Wordless Wednesday – 196


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VerdArti – Birth Of A Poem (Nascita di una poesia) In Porcia, Italy – The Video And The Photographs


My poem in English and its translation. 

‘Birth of a Poem’ as part of VerdArti festival at Villa Dolfin, Porcia, Italy.

My Poem at Verdarti festival, Italy

 Alessandro Canzian reading the Italian Translation of my poem ‘Birth of a Poem’  at Villa Corrier Dolfin, Porcia ,Italy as part of the VerArti Festival.

A few more photographs from the lovely festival where artists and poets gathered to celebrate their work and of others. Copyright VerdArti.

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Also Visit these links for more information and event photographs/videos, media news etc.-

VerdArti 

Foglie di poesia 

Samuele Editore Website

 

You and Me – Gratitude


September 7th

This solitude is too loud. The writer’s block is too full of words swirling inside me. Unfinished poems, half told stories that rise and fall inside me like cresting waves travelling thousands of miles with tremendous amount of power and momentum to reach the shore. Each one with a different tone and timbre.  Slowly forming themselves from micro ripples to ripples, to wavelets to waves that are steep and choppy, all rising from an almost invisible swell at a distance, spilling, surging or plunging as they break over the beach. Waves that are the pulse of the ocean that’s inside me. I tune myself to their magical ability to nurture or destroy, to their colors, forms, moods and character, their faces, forms and manners, their tints and tones, their murmurs, their rage and sorrow, scorn and anxiousness as they frown and foam and riot inside me. I listen to their lament, their agony as they snap and lose their elasticity. I feel the spray of their innocent childhood, their luminous youth.  I inhale their faint sillage, the salty sweet smell of their leaving. A beautiful memory of small moments destined to be lost.

I revel in their phosphorescent, fragrant, passion as they whorl and dance, rise and fall with a tender ecstasy only they possess. I feel their taste, sweet, sultry, fiery as I catch the dripping juices on my parched tongue.  I conjure them and watch them rustle around me like a memory of a language long forsaken.  I feel the rush of love, the surge of grief, the respite of peace.. 

I am persistent in all the highs and lows of life and even though the page remains empty I write. I pocket every sound and smell, every motion, every pause that has been dormant till this moment. I let it enliven my senses.  I give myself to the seductive, never ceasing invitation of these waves and let the spell enfold me and make my soul wander into the close sensuous embrace of the sea. There is no story board inside me. Thoughts flow free. Sometimes, like a glint on a piece of glass, something illuminates, Le Mot Juste, and flows to the tips of my fingers, there is a quiver of understanding from the word to the brain to the heart and in that moment of transcendence words shed their printed bodies on the paper making it pulsate with life.

They may mean nothing to you or maybe everything but to me they bring on the much needed catharsis. They help me expand my horizons inwardly.

 You never lose by loving, you lose by holding back. So I write. I flow. My creative intelligence creates; recreates and transforms all that is not perfect though the twenty six letters. Words are stronger as they come together to Purge, purify, and expunge the unwanted just as the waves do.

 Usually all rivers flow to the sea but this river flows from the sea, turning the salt to sweetness as it journeys to the source.

You.

Against all odds.

I turn you into stories, verses and let the images emerge in accordance to my dreams making me whole and perfect and in the process the negative flows out leaving nothing but the sweetness of love. The key to healing is allowing so I get out of the way and trust the recovery. Letting the vibrations flow from the words that sooth me into being whole. What we write we become, is what I am learning so I write of hope, faith, trust and love. Releasing the block, releasing the doubt. Allowing the impulse to write rather than force it, molding the clay (words in this case) for the purpose of talking myself into vibrational alignment of what I want rather than dwell on what’s not or imagine what won’t be or wasn’t there.

Today is the day of gratitude. I am grateful to you for stepping into my world. For allowing me into yours. For the words you fed me morsel by morsel and helped me nourish my mind, body and soul. Expectation is the combination of desire with belief and I am thankful to you for showing me that. It has helped me write a new story. I am using this block and solitude to bury the historian in me and become a story teller so that the future doesn’t become like the past. The past is over and done with. No more beating this drum. I start afresh. I have lived enough to know what I want and to know what I don’t want. You didn’t know who you were and that taught me who I am. Thank you for that and for giving me greater strength, independence and clarity. There will be and are a million things that will take me back to what it was but thanks to you I will remind myself to see all the benefits that came out of those hurts and aches silences among other things. I promise that my happiness in an inside job so I won’t hold you responsible for how I feel or ask you to change in any way to make me happy. So, thank you for helping me discover a stronger than ever desire. Thank you for loving me, for all the said and unsaid words and for all the pauses.

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