Sunday, January 29, 2017

Looking Forward Through a Rear View Mirror



Michael, when you toss a handful of sand 
to fall upon the tepid sea foam,
do you ever imagine each grain a day?
Or when turning pages of a favorite novel
you crave to finish but never end,
does that unturned prose you cradle
remind you your own is more feather than stone?

Every morning you blow away thunderheads
to let sunshine bathe your grateful skin. 
Before you enter life’s untidy theater,
beneath garish spotlights unforgiving,
twirling for bills from hands of lechers, 
just remember why you groove:
You dance because you can.

Remember those faces left behind:
addicts of self-abuse, junkies of icepick cones
victims of machine-gun attrition
self-medicating with flasks of mercury, 
bulldozing their lives into empty lots
while you plant useless lilies
and scrape away the blood-caked soil.

The impostors too, like the one who paid his loans 
by asking to be murdered to collect insurance—
Oh, I may be dead but I pay my debts— 
or the other whose stage exit required 
pyrotechnics of the first order: a gas tank, 
towels beneath a door, time, and spent phosphorus. 
He lay smiling, half-submerged,
his last act a resignation letter from life.

And your father, the giant you understood too late—
hearing his laughter like granite and thunder
or catching his chiseled grin,
wouldn’t you listen better now?
And, wiser, later your father-like friend. 
Beneath coconut palms beside the bay azure;
you traded jungle city survival tales
like two explorers stewing in cast iron pots, 
never knowing his secret, the certainty of young death,
because he never let you read ahead.

Michael, I remember you seeing iron filings 
a blind cavalry charge towards a horseshoe magnet;
you envied the certainty of their kamikaze path.
But, man, if you already know, why even turn the pages?
If you want to love and be loved, slow down and forget.
Yes, forget about the story, and enjoy the storytelling.


Saturday, January 21, 2017

Heartwave

Milk spills
Tears splatter,
provoked by dead silence
I grasp your carousel’s brass ring:
fire works.

Traveling Companions


We two voyagers stamp tickets to frolic in the sun
Light dribbles in beads into our outstretched eyes taking flight
Hands clasped as laughing children, we pass into the garden
Its orchestra of scents: roses, violets, lavender
Nectar explodes on tongues beckoning. Carnaval floats glow.
Ears bent to harp strings plucked, we stagger, levitate, and dance
Until arriving cliffside to melt into the Abyss
and spring anew. To clutch atop a bed of pungent grass;
Petals unfolding before a hot-blooded obelisk;
A piston’s thrust, the gripping and grinding; toes quivering.
That urgency? That last hesitating moan we beseech?
We plunge together so entwined, engulfed by a torrent,
succumbing, letting it shape our clay, becoming again
that sparkle and promise of our next lifetime together.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Kunstbar


Here, have a shot of Jackson Pollack.

:-)

Revolution #9 Lyrics



Bottle of Claret for you if I had realized…
Well, do it next time.
I forgot about it, George, I'm sorry.
Will you forgive me?
Yes.
Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number
Then there's this Welsh Rarebit wearing some brown underpants
About the shortage of grain in Hertfordshire
Everyone of them knew that as time went by
They'd get a little bit older and a litter slower but
It's all the same thing, in this case manufactured by someone who's always
Umpteen your father's giving it diddly-i-dee
District was leaving, intended to pay for
Number 9, number 9
Who's to know?
Who was to know?
Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9
I sustained nothing worse than
Also for example
Whatever you're doing
A business deal falls through
I informed him on the third night
When fortune gives
Number 9, number 9, number 9
People ride, people ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride! Ride!
9, number 9, number 9, number 9
I've missed all of that
It makes me a few days late
Compared with, like, wow!
And weird stuff like that
Taking our sides sometimes
Floral bark
Rouge doctors have brought this specimen
I have nobody's short-cuts, aha…
9, number 9
With the situation
They are standing still
The plan, the telegram
Ooh ooh
Number 9, number
Ooh
A man without terrors from beard to false
As the headmaster reported to me
My son he really can try as they do to find function
Tell what he was saying, and his voice was low and his hive high
And his eyes were low
Alright!
Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9
So the wife called me and we'd better go to see a surgeon
Or whatever to price it… yellow underclothes
So, any road, we went to see the dentist instead
Who gave her a pair of teeth which wasn't any good at all
So I said I'd marry, join the fucking navy and went to sea
In my broken chair, my wings are broken and so is my hair
I'm not in the mood for whirling
Um da
Aaah
How?
Dogs for dogging, hands for clapping
Birds for birding and fish for fishing
Them for themming and when for whimming
Only to find the night-watchman
Unaware of his presence in the building
Onion soup
Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9
Industrial output
Financial imbalance
Thrusting it between his shoulder blades
The Watusi
The twist
Eldorado
Take this brother, may it serve you well
Maybe it's nothing
Aaah
Maybe it's nothing
What? What? Oh
Maybe even then
Impervious in London
Could be difficult thing
It's quick like rush for peace is
Because it's so much
It was like being naked
If you became naked

