Sunday, June 26, 2011

Poem: C'est tout ce que j'ai

It is all that I have.
My dignity, my pride... my love, my compassion.
C'est tout ce que j'ai.
Mon coeur that beats.
It is all that I have.
What is passed the wall of pride, the dignity that has died?
To half them.
C'est tout ce que j'ai.
L'amour and my compassion.
My heart beats.
My love, my compassion...
Are these the atoms of my cells that run through my veins, pumped from head to toe?
I hope so.
That would be pure.
It is all that I have.
C'est tout ce que j'ai

Poem: I have need

I have need for your heed.
The color of my need is red.
Like the royalty of kings,
Like the roses red, blood red.
Your heart beats, mine in tune.
Red like the sunset chased by the moon.
I have need of warmth.
I have need of red...your red.
Your warm earth under me.
...NOW!... I have need, just of your heed.

Poem: A lovely day in Paris: Le métro

The air is chilled out side the dungeon steps that descend to the stench below.
Autumn brings the colored leaves to rest about my feet.
I don't want to go below.
I wish to wait for the bus and go by street.
I read the sign... no bus... I bellow “no”
I guess I must go below.
As I descend those stairs, my pass quickens, hurry, hurry.
The hustle bustle is almost more than I can bear.
What a stench there is below!
A resonating tone, the doors slide shut we are off.
The man jammed next to me!
His face is smashed against the window.
We are sardines in is boxcar.
 The scene is rather frantic here below.
Claustrophobic frightened eyes dart about in a furry.
Hurry, hurry as the doors close tight.
There is a good variety in the metro.
From all over the people are closed tightly together.
Two stops left before I take flight.
My relief... speaker, “we having technical difficulties, we will be moving shortly”
My relief has taken flight before I,
Am closed tight, next to Monsieur,
We start to move.
Two stops later, I arrive late.
I begin the first flight of steps from below
There are two to go.
The last... a blast of cool air slows my assault.

Monday, June 20, 2011

The Tapestry

He wandered aimlessly down the long corridor, so many paintings he thought... and for what? What is the meaning of all this painted photography? What is the meaning? As the end of the corridor came nearer there was a particular piece that caught his eye. It was strange and almost terrifying, unlike all those that hung around it. Nor was it of frolicking naked women, of a luscious bowl of fruit. But it required a fair bit of examining to understand the movements of the oil paints. “Something strange” thought he, it was as if the oil was moving... As his eyes focused to the bizarre tints he began to see the elaborate curling of waves and a rock in the middle that bore a lone man... staff in hand he was posed as if a man was combating the sea, fighting with his life in a way that the very sweat seemed apparent, glistening his face. The tapestry was truly horrifying indeed, and as he drew nearer, the oils showed more; a clap of thunder is visible striking near the peak of stone, the man dressed in robes parries and as this act of defense seems to be actually happening one sees his robes flutter, like fabric in water. The relentless waves appear to be even more ferocious than ever. Closer, closer he steps wide-eyed in disbelief. Then a larger wave than the rest rises up and engulfs the man the last that he sees is the robed man beaten against the peak. This man as if in one last muster of force lifts his staff and points the tip at he. A flash of light and the corridor grows still not a person in sight and the canvas at the end of the corridor is no more than a tattered old man and his cane upon a rock amongst a vicious sea.  

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Poem "The sounds of the soothing spring"

The sounds of the soothing spring sauna are heard along with the sense of touch like the cool breeze washes lover your body like the heat previously did. The simultaneous noises that birds make as they play in the branches of gardens. The budding foliage fights off the last few months of hibernation. Colorful and reveling cloths that cover the joyful women; making hormones rage in ray ban clad boys who watch giggling and with frank eyes wondering. All the sounds of spring, the one that catches my attention the most it its’ silence brought by the warm sun. It could be just that the heat makes you lazy and thus this relaxed feeling is just a calming sensation of indulgence. Not sure… All I know is that summer is in my liking and writing about it gives me pleasure. 

An abyss of ignorance

As the wind blows brisk through my hair, I look towards the approaching clouds from the north. The sun has been blotted out giving a somber light to the now still terrace. Birds sing charmingly in the distance, an occasional rumbling motor rises from the monotonous “hum” of the city. One million sounds all put together have the same effect that colors do. Black, an abyss of ignorance.
Much like this white sheet of paper=the background. Then, after applying the words one has a dirtied piece of paper. An abyss if you will. After you read from the beginning, word for word the darkness is lifted by dawn and you become aware of each unique presence given off. This is the network of the actual day; an abyss made clear through understanding. 

(This is part of a letter that I wrote to my little brother. I believe in handwritten letters.)

Monday, June 13, 2011

Poem "Where!"

The spring morning was a whispering sun, blossoming from it's rusty night.
While trees sound alive in the melt of sleep.
Out of the wood... a child listened, as did an owl.
Who above this shiver stream freeze...creak at green leaf, petal.
Dream rise! As life is happy early, in flower only.
Bloom... summer, autumn, harvest, snow winter, Howl! will laughter come full after death?
You investigate, a small light trickles.
Grass, THUNDER, plant, "There!"... garden, dandelion weed, insect, mushroom, Birch, cicada. They...are here.

