Lamento della zingara

“Da due mesi o poco piu…” *

Summer’s green deception now unwinds itself with straw,
The daylight tips and tumbles in reverse,
And fireflies are fading where we fantasized we’d glow.
The grass we never set ablaze just cuts
Into my legs the imprint
Of a scene that never was,
The disconnected lines of names we hardly knew,
The lacerating echoes of our unborn shouts into the night,

And now,
While sterile sunlight spills its gold
Upon your back and turns
Its back
On me…
I wander sticky streets alone,
Instead of melting,
White-hot, liquid moon beneath
Your secret,
Silver tongue.

“Io non mi fidavo; era solo sesso. Ma il sesso e un’attitudine, come l’arte in genere. E forse l’ho capito. E sono qui. E scusa… ma se non urlo, muoio. Non so se sai…”
(“I wasn’t committing; it was only sex. But sex is an expression, a state of mind, like art in general. And maybe I’ve got it figured out. And here I am. And forgive me… but if I don’t shout this, it’ll kill me. I don’t know if you know…”)

Still not ready to return to WordPress, guys. I feel bad about being almost completely inactive, but it’s been a stressful sort of time. This isn’t quite the type of post I’d prefer to be dropping by to leave either (so gloomy!), but I’ve spent the last several days steeped in poetry and wracked by an Italian ballad I only somehow just discovered this week. It’s called “Imbranato” by Tiziano Ferro, and it’s been my soundtrack as I try to articulate some things that have been bugging me.

The title of my post is a tribute to the Italian ballad that gave voice to my unrest. It’s also something of a tribute to my own Italian heritage and my lifelong nickname, “zingarella.” The title evokes the dilemma that lies at the heart of this poem — there are pains attendant to being something of a “zingara.” My family began calling me “zingarella” (diminuitive form of “zingara” or “gypsy”) when I was very young. They had sensed, even then, my passion for the exotic. And the person I’ve become has lived up to her name. But gypsy travelers and free spirits move in transitory circles. And so a thousand laments are born of the way these sorts of people live and learn, love and lose.

So here I am with one of the poems I’ve been working on. It’s not “finished,” but the line from “Imbranato” about the passing months made me feel it was timely to post something now. Aside from tonight’s visit to WordPress, I’m not sure when I’ll be “back.” It’s difficult to stay away for so long, but it’s even more difficult to reconcile my love of writing and of the writing community with the less than poetic demands of my Ph.D. progress. Again, friends, I offer you my apologies and my sincerest hopes that we can be in touch again when I may finally make more of a lasting return. Peace and love to all of you.

Invisible Tattoo

Revealed along the journey of a vernal, crescent moon,
He displays the backwards/forwards evolution
That brought him to the great meridian
Of the bed where we repose.

Like twin suns twisting ’round each other as we blaze
Our trail through the cosmos,
He and I go spinning off the sparks that glow with what we’re made of.
A crimson heat to speak for me, expansive…
My counterpart, a fuzzy, compact ball of fire,
Burning white and blue
And charging East
From here within my arms…
I reignite
For just a fleeting, cosmic moment;

My lover draws the same celestial banner I once twirled like a ribbon
As I spun from star to star.

With a crook of his poet fingers and laughter in his eyes,
He teases out the threads that weave forever
In the space-time fabric that envelops us this night,
And his incandescent flicker whispers on my skin
The tales he carries written on his own.
Shining brighter in his brilliance,
I burst with wonder
At his Red Giant reverie.




When the universe was new,
I too
Got lost like this.




So I beam as I incline my head over my renegade companion,
And here with tongue and fingertips,
I trace my silent prayer upon his back:


May his dreams not burn out red!…










*  Just as a brief explanation, despite the fact that I haven’t been too active on here in about half a year, this poem woke me up at dawn, and I felt compelled to post it here today.  It’s an autobiographical metaphor about, on the most basic level, discovering an unexpected affinity with someone during a casual encounter and remembering forgotten aspects of yourself.

I hope to get back to WordPress within the next few weeks.  Still very busy with my doctoral program, but I’m looking forward to reading what you’ve been up to, and I promise to answer the questions and respond to the comments you’ve left in my LONG absence.  Miss you all, and hope that everyone is well!

Cheers!
Laura

Origins

Rendida a tus huellas
Despertando entre tus cerros
Amamantada de tus susurros
Caminando con tus fantasmas
Maldiciendo a tus muros
Venerando a tus alturas
Respirando tus nubes
Sudando tus temblores
Y llorando tu sangre

nací.

