Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Almeida Garrett- Quando Eu Sonhava

I thought stone was the reason I ended up in Portugal- I adore sculpture. But, It seems Portuguese poetry could have been there waiting in the wings....

Quando Eu Sonhava

Quando eu sonhava, era assim
Que nos meus sonhos a via;
E era assim que me fugia,
Apenas eu despertava,
Essa imagem fugidia
Que nunca pude alcançar.
Agora, que estou desperto,
Agora a vejo fixar...
Para quê? - Quando era vaga,
Uma ideia, um pensamento,
Um raio de estrela incerto
No imenso firmamento,
Uma quimera, um vão sonho,
Eu sonhava - mas vivia:
Prazer não sabia o que era,
Mas dor, não na conhecia ...

Almeida Garrett, in 'Folhas Caídas' 

Friday, December 25, 2015

The Most Beautiful Poetry Ever Written?

I have been searching for something that comes close to Fernando Pessoa- Thankfully, I found it- But Fernando Pessoa still has a truth within his dreams that makes his poetry identifiable with in a way that often does not afford romanticism- raw realism, this is who I am! Someone once told me that half the world's poems should never have been published, in all honesty, it is the rare gem that stands out from the crowd- and I agree many of the the rest are not necessary.

http://www.thehypertexts.com/The%20Most%20Beautiful%20Poems%20in%20the%20English%20Language.htm





Saturday, December 19, 2015

Where Do All The Words Go?

If you say something to someone and they do not listen-
Where do all the words go?

What happens to words that are never said?
Do they rot somewhere?
Or flourish in a distant meadow
Waiting to be spoken?

What happens when no words can be found at all?
Are they rotting somewhere, too?
Or flourishing,
Waiting for the right conversation?

Or are they just
Not there?

Oh, oh, oh.
What shall I give up?
Speaking,
Or listening?

Para onde vão todas as palavras?
Se falo a alguém que não escuta
Para onde é que as palavras vão?

O que acontece com as palavras que nunca disse ?
Será que elas desaparecem nalgum lugar?
 Ou florescem num prado distante
À espera de serem ouvidas?

O que acontece quando não encontramos os palavras?
Também elas despareceram em algum lugar?
Ou floresceram,
Esperam que possam ser ouvidas?

Ou são apenas
Não está lá?

Oh oh oh.
Devo desistir?
Falar,
Ou ouvir ?

(Gerry Aldridge)

Ha poemas sem palavras que sao peças de arte.

Não tenho palavras para uma amizade assim,
E este poema fica uma página em branco -
Uma peça de arte.
E lá dentro,
Tem mais um poema ..
(Gerry Aldridge)


Os Lusiadas- Luis De Camões. For poetry fans this will be an ongoing post...

I am into the epic now- Os Lusiados, reading a little blind but trying to feel the rhythm and words- do NOT want to read in English.
11
Ouvi, que não vereis com vãs façanhas,
Fantásticas, fingidas, mentirosas,
Louvar os vossos, como nas estranhas
Musas, de engrandecer-se desejosas:
As verdadeiras vossas são tamanhas,
Que excedem as sonhadas, fabulosas;
Que excedem Rodamonte, e o vão Rugeiro,
E Orlando, inda que fora verdadeiro,

22
Estava o Padre ali sublime e dino,
Que vibra os feros raios de Vulcano,
Num assento de estrelas cristalino,
Com gesto alto, severo e soberano.
Do rosto respirava um ar divino,
Que divino tornara um corpo humano;
Com uma coroa e ceptro rutilante,
De outra pedra mais clara que diamante
(first printed in 1572 Luis De Camões)

The Coronation

The Coronation.

Weightless stars drop silently like petals
From a distant place way up far beyond the night sky.
Winter flowers blossom and fly away
Landing like moths on the night, turning to petals, and rain.
To shower you in love over and over again on this majestic day.

Distant orchestras come together in a cyclonic, deafening crescendo
Commanded by maestros flailing wands from the peaks of the highest mountains.
Roll great drums! Make music for my Queen violins and cellos!
Ring through valleys and across deserts
Sweep up all the world’s musicians along the way!

Fireworks ignite the darkness with day.
Rainbows burst, more stars, come petals
Saturate you in light.
And shower you with my love on this,
The day of your Coronation.

