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Category Archives: Love

Poetry for churchgoers

I don’t do poetry. I find it impossible to write, to create. There are too many mysterious sentences, too many words out of place for me to make any sense out of it. When I hear a poem, I think of my days in church.

A child like many others, sitting on a wooden pew, uncomfortable and hot, bothered. Looking at the saints and thinking why the artist didn’t want them to have any wrinkles…  Checking the altar for the evidence of the blood and flesh of Christ.  A quick survey of the vaults (in search of any incongruence on the frescos depicting fat angels) pretending to be lost in a febrile prayer. Repeat the same route with my eyes over and over again.

The priest would speak. No. The priest would make unintelligible sounds, lulling me to a shallow comatose state, followed by a roar that would make my heart shoot into my throat. In between, padre would read. I loved the stories.

And why was this so much like poetry to me? Because of the strange sequences of words, sentences that would wiggle, wiggle, wiggle and then stop at a dead end, without a single warning, just to twirl into another absurd spin of events. The sentences, I’ve learned, have meanings hidden inside other meanings. Just like poetry sounds to me. Interpretation, that’s what that is.

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness”, informed me Robert Frost in one of my desperate chase for answers.

 

It all makes sense when you’re in love. When you are heartbroken it makes sense too. When you are sad or happy… feeling lonely or completely motivated… aggravated. It doesn’t make much sense or, at least, you don’t draw much out of it if you are just plain comfortable. Poetry doesn’t churn your insides if you are comfortable.

Just to show you that I don’t do poetry, I’ve wrote a poem so you could judge for yourselves:

 

In these arms, life came and went

Passing from one tower to the next.

Tightening without reason, loosening without purpose

Arms made of fire, engulfing and releasing.

Languid and then strong.

 

What did I tell you?

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Posted by on April 2, 2011 in Life, Love

 

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Love is

'Romeo and Juliet', Frank Dicksee

I lean forward and whisper in his ear. The music sounds so distant now: “I miss you…” We look at each other and there’s a little tumble in my stomach… the butterflies are dancing again in my heart. I wish I could smile. The dizziness makes me out of balance, so the kiss happens before I am aware of it. We’re in love.

Many years from now, I know I will look back and remember this moment. The world was forgotten. Bodies were stripped of consciousness, time stopped and the clichés ensued all at once. There is only you and I, my love.

There are no promises, this is no young love. We are both frightened, although we won’t say it… words can be daggers sometimes… I look down and you are holding my hand and it feels right. This is our forever and ever, my sweet.

 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

 

i fear

 

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

E. E. Cummings

 
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Posted by on January 25, 2011 in Life, Love

 

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