Sharing Music

In today's digital age, where information is shared by the terabyte and just by logging into the world wide web one has access to more information than man has ever even dreamed of knowing. News is updated by the second, books are read by screens and music is downloaded. Today people talk about the international “community”. The sharing of ideas, lifestyles as becoming such an innovation. The sharing of culinary ideas: American households find themselves cooking a dinner of pasta, tomato sauce and mozzarella with a dessert of crème brulée. Mean while a traditional Italian family in Italy is frying up the barbeque and throwing the French fries in oven. This exchange of culture has changed our ways of life in fantastic and strange ways. But there is one thing that just hasn't rung a bell yet. Where is the exchange of music?
Walking throught the latin quarters in Paris  one hears the thump of the new era as well as the blasting trumpet of Americas past time all mixed together with the true Paris music of “amour.” If you happened to be in Italy, not only would you hear the latest Italian hits, But also America’s weekly top 40. European youth is largely influenced by artists from the United states. Yet the contradiction is that In America, (certain exceptions, of course) one finds it hard to find such a vast musical culture. You can’t turn on the radio and expect to hear Jovanotti and Christophe Maé. In fact while the music in Europe and all over the world is entering the lives of people and changing their language and the travels of their lives. The American Population is closed inside of their continent, the walls of oceans blocking the culture and music that could make a difference in the way we think, speak, and even party.
In today's digital age it is possible to become musically enriched. We are ignorant to not take advantage of the benefits of foreign music. By stepping out of the box we might, by the terabyte, begin to feel worldlier by Sharing music and the love.

Arrival to language

“Mesdames et Messieurs, nous allons bientôt atterrir à Paris, la température est  de 26 degrés et il y a de soleil. Merci d’avoir voyagé avec Air France. Nous vous souhaitons un bon séjour à Paris et à bientôt. Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing shortly in Paris, where the weather is about 26 degrees Celsius and sunny. Thank you for flying with Air France. We wish you a pleasant stay in Paris and hope to fly with you soon.”
            It was a long flight; I remember it all too well, my trip away from all that was familiar, and my voyage to a new beginning. I would be starting all over in every way: a new city, new apartment, new friends, new life, but most of all a new language. The challenging part about learning a new language made me return to my infancy and a childlike panic of being misunderstood. This was the second time in just two years that I had experienced these feelings, first in Italy and now in France.
            Learning a new language is something that Americans aren’t driven to do. Most of us daydream or stare in envy at others speaking foreign tongues. “Wow!” we say, “I am so jealous. Someday I would like to learn one as well.” New languages to us are not looked at as important. We assume that English is the international language, and thus, we have the right to go wherever we please, --saying “hello, goodbye, thank you, (and the best one) excuse me, sir, do you speak English.” This is so common; I hear it on a daily basis. Someday, we will have to step outside of ourselves and offer a greeting that is familiar to the other party. --“bonjour, salue, bongiorno, ciao!” Americans might then be thought of as less pretentious.
"C’est la vie.” No matter how difficult it was for me, a former Star Valley resident, to adapt, I had to keep the thought in mind that it was possible, and the reward was much more than I could perceive the reward was seeing the “chef d'oeuvres” (masterpieces) of the Louvre, the immense cultural intake, the Bateau Mouche (a sight-seeing, romantic boat ride) that snakes its way down the Seine, showing off the wonders of Paris or even just simply sitting at a sidewalk table at the Café de Louvre (a chic café next to the Louvre) in front of the Comedie Française (a theatre opened in 1799). No, It is much more subtle. It is a humility that only going abroad and all its experiences can offer.
            They say that you can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. Who we are is who we are, but this doesn’t mean that we are completely confined to the barriers of our birth. Most students go to their language classes just to pass the time, learning another language is just a side attraction. I know because I have done just that, I used to take Spanish. I would show up for class and flip through the book, take notes that I would never again look at. What I didn’t understand was that actually learning the material could have opened a whole other world for me. Communication is first thing we attempt at birth, as time goes by it becomes a strength and a connection but more than anything it brought me humility. Opening up to someone in their own language is, stepping outside of ones personal barriers but also a chance that they might step out of theirs as well, listening to each other’s stories and becoming a part of humanity.  
People are like the words of a romantic novel; we are emotions in words. We write out our own stories unconsciously, each one a chapter in our own personal biography. The reviewing process can be tedious but to make the same repetitive errors in future chapters is a life without progression.
Unfortunately, most of us write these chapters with words that have no meaning to humanity. In breaking our barriers and speaking the language of humanity we can be understood anywhere in the world.  We adapt to survive, but the comfort of our own homes holds us back from these opportunities. The unknown, beyond the front door, is the fear that restrains us. It is easier after one takes the first step.   
As I made my way towards the exit of the plane the stewardess looked me in the eyes and said “Au revoir monsieur.” I stopped and smiled “Au revoir madame, bonne journée” as I stepped off the plane.