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