I want to write about Rome, in fact I’ve started on the entry already, but I had to stop since I need to change my iCloud (I still share it with V and he’s told me he sees all my pics) and I have no idea how. Nor did I feel like going to town only to fix that, either. Haha! The thing is that when I have lots to do, I get to run a lot of errands, too, but when I have a “day off”, I can’t be bothered to go to town only to run errands. I kind of hate taking public transportation and going to crowded places if I don’t have to. Especially if Sam is with me, he’s my alibi. 😉
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Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved poetry. I won’t pretend to be an erudite, ’cause I’d go out for ice-cream over reading as soon as somebody called, but in my solitary moments, as well as in times of grief and despair, I’ve always resorted to poetry.
Last Sunday we went to the movies and saw Jim Jarmusch’ Paterson. I absolutely loved it, I couldn’t recommend it more! And this is how I discovered William Carlos Williams, a modernist Puerto Rican-American poet. And while reading his poems that touched me to the bone, I stumbled upon another great poet- Jillian Weise. I love her colloquial style and wanted to share one of her love poems with you.
Beside You on Main Street
We were stepping out of a reading
in October, the first cold night,
and we were following this couple,
were they at the reading? and because
we were lost, I called out to them,
“Are you going to the after party?”
The woman laughed and said no
and the man kept walking, and she
was holding his hand like I hold yours,
though not exactly, she did not
need him for balance. Then what
got into me? I said, “How long
have you been married?” and she said
“Almost 30 years” and because
we were walking in public, no secret,
tell everyone now it’s official,
I said, “How’s marriage?” The man
kept walking. The woman said,
“It gets better but then it gets different.”
The man kept walking.
I lie awake next to you
And I can feel your warm breath
On my arm.
It draws a pattern on my skin
And feels like love.
I lie awake next to you
Waiting for you to open your eyes
And see me.
February 2016, Oslo
Poetry eludes me again,
Between sick, busy and in love
There´s little time to ponder.
I want to write about good stuff, too
But I don´t know how
It´s like I´m more private with happiness
Than I am with sorrow,
People are usually the other way around.
I read somewhere once that happiness
Is boring to write about
Because we´re all happy in the same way
Whereas unhappiness is individual-
That´s where the real beauty lies.
I don´t know about you
But I´ll take happy any day
I´ll smile from ear to ear
Just because I can
And if that makes me silly
So be it,
I caught my own eye in a window
The other day:
I haven´t been so beautiful in ages.
Happiness is coffee in bed,
A kiss from your samoyed
And the sun winking at you
From the other side of the window.
Happiness is a rainy day
When you can stay tucked away
From the world
And read a love story.
We all seem to have
Our understanding of happines
And yet it eludes us most of the time-
Chasing for dreams
Bigger than we can carry
Or letting ourselves be sucked dry
By the dementors of the past.
Let go of me, darling
Let go of my soul,
Like I let go of yours,
So we can be happy again.
To all of you who meant so little
I wish I could take myself back
And I don’t mean the flesh-
‘Cause flesh is ours to be given-
I mean the soul, its wonder-spark
That burns out
For every heartless kiss.
My feet are crippled with blisters,
Blisters full of pus
From all the running I’ve done,
The running around in circles
Thinking that it would skrink the distance
Between two bodies so compatible
And yet so lacking in knowledge,
Knowledge about human connection-
And how it doesn’t happen through touch,
However tender or fiery,
But through looking into each other’s soul.
It´s refreshing to be back in Bucharest, where most of my family and friends live, I let myself be dragged into its moist grip, I venture in it like in the arms of a lover.
As I do it, I´m trying to get a grasp of myself in the mirrors of the city. I sometimes catch a glimpse of my old self, familiar gestures go through me with the violence of an ambush. I go to the same places and although they smell the same, they bring me in a slight state of faint.
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