulita cammini per strada

mangiando una mela

coi libri di scuola

ti piace studiare

non te ne devi vergognare

e quando guardi con quegli occhi grandi

forse un po' troppo sinceri

se vedi quello che pensi

quello che sogni

qualche volta fai pensieri strani

con una mano ti sfiori

tu sola dentro a una stanza

e tutto il mondo fuori...

tutto il mondo fuori!!

Years of ackward teenagedom came rushing back to me as I heard critique after critique of my clothes, my body, skin, hair and my glasses.

"Você é uma menina linda, mas

o MAS é uma apunhalada no peito...

mas, tem que dar um jeito nisso aqui...cabelo lindo..mas essa franja...(puta merda, as pessoas não entendem que não posso fazer nada agora, ela tem que crescer?!?)

mas, e esses óculos?

mas, a pele...

mas, essa blusa velha, não dá!

Eu sei que nem todo mundo tem que ter a sensibilidade de saber que já passei muitos anos da minha vida sobre-peso, com as roupas "erradas" e fora da moda, escondida e criticada pela minha mãe, desesperada para ter uma filha "bonita" e "normal". Que parasse de ler um pouco. Que dançasse um samba.

Depois de um tempo parei de ler quase totalmente. Aquele ano de 2007 em que parte da minha alma foi sugada e leitura era impossível. Em 2009 dancei um samba...parei...mas enfim estava em um lugar que ninguém falava muito mais do peso, do cabelo, o jeito, do assim e assado. Da pele talvez sim, essa nunca deu  muita trégua.

Ai nesses últimos meses pensei em me resgatar um pouco...claro que haveria conseqüências, não posso dizer que estou surpresa.

Today just wasn't my day again.

E sentiti stanca se vuoi...

"Put a language in your head and get on a train (B&S)"

Non voglio essere una ribelle

Non voglio convicere tutti quanti

Che son cresciuta più...

Negli ultimi mesi che gli ultimi anni

Non voglio guardare per forza il cielo

Per poi sentirmi una sua parte

Non voglio nè stelle nè chi

Per essere stella si mette da parte

E la mia storia la so solo io

E insieme a chi... mi ha amata davvero

E che insieme a me ha preparato

Una valigia e mi ha guardata

Dicendo tu corri, non sentirti sola

Che sempre con te ci sarò pure io

E sentiti stanca se vuoi

Te lo meriti a volte, amore mio

(parte di una canzone di Giusy Ferrerri)

The Bend in my Hair

Today I share a poem, it's been a while. Nobody better than my name buddy Angelou to give me some food for my poetry. Also cuz I'm feeling a bit this phenomenality... Phenomenal Woman Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Maya Angelou

Parenthesis

Words are flowing out like endless pain into my coffee cup

They whisper while they pass

They run away into my universe

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy

are drifting through my tired mind

Posessing and caressing me

Posessing and caressing me

Not sure I've gotta change my world...

not sure if, 

not sure how,

not sure what I want

But I'm listening.

7AM

7AM in my apartment is full of shadows and incipient light reaching around the corners.
The sun is lazy, hazy,
not quite open for business.

7AM is heavy with heavy eyelids
and liquid with warm coffee.

7AM in my apartment is limbo land
No one is up but me
alien in my own house
tiptoeing around, hush, hush
feed the cats, make something that resembles breakfast

waiting a few more minutes - the sun will wake up
and it'll be time to get onto the busy streets of 7AM goers and doers.

A Bela Arte - One Art

Eis minha "tradução"/versão/inspiração baseada no poema do ultimo post...

A Bela Arte

Conquiste a bela arte de perder

Há tanto por se perder, querendo

 Desaparecer; desastre não pode ser

Perca todo dia. Deixe ir, deixe ser.

Deixe as chaves e horas que vão.

Conquiste a bela arte de perder

Vá além,  aceite se desfazer

De lugares, nomes e viagens

Com que sonhavas. Não eram pra ser

Veja só! O relógio de minha mãe

Foi-se;  o adorado lar também.

Conquiste a bela arte de perder.

Duas cidades, tive que aquiescer.

Reinos, rios e um continente.

Amor e vazio; assim é viver

-- E mesmo você (a voz e gestos amados),

não hei de mentir. Não foi um desastre

 (de fato!), mesmo se assim parecer

 Aprendi, sofri, a arte de perder

One Art

Desafio da semana: traduzir poesia! Por enquanto, apreciem o original...

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

Way Leads on to Way

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear, 

Though as for that the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I marked the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way 

I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Sorry for the cliche, dear readers, but today is a good day for Robert Frost and his infamous "two roads diverged..." 

Besides being a good day, it is also esquisitely appropriate for what I need to say.