Nwahulwana

Wazimbo's "Nwahulwana"

Found this on a German site: Warum wanderst du von Bar zu Bar? (“Why do you wander from bar to bar?”)

So, the first time I heard this I thought I recognized some Portuguese, but it’s illusory; the language is actually Ronga. I suppose it was just the echoes of Brazilian music. I found, though, a translation into Portuguese, which I will translate to English, but here’s the thing: this transcription of the words isn’t correct. Also, I’m almost certain I hear “vôce” which means “you” in the lyrics.
First, “nwahulwana” itself is a soft expression for prostitute, hence “night bird” is the poetic meaning. I thought it was a love song. My wife thought it was a prayer (probably because of the way Wazimbo lifts his eyes to the sky when he sings “Maria”). So, it is something like this, but there are mistakes, because the lines don’t match up. Also, I wonder if he is singing “Nwahulwana” when the song starts - . It’s hard to know since I don’t speak Ronga. 

Here are pieces I’ve found, but really the only line I’m sure of is the “iyo maria…” line.

Nhee, endua, endua
Nhee, endua, endua

(Two lines I don’t understand)

iyo maria ntombi yanga u ta tekua ha mani makwezo (ô Maria, minha menina, quem irá te casar)
Maria, my girl, who will marry you?

iyo maria ntombi yanga u ta tekua ha mani makwezo (ô Maria, minha menina, quem irá te casar)
Maria, my girl, who will marry you?

ni ngo leswi swaku famba usiko loko dzi pelile a swi yaki munti maulwana (digo isso porque essa mania de que quando anoitece tu sais de casa, isso não é produtivo não dar-te-á lar querida)
I say this, because your way you go out at night, it’s not productive, no, to give you a home, dear.

ni ngo leswi swaku famba usiko loko dzi pelile a swi yaki munti maulwana (digo isso porque essa mania de que quando anoitece tu sais de casa, isso não é produtivo não dar-te-á lar querida)
I say this, because your way you go out at night, it’s not productive, no, to give you a home, dear.

ni ngo leswi swa ku tsama ma bare loko dzi pelile u ta tekua ha mani maulwana o. o. o.
(digo essa mania de ficares nos bares quando anoitece. Quem te irá casar querida. oh)
I say this way you stay in bars after dark. Who will marry you, dear? Oh.

ni ngo leswi swa ku tsama ma bare loko dzi pelile u ta tekua ha mani maulwana o. o. o.
(digo essa mania de ficares nos bares quando anoitece. Quem te irá casar querida. oh)
I say this way you stay in bars after dark. Who will marry you, dear? Oh.

iyo maria ntombi yanga u ta tekua ha mani makwezo (ô Maria, minha menina, quem irá te casar)
Maria, my girl, who will marry you?

iyo maria ntombi yanga u ta tekua ha mani makwezo (ô Maria, minha menina, quem irá te casar)
Maria, my girl, who will marry you?

iyo maria ntombi yanga u ta tekua ha mani maulwana o. o. o. (ô Maria, minha menina, quem irá te casar)
Maria, my girl, who will marry you, dear?

ni ngo leswi swa ku tsama ma bare loko dzi pelile u ta tekua ha mani maulwana o. o. o.
(digo essa mania de ficares nos bares quando anoitece. Quem te irá casar querida. oh)
I say this way you stay in bars after dark. Who will marry you, dear? Oh.

swi ni tcxela ni uswete maria a ku kala un nga tsami kaya maria
(é deprimente. Dá até pena, Maria, o facto de não ficares em casa quando anoitece, Maria.)

It’s depressing. It is pitiful, Maria, the way you cannot stay home when night falls, Maria.


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