Great Gods have come to celebrate
Smiling down they send their angels
To drench your glowing torso in rose petals
And kiss you gently as they settle,
While my tied hands give you a fond caress.

Every creature in the universe has attended the grandest ceremony in time.
Each gleefully holding a single rose petal
To weave into your hair.

My bound arms reach across continents carried like breath on the wind
To deliver you my heart.
Close your fist and make a wish
What would your soul like to find inside?

True loves lay sleeping snuggled together on the bed of the universe.
Calm is the Queen
With her single red rose.

...................................................................................................................

Sun rises and all the petals have transformed into snow.
Still soft, still comforting.
But with an eerie emptiness of a dream that has yet to be told.
Joy is frozen in our hearts
For Love eternal was denied the throne this time.

Remember my sweet darling
You are now my Queen of Roses.
And in a palace somewhere,
As far away as near
I am your King.
(Gerry Aldridge)

But, how can you unknow something you never really knew?

Ah! To unknow the sun
Exploding into molten gold
As it dances upon your hair.
Unknow your perfume
That lingers forever in the air.
Unknow the orchestra
Playing relentlessly in my heart.
Unknow your smile, your laugh and the funny things you do
All the infectious parts of you.

Ah! To unknow the touch we nearly had
And the joy we imagined
Would fill our innocent lies one day.
Unknow the dream
And change it back into a mere thought
that was never afforded an existence
Except in the rantings of a /fu:l/

Ah! Ah! To unknow the fear of losing you
Unknow the futility of wanting to hold you near.
But, how can you unknow
Something you never really knew?
Or feel dessimated by the loss
Of something that was never yours?

Oh! The fact of not knowing you
Became the only part of me I remember.
I remember knowing it would never be,
I think you also knew, didn't you?

Oh! Oh! I realise we cannot go back
And unknow what we have seen
And been and become.

We cannot chip away
At the sculpture, which is our life.
Cannot take out the bits
We do not want to be anymore-
It is too late.

I am with you
And you with me
In this dream
For eternity.
(Gerry Aldridge)


Friday, December 18, 2015

If you want to make a writer happy, give them a notebook.

All writers know what a joy and satisfaction it is to pick up all the pieces of your mind that have been scattered across the house for months, and finally put them in a safe place. Feeling very happy. :)
I also came across poems I had written up to thirty years ago, some from the nineties, talking about different places, different people...A perfect writer's day!
Here is a small selection:
Waves of joy crashing over my heart
White horses galloping through me.
My love spills onto the shore
With each new wave I adore you more and more.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Does nothing have to be nothing?
Nothing is even less than nothing-
It is the void between life and death.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Sing for a love
I cannot pursue
Sing for an imaginary
Something kind of life with you.

I am more green
Than you need me to be
A true friend would be strong
A true love would be blue.

Blue, green
Whatever they mean.
I am a human kaleidoscope
A rainbow of good and bad
Sometimes weak, more often strong.

You say you are an emerald
Full of hope
For something you know
We probably won't.

I say I can be blue
And will do the right thing
But instead all I do
Is sing, sing sing, sing, sing, sing, sing....!
(Gerry Aldridge)

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

What's it all about?

'I do not want to inspire people to be me, I want to inspire them to become who I would like to be.'
(Gerry Aldridge)

Há poemas sem palavras que são peças de arte.

'Words only confuse the conversation when there is nothing to be said.'
Há poemas sem palavras que são peças de arte.
Poesie d'amore - Francesco Petrarca Sonetto LVISONETTO LVI Io amai sempre, ed amo forte ancora, E son per amar più di giorno in giorno, Quel dolce loco ove piangendo torno Spesse fïate quando Amor m’accora; E son fermo d’amare il tempo e l’ora Ch’ogni vil cura mi levàr d’intorno; E più colei lo cui bel viso adorno Di ben far co’ suoi esempi m’innamora. Ma chi pensò veder mai tutti insieme Per assalirmi ’l cor or quindi or quinci Questi dolci nemici ch’i’ tanto amo? Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci! E, se non ch’al desio cresce la speme, I’ cadrei morto ove più viver bramo. (Francesco Petrarca)

Friday, December 11, 2015

Volcano

This is a google translation- correctons welcome x


'Estou sempre no borda de explodindo de alegria e tristeza- Alegria é o que acontece, e a tristeza é o que eu tenho a necessidade de criar ."

