Cup of Joe - Wednesday Edition

Monday and Wednesday morning routine is coming to a nice rythym, even though it's completely out of the rest of the week's rythym. Reminds me of better times. Reminds me so much of Europe, for some reason. The getting up early and feeling excited about it, feeling the rythym of the city in its early morning waking up.


Everything I desire is to live this feeling throughout every instance of the day. 

Cup of Joe

Love my cup of joe to get me going, with all its warmth and incentive
It takes my panic and give me some minutes to breathe, breath of promise, it'll be alright.
Little me is running around the place like crazy, 8 year old with her bangs all crooked. She's confused and scared, as any 8 year old would be if faced with the adult world on her own.
People are telling her, you can do it, you're capable, you're fly! And she'll smile and say, well, yes, I know I am fly! So maybe they're right...
But all I see are adults in their scary little adult world.

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

I am revising the first chapter of my tentative translation of a book and lord, I'm loving it.

Give me a little red pen and the written word and I will revise my heart out, relishing in grammar structures, verb-subject agreements, vocabulary choice and word order...

much of a nerd, I am...

yay!

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...

Girl and Box Story

there was this girl, you see, and she was quite the scared one, living in her box of fear and terror. Sheer terror. In her box of fantasies and make believe, away from the world that so very scared her.
then one day, someone noticed and said, hey, that's not really ok, is it? you need to talk it out, please take our help, it's ok.
she had trouble with that and was scared again for a while. Talk? Tell people? Share?
Well then, let's give it a go...
and slowly but surely, then all of a sudden fastly, she fell apart without her box. Completely lost it. Where were the boundaries that before were so clear?
Where am I naked in this world without my box and my respect for my fear?
They said it was for the best, and what do I know, right?

then she noticed, quite to her dissapointment, where there she was getting rid of boxes and thinking that was the bee's knees, other people had their own little boxes of fear and other such things and held tightly to theirs while telling her to get rid of hers.
Oh lord, what a cunundrum...what to do, what to do... stop the freakin sharing, please!

there was a girl, she had a box, the box fell apart, she went back after the pieces and the new box has become home, full of nostalgic smells and pillows.