to write my thoughts like fire
kindled in vacuum
-db
image and poem by D. Blake
Hmm…It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ve yet to venture outside to witness the parade of couples flaunting their love–no, I’m not bitter or anything like that. 😉 I simply don’t celebrate many special (any) days.
Still, I thought I would do my part by sharing some words in Italian and Englishi that, were I in a relationship, I would use instead of having to say “I love you.”
Happy Valentine’s Day, Everyone!
D.
—–
*Yes, I made a decision not to use the imperative in the first line, which would have been: Amore, non legarmi alle parole piccole…
I’m still undecided whether or not I will change it. 🙂
Cercarle
Amore, non mi leghi alle parole piccole,
insensate, indefinibili, ma inebrianti.
Le parole volano, ne sai, quando sono parlate.
Invece di cercarle nella voce mia,
cercarle nel mio comportamento,
cercarle nei miei taciti pensieri,
cercarle nel mio cuore che batte ogni respiro
fino alla prossima volta quando ci incontriamo,
e cercarle in questi occhi che non ne avranno mai
abbastanza di vederti e vogliono bruciare
l’immagine di te nell’anima mia per l’eternità.
—-
Another version:
Basic Translation
Search for them
My love, do not bind me with little words,
meaningless, indefinable, but intoxicating.
You know that spoken words are fleeting.
Instead of searching for them in my voice,
search for them in my behaviour,
search for them in my unspoken thoughts,
search for them in my heart that beats each breath
until when next we meet,
and search for them in these eyes that will never have
enough of seeing you and want to burn
your image within my soul for all eternity.
Image found via GIS and modified with Gimp. Click to visit event’s page on FB.
I’ve decided to begin a writers’ social in the early evenings on Thursdays. Ideally, it will become a space for writers (any genre) of all levels to share their thoughts about writing and their personal work, provide support and inspiration for each other.
Hopefully, we can make this into a community. 🙂
If you are in Rome, hope to see you on Thursday at Meccanismo in Piazza Trilussa!
—-
Wanting To Share Your Work With An Audience?
Don’t Forget: Jahan Genet’s
Suddenly Every Wednesday at Bar Garbo in Trastevere!
Best,
D.
Who doesn’t like creative writing contests with no entry fee…Enter one with me! What harm could it do? 🙂
Image Found: http://creativewritingatguelph.ca (University of Guelph, Creative Writing at Guelph)
Freelancewriting.com, a website dedicated to assisting writers in achieving their goals, has been in operation since 1997. The site provides writers with guidance through articles, video tutorials, reading recommendations, job listings, and contest information.
Certainly, there are many sites that offer as much or more to writers. Freelancewriting.com, however, makes a point of sharing creative writing contests (book/fiction/nonfiction/poetry) which only have no entry fee.
In essence, Freelancewriting.com has done the proverbial work of finding the needle in the haystack. So, many thanks to them for having done that work! It is a time-consuming task searching through hundreds of contests to find the ones that do not even try to break the bank.
So what are some contests that they have listed?
Click on the name of the contest for details.
(Deadline | Contest Name…
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In Rome? Join me at the Protestant Cemetery for this Event!
Painting by Walter Crane, Gravestone of English Poet John Keats in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, 1873. Image found: http://enabime.wordpress.com
Whether or not you are in Rome, if you are an admirer of John Keats’ poetry or poetry in general, then this fundraising event may be of interest to you.
On Wednesday, October 1, 2014, the Non-Catholic Cemetery (also known as the Protestant Cemetery) will be holding a reading of Keats’ poems and letters to raise funds for the renewal of his gravesite area.
Unbeknownst to many, the Non-Catholic Cemetery is operated by means of donations and voluntary service. Keats is not the only notable figure to be buried in the Cemetery. In fact, visitors to the Cemetery will find the graves of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Joseph Severn (buried next to Keats), Antonio Gramsci, August von Goethe, Amelia Rosselli, Juan Rodolfo Wilcock, and many more.