'I am always on the edge of bursting with joy and sorrow- Joy is the one that happens, and sorrow is the one I have a need to create.'

(Gerry Aldridge)

Are you only sentimental because you think too much?

'I am always on the edge of bursting with joy and sorrow- Joy is the one that happens, and sorrow is the one I have a need to create.'

(Gerry Aldridge) :) :) :) :)

Tenho Tanto Sentimento

Tenho tanto sentimento
Que é frequente persuadir-me
De que sou sentimental,
Mas reconheço, ao medir-me,
Que tudo isso é pensamento,
Que não senti afinal.

Temos, todos que vivemos,
Uma vida que é vivida
E outra vida que é pensada,
E a única vida que temos
É essa que é dividida
Entre a verdadeira e a errada.

Qual porém é a verdadeira
E qual errada, ninguém
Nos saberá explicar;
E vivemos de maneira
Que a vida que a gente tem
É a que tem que pensar.

Fernando Pessoa, in "Cancioneiro"  :) :)

the real YOU.

In the space you create, while working alone building thoughts with your hands, happens a grand conversation, eventually a connection and then a form of meditation, which brings you back to the real YOU.

Blah blah, how many interpretations of one's own explanation of one's own creativity can there be? Never enough I hope :) I love letting go.

Esta Gente / Essa Gente

O que é preciso é gente 
gente com dente 
gente que tenha dente 
que mostre o dente 
Gente que não seja decente 
nem docente 
nem docemente 
nem delicodocemente 
Gente com mente 
com sã mente 
que sinta que não mente 
que sinta o dente são e a mente 
Gente que enterre o dente 
que fira de unha e dente 
e mostre o dente potente 
ao prepotente 
O que é preciso é gente 
que atire fora com essa gente 
Essa gente dominada por essa gente 
não sente como a gente 
não quer 
ser dominada por gente 
NENHUMA! 
A gente 
só é dominada por essa gente 
quando não sabe que é gente 
Ana Hatherly, in "Um Calculador de Improbabilidades"  :)

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Remember Florbela Espanca December 8, 1894-December 8, 1930

December 8, 1894
Vila Viçosa, Portugal-December 8, 1930
Matosinhos, Portugal
Amiga
Deixa-me ser a tua amiga, Amor,
A tua amiga só, já que não queres
Que pelo teu amor seja a melhor
A mais triste de todas as mulheres.
Que só, de ti, me venha magoa e dor
O que me importa a mim? O que quiseres
É sempre um sonho bom! Seja o que for,
Bendito sejas tu por mo dizeres!
Beijá-me as mãos, Amor, devagarinho...
Como se os dois nascessemos irmãos,
Aves cantando, ao sol, no mesmo ninho...
Beija-mas bem!... Que fantasia louca
Guardar assim, fechados, nestas mãos,
Os beijos que sonhei pra minha boca!
(Florbela Espanca)

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Love and Life.

I am no sheep
There are no bars.
No rules. No expectations.
It is what it is.
(Gerry Aldridge)
Dorme, que a Vida é Nada!
Dorme, que a vida é nada!
Dorme, que tudo é vão!
Se alguém achou a estrada,
Achou-a em confusão,
Com a alma enganada.

Não há lugar nem dia
Para quem quer achar,
Nem paz nem alegria
Para quem, por amar,
Em quem ama confia.

Melhor entre onde os ramos
Tecem docéis sem ser
Ficar como ficamos,
Sem pensar nem querer,
Dando o que nunca damos.

Fernando Pessoa, in "Cancioneiro" 

I See You Everywhere.

I see you everywhere.
Around every corner,
Up every stair
You are there.

I catch a glimpse
Of your hand, your hips, a swaying skirt,
Or a leg, a shoe that belongs to you.
Only to have it snatched from sight.

Was it her?
Was I right?

A familiar gest spotted in a milling crowd
A split second recognition of something I know
So unique it can only be you.

Is my mind going round in circles?
A scratched record of a fleeting second
Recalling a moment
And playing it over and over again in my head
For my eyes to dream of and see.