 

No pretendo escribir poemas en castellano, el cual no es mi idioma nativo.  En castellano, falto el ritmo, la rima, y la fluidez suficientes para ser poeta.  Por eso, no piense en estas líneas como poema.  No más fue mi intento de comemorar esta fecha — que tiene gran significado en mi vida — con un par de versos que expresaran el amor y respeto muy profundos que llevo en mi corazón por una tierra distante.  El lugar que ahora sólo visito en mis sueños.  El lugar donde encontré, donde se clavó, y donde permanece mi alma.

Tal vez, quién sabe, allá la dejé vidas atrás….

Conquista / “In Tongues”

I find you on the edge of dreams.
Your open arms receive me in the night.
So self-assured
You wrap me in a robe of southern stars,
Pull back the veil,
And vocalize a vow to claim me as the queen
Of this paradise you rule outside of time.
You take my hand and lead me down
Through swirling mists and emerald vales
Into a church whose taste of dripping gold
I find in blood and tears
Upon the wounds you make me lick.

And so I labor on my knees here while you watch,
Until I choke out prayers

In tongues.

 

Alright, so this isn’t a pleasant one.  This was originally the intro for a longer poem (not published here).  It’s tough to deconstruct in any concise manner, but the tags offer a decent explanation.  To get really simplistic though, it has to do with violence, churches built on blood, revelations of various kinds, the allure of the exotic, and a deep sense of pain for people other than yourself.  It’s also about finding your own spirituality at the breaking point, where prayers escape your lips in a language other than your own.

Ooooor…..you could disregard everything I just said, get a little creative, and read this through the perspective of different generations, centuries removed from one another.  😉

(la) Conquista = the Conquest
conquista (common noun) = conquest, or the endeavor of conquering
conquista = (in an interpersonal sense) a female you decide to seduce/overtake (or whom you’ve succeeded in seducing/overtaking)

Manifesto

You can’t tame me.
These running legs have served me well.
Unruly curls in disarray,
Bare toes connecting with the earth,
I laugh too loud, play too hard,
And dance for no reason at all.
I’m not much for pretense or formality;
Every day is a flag to be captured,
And while I can strategize with the best of them,
Uncover every secret hideout —
While never letting on that you’ve been found —
I’d rather blaze my trail straight to the heart.

Sure, I stop and smell the flowers,
And I’ll gladly detour for a tumble in the brush,
But I don’t waste time on maps,
And the dangerous curves of this country I inhabit
Are surely beyond your control.

I only realized I was a woman
When they saw me for what I never was before,
And a thousand kisses,
Caresses,
And whispers in the darkest of the dark
Rained over me and washed clean all the
Grass stains of my youth.
But this refining
Only skimmed the satin surface;
I may dress the part now,
And you’d never find a single scar,
But I’d win every neighborhood game!
Because, now, I can run without running
And look without lifting my eyes.

Inside, those flames they fanned
Cannot be doused.
I’m a slow burn,
Alight with a deeper life
Than many women are willing to live,
And you’ll see it set ablaze
Through the window of these laughing eyes
When you grip these defiant hips,
Sink into these wild waves of hair,
And breathe over this now-unbroken skin.

In your hands, I am no tomboy;
This is the secret, feminine force incarnate. 
Nor am I a damsel in distress
Waiting to be rescued by the sword;
I can vanquish villains and
Escape from dungeons by myself,
But I’ll still join you
For this grand, uncharted adventure.

What I am is a child
Inviting you to play in the mud again,
Dance in the rain,
Stop watching the clock!
Dig through the sands of time,
And yell at the top of your lungs
For the sheer joy of living without limits.
I’m also a sage who already knows your answer.

You can’t tame me.
But why would you try?
I’m an animal out of the cage
Whose spirit has been distilled,
Drop by simmering drop,
Into the purest, primal essence of humanity.

 

Now, tell me…
What are you?

 

So, this is 20yearsfromnow!  I forgot that I’d written a self-portrait back in July, but I stumbled upon it again tonight and thought I’d share it here; it seemed fitting to segue into my tomboy manifesto from the childhood memories recently set out in “Woodworking.”  In fact….this, I suppose, is the result of the “adventure” (referenced therein) that I would go on to have years after waking up from that crazy dream.  🙂

Mi lista

Si pudiera vivir nuevamente mi vida

Pasaría más tiempo afuera de niña.

No me pelearía con mi familia.

Mostraría más el orgullo que tengo por mi hermanito.

Compraría menos maquillaje y más libros.

Tendría más paciencia con los que me quieren

          — y menos con los que nunca valían la pena.

Aprendería a valorar mi propio tiempo.

Pasaría menos de ello en el compu, y más en la gente que me importa.

Llamaría a más amigos.

Tomaría lecciones de voz.