Where: Cimitero Acattolico…
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(Of course, I am still behind, but here is my entry for today! The formatting is far from correct, but I am having a bit of difficulty with WP today. Poem is still a work in progress…)
Via Ostiense
There’s only one park bench
when you turn that corner
from that train station,
reading ROMA OSTIA LIDO,
announcing first where you are—
where you might be;
when you turn your back
on that displaced pyramid
of scaffolding, half-cleaned,
butted up against that
cemetery filled with those
people who didn’t belong—
at least to the Vatican;
when you can see a bookstand,
covered by used books and rags,
all bounded up by ropes, propped
up by planks of wood to form
a makeshift table—it’s guarded
by an old man and his would-be
customers or companions;
when can you smell a wall of graffiti,
stained by urine, new and old,
smell cigarettes strewn to create
a mosaic with leftover vomit
from the night before the night
before the night before that,
and smell the people passing by
who never glance even one eye
at either bench or stand—
it’s always like that.
Once the lights of night become
only stars, you learn to fear its dark
corners, unless you’re a tourist or
young or careless or drunk or
drugged or any combination
that might make you feel safe
when it’s late in the city, or perhaps
you’ve already learned that lesson—
perhaps you’re in the midst of it?
No one sits or lays on that bench—
except that man with the scraggly hair,
sadly wild eyes, tattered clothing,
swollen feet, darken face but not Black,
smelling of yesterday and the day before that,
smelling of all that’s missing: a home, family,
friends—still, he’s got his cigarettes, half-smoked
by strangers, collected in a cup mixed in
with coins and no lighter.
Scongelare*
Doli agreed with me about the pleasure,
though twisted, to be found in action-less love,
through the act of loving, not taking measure,
not caring why or how it came to be, of
not knowing when or where it will go, loving
simply because there is no other choice but
to love, disregarding old boundaries, trusting
the depth of time to heal any old wounds, cut
through the bitterness that hardens our hearts
every time we love and then lose ourselves
in that loving, that careless tossing of parts,
that ultimate destruction of self that delves
too deeply within us, rooting us to
the bitterness of having said “I love you.”
(Scongelare means to figuratively unfreeze, or literally defrost)
Sometimes we need some words of encourage…Happy Wednesday, Everyone!
Footprints in sand, Vero Beach, Florida. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
| Footprints in the Sand |
| One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. |
| Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. |
| In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. |
| Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, |
| other times there were one set of footprints. |
| This bothered me because I noticed |
| that during the low periods of my life, |
| when I was suffering from |
| anguish, sorrow or defeat, |
| I could see only one set of footprints. |
| So I said to the Lord, |
| “You promised me Lord, |
| that if I followed you, |
| you would walk with me always. |
| But I have noticed that during |
| the most trying periods of my life |
| there have only been one |
| set of footprints in the sand. |
| Why, when I needed you most, |
| you have not been there for me?” |
| The Lord replied, |
| “The times when you have |
| seen only one set of footprints, |
| is when I carried you.” |
| Mary Stevenson |
Until Next Time,
D.
Cut Eye (Photo credit: lindes)
Ho deciso di scrivere oggi in italiano (ma anche con una traduzione in inglese per i miei lettori che leggono solo in inglese). Come mi sento in questo momento? Non sono sicura. Sono stanchissima da morire, perché tante cose hanno successo questa settimana ed anche ho lavorato molto, almeno secondo me. Continuo a scrivere il mio romanzo e oggi ho scritto una poesia nuova in italiano. Vorrei condividerla con la speranza che voi mi diate le vostre opinioni. Come ho già scritto, ho scritto una traduzione in inglese, comunque l’orginale è stato scritto in italiano. Quindi la traduzione attuale è molta semplice. In alcuni giorni scriverò un’altra versione inglese. Ringrazio Matteo per la sua assitenza con la grammatica.
——————-
Today, I decided to write in Italian (but always with a translation in English for my readers who only read in English). How am I feeling in this moment? I am not certain. I am ridiculously tired, because many things have happened this week and also I work a lot, at least, in my opinion. I continue to write my novel and today I have written a new poem in Italian. I would liked to share it, with the hope that you will give your opinions. As I have already written, I have written a translation in English. However, the orginal is in Italian. Therefore, the current translation is very simple. In some days I will write another English version. I thank Matteo for his assistance with grammar.
——————-
Gli Occhi Aperti
Ci sono momenti in cui mi domando perché.
Perché ci sono tante persone che si sentono perse? Perché?
Soprattutto quando sono in piedi l’una accanto all’altra. Perché?
–
Perché ci sono tante persone che non hanno la consapevolezza
che la vita non è la realtà che può essere vista solo con i loro occhi?