The next time we meet
I´ll ask- Was it you?
But then again, perhaps I won´t.
There is no need to.


(Gerry Aldridge)

I Love The Sun.

Luz do sol, luz da razão
(Resposta à poesia de João de Deus, Luz da fé)
Tu, sol, é que me alegras!
A mim e ao mundo. A mim...
Que eu não sou mais que o mundo,
Nem mais que o céu sem fim...
Nem fecho os olhos baços
Só porque os fere a luz...
Ergo-os acima - e embora
Cegue, recebo-a a flux!
Crepúsculos são sonhos...
E sonhos é morrer...
Sonhar é para a noite:
Mas, para o dia, ver!
Sim, ver com os olhos ambos,
Com ambos devassar
Os astros n’essa altura,
E os deuses sobre o altar!
Ver onde os pés firmamos,
E erguemos nossas mãos!
E quer nos montes altos,
Quer nos terrenos chãos,
É sempre amiga a terra
E é sempre bom viver,
Se a terra à luz da aurora
E a vida ao amor se erguer!
Em toda a parte as ondas
D’esse infinito mar,
Por mais que andemos longe,
Nos podem embalar!
Em toda a parte o peito
Sente brotar a flux,
E sempre e à farta, a vida...
Vida - calor e luz!
Nos seixos d’essas praias,
Se o sol lá lhes bater,
N’um átomo de areia,
Deus pode aparecer!
Bata-lhe o sol de chapa,
E um deus se vê também
No pó, tornado um astro
Como esses que o céu tem!
Desprezos para a terra?!
Também a terra é céu!
Também no céu a impele
O amor que a suspendeu...
E quem lá d’esse espaço
Brilhar ao longe a vir
Dirá que é paraíso
E um éden a sorrir!
Em baixo! O que é em baixo?
Em baixo estar que tem?
Ninguém à eterna sombra
Nos condenou! ninguém!
Se até nos surdos antros,
Nas covas dos chacais,
Penetra o sol, vestindo-os
Com raios triunfais
Se ao céu até se viram
As bocas dos vulcões...
E têm os próprios cegos
Um céu... nos corações!
Não! não há céu e inferno:
Divino é quanto é!
Para que a rocha brilhe,
Basta que o sol lhe dê...
Basta que o sol lhe beije
As chagas que ela tem,
E a morta d’essa altura,
A lua, é sol também!
E as trevas da nossa alma,
A nossa cerração,
Oh! como se desbarata
A aurora da razão!
Mas se a razão, surgindo,
Nossa alma esclareceu,
Também tu, sol, no espaço
Surges, razão do céu...
Por isso é que me alegras,
Ó luz, o coração!
Por isso vos estimo...
Tu, sol, e tu, razão!
1865.

Friday, December 4, 2015

Ode to Creation

'I hate feeling more intelligent than people I admire- I lose respect and beat myself up for being so arrogant, sorry, I meant brilliant.'
(Gerry Aldridge)

This is my best analogy, so far, of coping with the Past - LOVE.

My wife asked me if I was capable of forgiving people who had abused me, or done me wrong. The question stemmed from watching the News and seeing the victims of violence and terrorism. For me the word Forgive is like the word Deserve- they have no definition in my dictionary, they are meaningless. It is not about forgiveness, blame or deserve it is about how much space they take up in your head.
At age 16: 0%--------------------------------------------------------------------------------99.9%
At age 20: 0%----------------------------------------------------------------75%
At age 30: 0%---------------------30%
At age 40: 0%-----------------------------------------------------------------------------90%
At age 42: 0%------------------------------------------50%
At age 44: 0%---------------------25%
At age 49: 0%--2%

That is my experience of overcoming the past. It is ridiculous to say that you are not affected by the environment you come from- every living thing on the planet is!
This is my best explanation, so far, of coping with the Past - LOVE.



You are the emerald in the green

I wonder what she wore.
The dress I saw?
I was, am, and always will be
Left wanting.
(Gerry Aldridge)


Wednesday, December 2, 2015

The Industrial Evolution.

The Industrial Evolution.
I want the rain to wash away the grime
From this filthy living corpse.
It's dross filled pores
And a life cloaked in rust ridden slime.

