so, have you ever...?
"Todos somos feridos, opacos, inacabados. Cada um de nós traz dentro de si uma quantidade irrazoável de sonhos sufocados, de pontas desacertadas, de palavras que nunca chegaram a ser ditas, de uma violência interior, mais difusa ou concentrada. Mesmo a nossa felicidade vem misturada com a memória de infelicidades que ainda nos ardem, mesmo que as calemos. Somos mais verdadeiros, porém, quando tomamos consciência disso e quando o partilhamos na confiança de uma amizade. Os mecanismos de autodefesa e de culpabilização só nos isolam mais. E a santidade, há de explicar Jesus a Pedro, não é a impecabilidade, mas este movimento profundo em nós de nos voltarmos para um outro, para o Todo-Outro, e deixarmo-nos atravessar por uma experiência de reconhecimento e misericórdia como na penumbra da catedral o vitral se deixa atravessar pela luz. O nosso pedido deve, por isso. ser: «Aproxima-te de mim, porque sou um homem pecador» atrevendo-nos a essa forma necessária e rara de audácia que é a humildade.
Mendonça, T., in Nenhum Caminho Será Longo
inspiration by C.
"there is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. the world will not have it. it is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. you do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. you have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. keep the channel open. … no artist is pleased. [there is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. there is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”
Graham, M. (1894-1991)
!random, more than poetry
You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
Whyte, D.
{random poetry #112}
Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you have ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems 1948-1984, New York, Farrar Straus Giroux, 1986.
"... se antes de cada acto nosso nos puséssemos a prever todas as consequências dele, a pensar nelas a sério, primeiro as imediatas, depois as prováveis, depois as possíveis, depois as imagináveis, não chegaríamos sequer a mover-nos de onde o primeiro pensamento nos tivesse feito parar. Os bons e os maus resultados dos nossos ditos e obras vão-se distribuindo, supõe-se que de uma forma bastante uniforme e equilibrada, por todos os dias do futuro, incluindo aqueles, infindáveis, em que já cá não estaremos para poder comprová-lo, para congratular-nos ou pedir perdão, aliás, há quem diga que isso é que é a imortalidade de que tanto se fala"
Saramago, J. (1922-2010) in Ensaio sobre a Cegueira
“You cannot restrain or tame an idea with idle threats.
Once has crept into the mind, the mouth will not bite the tongue to keep it in silence.
The sheer promise of bondage and whips will not be enough to apprehend a thought as it travels from ear to misinformed ear.
We will protest, because you cannot tell a concept not to raise its fist in anger.
You cannot censor that which only exists in theory!
You cannot tell anarchy to stop in its tracks, when its feet only exist in the minds of the oppressed.
There is a force out there, greater than the media, greater than right or left, greater than empty lies or promises!
You can try all night to stop the noise… There is a force out there… THE REVOLUTION IS HERE!”
and now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.
R.M. Rilke, in Letter to Clara Rilke, 1 January 1907
{random poetry #111}
The master said you must write what you see
But what I see does not move me
The master answered
Change what you see.
•.•❤•.•
[ Unwritten Law ]
Interesting how we fall in love:
in my case, absolutely. Absolutely, and, alas, often—
so it was in my youth.
And always with rather boyish men—
unformed, sullen, or shyly kicking the dead leaves:
in the manner of Balanchine.
Nor did I see them as as versions of the same thing.
I, with my inflexible Platonism,
my fierce seeing of only one thing at a time:
I ruled against the indefinite article.
And yet, the mistakes of my youth
made me hopeless, because they repeated themselves,
as is commonly true.
But in you I felt something beyond the archetype—
a true expansiveness, a buoyance and love of the earth
utterly alien to my nature. To my credit,
I blessed my good fortune in you.
Blessed it absolutely, in the manner of those years.
And you in your wisdom and cruelty
gradually taught me the meaninglessness of that term.
•.•❤•.•
[ The Burning Heart ]
"... No sadness
is greater than in misery to rehearse
memories of joy ..."
Ask her if she regrets anything
I was
promised to another -
I lived with someone.
You forget these things when you're touched.
Ask how he touched her.
His gaze touched me
before his hands touched me.
Ask how he touched her.
I didn't ask for anything;
everything was given.
Ask her what she remembers.
We were hauled into the underworld.
I thought
we were not responsible
any more than we were responsible
for being alive. I was
a young girl, rarely subject to censure:
then a pariah. did I change that much
from one day to the next?
If I didn't change, wasn't my action
in the character of that young girl?
Ask her what she remembers.
I noticed nothing, I noticed
I was trembling.
Ask her if the fire hurts.
I remember
we were together.
And gradually I understood
that though neither of us ever moved
we were not together but profoundly separate.
Ask her if the fire hurts.
You expect to live forever with your husband
in fire more durable than the world.
I suppose this wish was granted,
where we are now being both
fire and eternity.
Do you regret your life?
Even before I was touched, I belonged to you;
you had only to look at me.
•.•❤•.•
He takes her in his arms
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you
But he thinks
this is a lie, so he says in the end
You're dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true.
Louise Glück
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