Fiction love
Fiction love
I made you into meanings
you did not have
and in the makings of these meanings
I got to know you so well
Where then did I get this exquisite 9th sense of you?
Where did I get my clues?
The clinging evidence is never clear.
When did you slip in
un-announced
in the messages from beneath the dreams
between the lines
inside the hollows of very old trees?
When I wrote this, in English, so many years ago, I was in a deep state of love for the muse, this other, impossible imagined stranger.
A mother answered me instead, that she loved the words and that they reminded her deeply of her love for her teenage son.
Now I read it again and I find openings in search for new images to insert as comment, side by side with the words…
Love is not ever what it seems… My immersion in it remains the same, though, and I am learning... that the qualities and levels expand, the words not always.
In the later version, in Brazilian Portuguese, I find a tenderness missing from the original English.
“Even when arriving, carefully, so quietly and slowly, revealed in notes between the lines, the rusty messages of hidden dreams?”
“Quando mesmo na chegada
de mansinho
assim tão calado devagarinho
revelado dentre as linhas
nos recados enrustidos de sonhos
escondidos
nas cavernas de arvores tão antigas?”
And so, gratefully, my newer versions of knowing are no longer exactly like the older ones…
A poet once said (to me) that if you are writing poetry about love and need to mention the word, well, do not write it, change the subject.
I tend to agree with the poet, most times.
In this day of summer
objects fluctuate, dance, and sometimes even dissolve into a smile, split seconds of infinite fireflies, in the dark of the night.
Imaginário
No imaginar te inventei
de um no fazer fiz outro
e do tanto que teci
te soube tão bem
De quando mesmo meu nono sentido de ti?
De onde a fresta?
O pegajoso das respostas não quer contar
Quando mesmo na chegada
de mansinho
assim tão calado devagarinho
revelado dentre as linhas
nos recados enrustidos de sonhos
escondidos
nas cavernas de arvores tão antigas?