Dumped grot covers me.
Exhaled from the mephitic breath
Of a thousand septic chimneys refusing to fast.
Spewing out smut
Drowning all us luckless souls in muck.

The inevitable residue of greed
Deposited by those with no belief in the End of time.

A planet of zombies
Wading through a mire of death.
Only waiting for the time
They reach the END.

(Gerry Aldridge)

Sunday, November 29, 2015

The Bar At The End Of The Earth- 3rd peek.

From behind the barren, bleak bar came a voice.

"You´ve found her, haven't you?"

Slurring, and dizzy from thinking about not thinking about not sleeping. Hating the thief, who is no longer a robber, but a kidnapper- Damning him,

"Found who?" He feigned an innocence lost some time before.

"Her."

(Gerry Aldridge-The Bar At The End Of The Earth-)





Sun and Snow

A NEVE PÔS uma toalha calada sobre tudo.
Não se sente senão o que se passa dentro de casa.
Embrulho-me num cobertor e não penso sequer em pensar.
Sinto um gozo de animal e vagamente penso,
E adormeço sem menos utilidade que todas as ações do mundo.
Alberto Caeiro, in "Poemas Inconjuntos"
thanks for foto kely
'Sun rises and all the petals have transformed into snow.
Still soft, still comforting.
But with an eerie emptiness
Of a dream that has yet to be told.' 
(Gerry Aldridge- The Coronation.)

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Friday, November 27, 2015

Idealists- Aren't we all ?

You follow your Ideals
And I'll follow my Ideas,
Then at least something will happen.
(Gerry Aldridge)
Inspired by Álvaro de Campos - (Fernando Pessoa)

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Heart´s Desire.

If you clenched your fist
And made a wish,
What would you hope to find inside?
(Gerry Aldridge)

Live life to the /fu:l/

Live life to the /fu:l/
Everything that happens to us,
All we experience and feel.

Is a part of what is and are to become.
Refute any of it and deprive the universe of you.
Live life to the /fu:l/.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Friday, November 20, 2015

Is a memory more real than a dream?

Is a memory more real than a dream?
Because it has been
Something you have not yet seen.
J'aime le souvenir de ces époques nues
J'aime le souvenir de ces époques nues,
Dont Phoebus se plaisait à dorer les statues.
Alors l'homme et la femme en leur agilité
Jouissaient sans mensonge et sans anxiété,
Et, le ciel amoureux leur caressant l'échine,
Exerçaient la santé de leur noble machine.
Cybèle alors, fertile en produits généreux,
Ne trouvait point ses fils un poids trop onéreux,
Mais, louve au coeur gonflé de tendresses communes
Abreuvait l'univers à ses tétines brunes.
L'homme, élégant, robuste et fort, avait le droit
D'être fier des beautés qui le nommaient leur roi;
Fruits purs de tout outrage et vierges de gerçures,
Dont la chair lisse et ferme appelait les morsures!
Le Poète aujourd'hui, quand il veut concevoir
Ces natives grandeurs, aux lieux où se font voir
La nudité de l'homme et celle de la femme,
Sent un froid ténébreux envelopper son âme
Devant ce noir tableau plein d'épouvantement.
Ô monstruosités pleurant leur vêtement!
Ô ridicules troncs! torses dignes des masques!
Ô pauvres corps tordus, maigres, ventrus ou flasques,
Que le dieu de l'Utile, implacable et serein,
Enfants, emmaillota dans ses langes d'airain!
Et vous, femmes, hélas! pâles comme des cierges,
Que ronge et que nourrit la débauche, et vous, vierges,
Du vice maternel traînant l'hérédité
Et toutes les hideurs de la fécondité!
Nous avons, il est vrai, nations corrompues,
Aux peuples anciens des beautés inconnues:
Des visages rongés par les chancres du coeur,
Et comme qui dirait des beautés de langueur;
Mais ces inventions de nos muses tardives
N'empêcheront jamais les races maladives
De rendre à la jeunesse un hommage profond,
— À la sainte jeunesse, à l'air simple, au doux front,
À l'oeil limpide et clair ainsi qu'une eau courante,
Et qui va répandant sur tout, insouciante
Comme l'azur du ciel, les oiseaux et les fleurs,
Ses parfums, ses chansons et ses douces chaleurs!
— Charles Baudelaire