–
Hanno bisogno di capire che
la loro realtà si allontana…
verso la corpulenza del mondo,
contro la verità dell’anima.
–
Realtà non è reale.
Realtà non è vera.
Non è neanche un’enigma,
né uno specchio oscurato
in cui non vediamo noi stessi.
–
Realtà è appena una manifestazione delle nostre paure
che sono state sviluppate dall’assenza
della saggezza in ognuna delle nostre vite.
–
Comunque questi pensieri sono solo una parte di un racconto vecchio.
Dall’inizio della nostra umanità, non abbiamo noi forse sempre detto
le stesse cose di nuovo, di nuovo e di nuovo?
–
Esiste sempre una ragione per la quale viviamo noi
le nostre vite nei modi in cui lo facciamo.
–
Esiste sempre una ragione per la quale diciamo noi
che non possiamo scegliere in modi diversi…
–
Mai…
le vie nuove,
Mai…
le intese nuove,
Mai…
le parole nuove.
–
Mai…
Mai…
Mai…
Mai…
Mai…
Mai…
–
E in questo modo rimaniamo
le stesse persone
con le stesse domande:
–
<<Perché mi sento perso?>>
<<Perché mi sento solo
quando sono in piedi accanto a tutti?>>
–
Realtà non è realtà.
Devi aprire la tua mente per poter aprire gli occhi.
E poi, crei la realtà in cui vuoi vivere.
–
————————————————–
————————————————–
–
The Open Eyes
There are moments in which I ask myself why.
Why are there so many people who feel lost? Why?
Especially when they are standing next to others. Why?
–
Why are there so many people who do not have the awareness
that life is not the reality that can be seen only with their eyes?
–
They need to understand that
their reality is moving away…
toward the corpulence of the world,
against the truth of the soul.
–
Reality is not real.
Reality is not true.
It is not even an enigma,
nor an obscured mirror,
in which we cannot see ourselves.
–
Reality is just a manifestation of our fears
that have been developed by the absence
of wisdom in each of our lives.
–
However, these thoughts are just a part of an old story.
From the beginning of our humanity, have we not always said
the same things again and again?
–
There always exists a reason for which we live
our lives in the ways that we do.
–
There always exists a reason for which we say
that we cannot chose different ways of being…
–
Never…
new paths
Never….
new understandings,
Never…
new words.
–
Never…
Never…
Never…
Never…
Never…
Never…
–
In this way we remain
the same people
with the same questions:
–
“Why am I lost?”
“Why am I alone
when standing next to everyone?”
–
Reality is not reality.
You must open your mind in order to open your eyes.
And then, create the reality in which you want to live.
–
————————————————–
————————————————–
Grazie a tutti per prendere tempo per visitare e leggere.
Thank you everyone for taking time to visit and read.
Alla Prossima Volta,
Until Next Time,
D.
“Her Name is Melancholy” by FlyPi (Found: http://flypi.deviantart.com/)
Okay, I am not certain whether I should be elated or crushed that I have completed approximately 40,000 words.
You see, National Novel Writing Month is really about to end come Friday, November 30th and I am supposed to write the remaining 10,000+ words by then–no, no, no, it’s impossible–while managing my regular life.
I am panicking–and who wouldn’t? It’s a competition between myself and my brain and I am losing–because I tend to be a bit of an over-achiever… and I am nowhere near where I “ought” to be.
However I am also relieved because I have come 4/5ths of the way, even if I do not arrive at my destination (50,000 words) by midnight Friday. (Let this serve as an example of a positive reframe of my initial thoughts).
So, what comes next? Well, I am going to sit with the panicked feeling for a while longer before getting dinner. Then I will plop myself back down in front of my laptop and begin hammering away at those last 10,000 words. I can do it, right? 🙂
In the midst of all of this (well, really early this morning to be exact), apparently I had time to write a poem. Thinking about it now, I would like it to be a part of a series revolving around the theme of winter. I’m not panicking, right? It’s just 10,000 more words…I am beginning to wonder if blog entries count…
—–
Insomnia, along with the howl
of the wind.
Night is no longer night, but
fragments of moments,
through which sometimes
there is sleep.
Tonight, Rome is beautiful chaos
wrapped up in serenity.
-Diedré M. Blake
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