Tonight's mood is inspired by Silvio Rodriguez' guitar in "Ojalá."
It has the quality of a sad, gurgling brook that awakens into a hopeful, spirited dance (at "Ojalá que se te acabe la mirada constante, la palabra precisa..."). Then wary of some sobering fate along its journey, it dies back down to soft, bubbling arpeggios. Funny how without even knowing, we often see things coming.
For instance, I used to be a Poet.
Then mid September 2009, I discovered I really wasn't. Instead, I must have been projecting the title my mentor W.B. gave, the coveted upgrade from 'Moist Child' which he saw in me years earlier when we met. No idea how he could always pare my words to their strictest essentials- or even where those words went that day he died. They may still be hidden in this blanket of fog that dims and distances even the things I thought I firmly held . Or maybe this 'moment of lead' may linger a while longer, while I'm sentenced to a few mundane lines.
It has the quality of a sad, gurgling brook that awakens into a hopeful, spirited dance (at "Ojalá que se te acabe la mirada constante, la palabra precisa..."). Then wary of some sobering fate along its journey, it dies back down to soft, bubbling arpeggios. Funny how without even knowing, we often see things coming.
For instance, I used to be a Poet.
Then mid September 2009, I discovered I really wasn't. Instead, I must have been projecting the title my mentor W.B. gave, the coveted upgrade from 'Moist Child' which he saw in me years earlier when we met. No idea how he could always pare my words to their strictest essentials- or even where those words went that day he died. They may still be hidden in this blanket of fog that dims and distances even the things I thought I firmly held . Or maybe this 'moment of lead' may linger a while longer, while I'm sentenced to a few mundane lines.
Til this block ends (or doesn't), I will blog (at least to Mer, who told me on New Year's Day to just do it, dammit). And marvel at my 2010-Self for not being too surprised at this change. And my 2007-Self for having already told me so, below:
‘Gone’
Enough of trying—I can no longer write,
no longer sit at child’s-play among the words,
scooping them up, letting them fall
into the heart’s sweet and grievous shapes.
That delicate nursery, so intimate to me!
But now someone else exhales and eats,
and numbs that child, and all her memories.
***
Sentences, images, not yet formed—
salt slick of your body, essence of rose—
they quiver at the tip of my fingers,
but without heft now.
I have suffered great change.
I watch them slip
through my fingers now
like sand; like dry grains of sand.
END
(by me, 26.05.2007)
Video of Silvio Rodriguez' 'Ojalá':
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok_wnW9YBrE&feature=related