Thursday, November 19, 2015

The Man Who Never Was- Essays on Fernando Pessoa

As I travel through my Fernando Pessoa journey I become more and more intrigued. He is timeless, spaceless and indefinable, although of course everyone is trying to define him. Why is it that people who love poetry and the arts in many forms always feel the need to label it and slot it somewhere? So that they can feel better about what they think they know?
It is an interesting book, but for me it was more about helping me understand the Portuguese versions translated hopefully well into English. It has helped me make sense of a lot of things I thought I had read, but perhaps hadn't.
Ode Maritima- Is a wistful longing for childhhood, which develops into an acceptance that it is the past- I do not agree it is lost because memories keep everything alive.

Quem somos? Uma verdade - é só isso que eu sei.

What are we? A truth- that is all I know.

(Gerry Aldridge)


Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Portuguese autumn sunshine spreads Joy

Joy.

Joy can be a moment,
A period of time,
Or even a permanent state.
It depends on how much of your heart you follow.

I wonder if I followed all my dreams,
How many hearts I would break.
And if I listened to my heart,
How many dreams would I take?

(Gerry Aldridge)

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Louis Aragon

Les oiseaux déguisés


Tous ceux qui parlent des merveilles
Leurs fables cachent des sanglots
Et les couleurs de leur oreille
Toujours à des plaintes pareilles
Donnent leurs larmes pour de l'eau

Le peintre assis devant sa toile
A-t-il jamais peint ce qu'il voit
Ce qu'il voit son histoire voile
Et ses ténèbres sont étoiles
Comme chanter change la voix

Ses secrets partout qu'il expose
Ce sont des oiseaux déguisés
Son regard embellit les choses
Et les gens prennent pour des roses
La douleur dont il est brisé

Ma vie au loin mon étrangère
Ce que je fus je l'ai quitté
Et les teintes d'aimer changèrent
Comme roussit dans les fougères
Le songe d'une nuit d'été

Automne automne long automne
Comme le cri du vitrier
De rue en rue et je chantonne
Un air dont lentement s'étonne
Celui qui ne sait plus prier
Louis Aragon


Saturday, November 14, 2015

Second excerpt- The Bar At The End of The Earth

It laughs from the shadows behind the bar at the end of the Earth.

“Your pain is attestation you are still alive. Without pain there is nothing you fear to lose and nothing you will ever really love."

“Is that so?” The man cries into the empty glass hoping only poison will drip from his putrid corpse, so that he may indeed drink himself - to death at last. He raises his glass again.

It sighs.

“Alas, you have truly lost your way. Death does not await you here.”

Weak from his will to die,
The man raises a hand to cover an eye.
Here sunlight still finds me. Go away!
Am I doomed to live
Another mephitic day?

The Bar At The End Of the Earth- Gerry Aldridge

Poetry, Amizade e Amor para sempre.

To be lucky enough to not only discover poetry, but to actually feel you have become it, or it a part of you, is one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever had - And I never want it to stop.

Hearts on sleeves I say.
The stiff upper lip wreaks havoc.

Hide what you feel,
Deny what is real.

Hearts on sleeves I say.

Paris et le monde unis X




Friday, November 13, 2015

The Bar At The End Of The Earth- A work in progress

The Bar At The End Of The Earth- an excerpt

Still the faceless, formless shape of something behind the bar serves nothing to the man.

 “You need not always chase a dream so far, sometimes you need to let it come to you. It is not death I will pour you today. You still love your dream. Cherish it. Carry it around everywhere- it is proof you are alive.”

The stranger huffs indignantly.

“My dream has gone. I’ve already told you. My heart is broken, it just won’t stop beating. I shouldn’t be alive. Give me a double of death, make sure the job gets done. I implore you.” 

The stranger holds up his glass defiantly.

“My dear Sir, hearts won’t stop if they still have more to do. And dreams do not get lost, they are always there just waiting to be found.”

“I am sure mine doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did at all.”

Something I am working on- inspired by O Marinheiro by Fernando Pessoa.