Y continuaría con las de violín.

Andaría sembrando sonrisas

Y no sería tan seria.

Haría más yoga,

E iría a más fiestas en vez de estudiar tanto.

Tendría sexo más joven para no tener que preocuparme por mi inocencia

          – y no quedarme con un chico que nunca me valoraba.

Y encontraría al que quisiera amarme en vez de no más poseerme.

Compartiría más con amigos, y trataría menos de lidiar con toda clase de problemas sola.

Escribiría, como siempre quería.

Diría “no” frente a las responsabilidades que me ahogaran y me estresaran,

Y en cambio, disfrutaría más el tiempo pasado en quehaceres simples —

como cocinar, o limpiar.

Pasaría menos tiempo creyendo en un Dios que juzga

Y más creyendo en uno que ama sin condiciones.

Dedicaría más tiempo a los videojuegos

          y a los libros interesantes que reúnen polvo ahí en mi estante

En vez de en las tonterías que tenía que leer en el colegio, y en la universidad.

Bailaría más con mi sombra

Y trasnocharía más con amigos o amantes — y menos con el trabajo.

Tendría menos planes y más experiencias.

Haría más ejercicios y menos tarea.

Tomaría menos sol artificial y más sol natural.

Pasaría menos de mi juventud llorando y pensando;

          la pasaría siendo joven y actuando — alegre.

Podría curar a los que lo necesitaran

Y buscaría más abrazos yo cuando yo necesitara consuelo.

Si pudiera vivir mi vida nuevamente, yo la viviría de veras,

Despierta,

Y no dormiría hasta la tarde.

Y si que sí me quedara en cama todo el día

Sería para explorar el cuerpo de mi amante.

Viajaría más

Y al regresar a la casa de mis padres, no estaría tan ocupada.

Aprovecharía más oportunidades para bailar en la lluvia,

Para sorprenderle a un amante con un beso apasionado bajo un farol,

Para correr como loca por las olas en la playa,

Para comer más fruta con chocolate,

Para ser, en cada momento, más sensual

Sin excusas,

Porque así se vive la vida — explorando, demorando, saboreando, y abandonándote a lo que te eche.

Básicamente, no más sería yo

          — sin disculpas y sin medidas.

 

 *Esta lista fue inspirada por un poema que tuvimos que leer en la universidad.  Me puso a pensar en lo que haría yo si pudiera hacerlo todo de nuevo, y, pues, aquí lo ves.

Escape!

It’s summertime, and I’m feeling that familiar wanderlust. I put a list here about travel memories.  Feel free to add your own ideas!  I’m thinking of….

emerald mountains
train rides
stepping out your door into the Renaissance
houses of every color
vibrant gardens defiantly bursting out of their wrought-iron confines
sipping drinks with friends at a mellow cafe in Quito’s nightlife district
the simple pleasure of buying chocho salad
the Tuscan countryside
watching newborn llamas get introduced to their neighbors for the first time
cobblestone streets navigated by horse-drawn carriages
the future whispering through scattered coca leaves
knowing exactly where to go when you want steak, eggs, and rice at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning
watching from your post atop a bell tower as the dawn breaks over a stately, old city
ice-covered volcanoes on the horizon
being serenaded on Lake Titicaca under a sapphire sky
Christmas displays at St. Peter’s
waterfalls
waterfalls that are frozen
being able to browse through a shopping mall and people-watch while listening to the waves crash below you and feeling the ocean’s breeze warm your face
the sweet taste of the forbidden herbal mate, and its calming, medicinal smell
the sound of a language you don’t know
realizing that you could go anywhere in the country for $10
Florentine markets at night time
the crisp breeze blowing in from a historic harbor
the sound of panpipes driven by the beat of animal-skin drums
the excitement of finding yourself right next to a set of enormous chimes as they herald the birth of a new hour — on the arm of someone you love
cappucino and cannoli
a fresh, warm little yuca bun
knowing that you can find anything that you possibly could need right there on the street
the quaint sophistication of European cafes
the beautiful sight of the glowing Milky Way as it stretches itself over the glassy waters of an enormous, inland sea
ice cream in another country (It’s never the same!)
the exhilarating pain when you submerge yourself in a frigid mountain stream, immediately after a dip in a volcanic hot spring
sitting on a bench somewhere and contemplating all the history that has taken place around you
the fragrance of roses on the air
enjoying fried pork and beer in a cozy shop, while the flies tirelessly pursue one another in circles around the center of the room
and, most amazing of all, being able to share any of those things with someone special.

…..I suppose you’ve figured out by now that I’m feeling the urge to travel. Feel free to add your own haven to the list!