Reminds me of Belle and Sebastian's lines:

I wish I had two paths I could follow, I'd write the ending without any sorrow.

It is time for changes, it is time for decisions. Since actions speak louder than words, read this. I need to clear out my room of all things unneeded and toxic. I will clear out my room as if to clear out my head, giving myself a blank slate and taking a look around without the shelves and closets full of everything that has been and not necessarily is anymore. That's the whole deal, right there, I need to find out what IS, now, and the only way is to clean each book and each hanger, one by one.

Yet knowing how way leads onto way...

I love this particular line. Way leads onto way, and when you make a decision and think "well, i'll just come back to the other option later..." you know that most likely than not, that will not happen.

So, what am I opting for when I make my decisions? What am I leaving behind, what do I need to cherish?

I need to get some things straight, go back to the beginning. 

Lots of things have stopped making sense to me for a while now and I begin to see how my decisions have led up to this crisis. I have forgotten who I am, where I come from. I am trying to ignore what has made me be me over all this time and what has made me the happiest in my short life. It's like I'm trying to fit into this mold of what should be, but my life does not fit into these molds - does not fit into Brasilia's molds and does not fit into US molds. My home has always been in the middle, so what am I doing so far away from there? 

My home has always been a bit quirky and strange, but I love it. I'm stubborn on this point, but I have to be. So many opinions from so many places can be like strong gusts of wind ready to blow my little home away, so I need to be stubborn. 

I'm tired of mourning something that shouldn't be dead, or better yet, isn't dead! 

It's not too late. I have stood here for too long. 

Sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller...

Adam Lives in Theory

Adam lives in theory

Trying to turn stone into bread

Masquerading like he got it figured out 

Cut off from the sunshine, only smart in his own head

Leaving his descendants to hope and doubt

Left to his devices, those worthless sacrifices

Praying to the alter of himself

Making pilgrimages, thinking he's religious

Like he's got all the light, and no one else

He takes the unsuspected

Cuz he knows they're not connected

And he shows them how to be just as he is

Virtually real, and commercially appeal

To the lust of all the people where he lives

...

Eve

Caught up in emotion

Burning up in her devotion

To the king of exploitation in the field

She handed him her virtue

Cuz he told her "I won't hurt you"

So she lay with him to see how good it feels

...

But much to their demise, poor decision closed their eyes

To the very antidote to their dilemma

Burning in their lust,

Both of them, adulterous

Destroying the original agenda

Praying to the sky, in order to maintain a lie

They exhausted every possible conclusion,

They can't even entertain 

the solution in a brain 

filled with vain information and pollution

Lauryn Hill - Adam Lives in Theory

Meu veneno está atiçado novamente.
Náusea e suor que me remetem - - - woosh!
Flashbacks

Gostaria de re-editar minha história, quem sabe a dura realidade dos fatos virariam prosa e após ainda mais edição, quem sabe - poesia?




Now can you tell me what we're gonna do now, where we're gonna go now, what we're gonna say now?

Dedicado alle amiche Castelraimondenses

Esta semana, una amiga me hizo recordar los tan queridos versos de Antonio Machado sobre el caminante y el camino. Me hizo recordar otra amiga, la que un día, sentadas en su casa con un pequeño librito de poesias, me leyó esos versos por primera vez. Era el último día de mi visita y la nostalgia se hacia presente. Golpe a golpe, verso a verso. Ojalá pudiera escribir mejor en español y expresarme mejor!  No es APRILE, pero les dedico igual esta poesía a todas esas amigas que tocan el corazón con alegría, nostalgia y muchas lindas memorias, tal qual las huelas del tan famoso camino.  Apparteniamo ai mondi sotili une degli altri.

Baci amori miei!

Caminante no hay camino

Antonio Machado

Todo pasa y todo queda,

pero lo nuestro es pasar,

pasar haciendo caminos,

caminos sobre el mar.

Nunca perseguí la gloria,

ni dejar en la memoria

de los hombres mi canción;

yo amo los mundos sutiles,

ingrávidos y gentiles,

como pompas de jabón.

Me gusta verlos pintarse

de sol y grana, volar

bajo el cielo azul, temblar

súbitamente y quebrarse...

Nunca perseguí la gloria.

Caminante, son tus huellas

el camino y nada más;

caminante, no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace camino

y al volver la vista atrás

se ve la senda que nunca

se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino

sino estelas en la mar...

Hace algún tiempo en ese lugar

donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos

se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar

"Caminante no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Murió el poeta lejos del hogar.

Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino.

Al alejarse le vieron llorar.

"Caminante no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar.

Cuando el poeta es un peregrino,

cuando de nada nos sirve rezar.

"Caminante no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.