Friday, November 6, 2015

The Thief Of My Night

Since I found Poetry my nights have been short. Worse than writing, it is more honest, nothing to hide behind- I love it. However, there is a thief in the night that steals my precious sleep and forces me to think about Poetry- I even reached that creative pinnacle of total exhaustion and have been left spent for weeks- thinking about Poetry. 
This was half dream and half hallucination from 6 weeks of letting go-

The Thief
The thief stole more of my night.
I let go as we rode side-saddle on unicorns,
Fearlessly through the kingdom of God.

Heaven reached down and embraced us
As we danced with angels together
In the lush gardens of paradise.

The thief leaves more than he takes.
Robbed of the waste of sleep, yet left with a precious dream,
From which I will never awake.

Gerry Aldridge
- I am an artist experimenting with poetry-
Inspiration for this was Arthur Rimbaud

Saturday, October 31, 2015

An Artist's Dream- The Intangible IT

The intangible IT
Is what you can imagine beyond these utterances.
You have to hear IT,
Rather than mere words that cannot do justice to a feeling.

I am the epitome of vocabularic seduction
Capable of inciting an emotional revolution.
The elusive IT
I am here to humbly try and deliver it.
(Gerry Aldridge 2015)





Friday, October 30, 2015

Experimenting with words and my new passion- Poetry.

I have actually discovered a poet I identify with- Fernando Pessoa- the guy would have been a total hippy, had you stuck him in the 80's- Post punk England , traveller chill, in search of spiritual sth- Johnathon Livingstone Seagull and Vera Stanley Alder were my guides.

The Party .

What do you do? (What a lame question my eyes scream.)
Are you an artist?
I don't call myself anything
Other people do.

So you need a definition of me,
So you can put me and slot me.
Or does it feel safer to know,
Who you think I am?

(Gerry Aldridge 2015)


Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The Creative Impulse.

For all of my exhibitions, I have had poetry and song included- Now that I have discovered Fernando Pessoa- me, who never had the guts to seriously write poetic verses that create cathartic moments for fear of being weak, the next exhibition will be a tribute to Fernando Pessoa and the freedom he has given me.
People say I do too many things.
But there is so much to do.
Never get good at one thing, if you have your fingers in many pies.
But, the seduction of creativity is that it is spontaneous, takes control.
Take me over.

Hora Absurda.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Drunk. Full.

Drunk. Full. /fu:l/.
Not a single drop of wine
Has passed these lips of mine.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Sunday, October 11, 2015

We don't only cry when we are sad.

We don't only cry when we are sad- it doesn't only rain when things are bad x

Friday, October 9, 2015

Why Does God Look After ME?

Do we really have to believe in God for it to work? That is what they tell us and I always hated them for that- but what if it is true?
Well, do not get too comfortable- If this is so, then that signifies that God is not a friend, but a source of energy to be tapped into- rather cruel considering that if you do not find your way you are stuffed. If God is just energy, there is no essence and therefore it is nothing more than a tool.
Not knocking it, hell of a powerful tool, if we learn how to weild it- I think religion is blanketing the true potential of what we can be- Gerry Aldridge.

Friday, October 2, 2015

When music becomes you.

I have discovered a musician that has moved me.
When music beats in time with your heart, you know it has reached your soul- it happened to me x
https://soundcloud.com/user-596214713/return-to-lisboa

Ladies Slipper- One of the rarest orchids in the world and the first flower I ever drew.




Tuesday, September 22, 2015

FREE 25TH,26TH AND 27TH SEPTEMBER 2015- I Don't Believe God Wrote The Bible- Finalist Best Indie Book Award 2015

I Don't Believe God Wrote The Bible- 3rd place non-fiction category 2015.
Dear, Mr. Aldridge: Although you did not win the award, we wanted you to know that your book I Don’t Believe God Wrote The Bible placed third in the Non-Fiction category of the Best Indie Book Award Contest for 2015. You did well placing the reader in the scene, and dialogue was strong. Overall, good job. We appreciate you entering our contest and wish you continued success. --  Staff, Best Indie Book Awards
Relax and take a wild jaunt around France and Italy on a voyage of indulgence and self-discovery.
My book will be FREE 25TH, 26TH AND 27TH SEPTEMBER ON AMAZON WORLDWIDE.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SCJ9KRU
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dont-Believe-Wrote-Bible-Life-eb…/…/