Brazilian writer and Multimedia Artist dancing on words as she travels the´three´corners of the world in a shakinspiring way, orbiting exorbitantly around her daily dearly deals in no hurry no worry through ordered ordeals. She also enjoys writing in third person.
Principe e princesa e diretor da realeza na passarela chilena: Prince and Princess and Hollywood director all here in Chile in less than a week. I just wrote a poem about a Francis Ford Coppola's movie and here he was, dear Francis in person, in Zapallar, a place I almost went last Sunday (a day before he arrived there). I decided for a more cultural entertainment and went to Santo Domingo instead to see a Mesolithic monument, "la Piedra del Sol" an heritage from the giants who lived in Patagonia, and mostly decimated by a cataclysm. As I am fascinated with history in general, especially when I can witness rocks that were once carved by ancient civilizations, I am dazzled to find so many fables. But all those stories were only able to survive throughout thousands of years by word of mouth. Hopefully that same force might protect them from the peril of an environmental destruction. Don't let me even start by saying that a Darwin frog only found in Chile and Argentina are an endangered species already.
While I typed my words on Bram Stocker's Dracula, "The Count", the movie director was here, so near, having lunch in Valparaiso, and touring around the Chilean winery "Casablanca" (nothing to do with the film, to be clear) which we passed on our way to San Antonio and with the name on the top of the mountain slightly resembling the Hollywood sign. And as I think about submitting my novel "The Royal Diary" there it comes the Royal Norwegian Couple to spend a day in Isla Negra, the place I went just last Sunday, and where the writer Pablo Neruda spent his last days. Besides his strange house, there he still lies, beside his wife, in a bedside (well, that phrase sounded accurate though quite odd). Actually there it lies a tomb with the couple, in a romantic view of the Pacific Ocean. Isn't that true that life is so much more impacting and exciting than any fiction? (A story that no television drama could surpass, or only a very skilled and imaginative writer's mind would ever be able to come up with: "Close Encounter of the First Kind") So let's open a bottle of a Chilean wine to celebrate life: Cheers!
Yesterday night was awesome! I went to a Mega Concert from the Serbian musician Goran Bregovic with the Santiago Orchestra and choral. Bregovic is an effervescent exciting soul who composed for many movies, including "Queen Margot" (with Isabelle Adjani at forty and lookin' beautiful as always) which he played along with the chorus. The beginning sounded a little like Carmina Burana, and that already rang me the bell, for how fond I am of this sound! And let me just ad(d) that his "Orchestra for Weddings and Funerals" band was exactly what Mr. Bregovic delivered to more than twenty-five thousand people. I danced along with the upbeat cords and flute sounds as if I were actually attending a great/Greek or Jewish wedding, but sometimes there were sad beats, but always in a folkloric harmonic and colourful symphony, a mixture from the gypsy and the east culture of Europe. The audience was composed from little children lying on the grass to young and older people, dancing as one. But what a surprise when I heard him almost in the end singing in Portuguese and it sounded like a fado, with a root word meaning FATE, usually a very sad song and quite popular in Portugal. All other people listened to the words without understanding. When I heard the words ausencia, carinho, solidao, "sozim" (alone), I knew what he was talking about. A wonderful diversity of being among so many people, a whole crowd of many different faces/phases and yet, understanding deep inside the meaning of it all, as he touched the core of our souls while playing the roots of all civilizations: that we are ALL-ONE!
GORAN BREGOVIC Ausencia Ausencia, ausencia Si asa um tivesse Pa voa na esse distancia Si um gazela um fosse Pa corrê sem nem um cansera
Anton ja na bo seio Um tava ba manchê E nunca mas ausencia Ta ser nôs lema
Ma sô na pensamento Um ta viajà sem medo Nha liberdade um tê'l E sô na nha sonho
Na nha sonho miéforte Um tem bô proteçäo Um tem sô bô carinho E bô sorriso
Ai solidäo tô'me Sima sol sozim na céu Sô ta brilhà ma ta cegà Na sê claräo Sem sabe pa onde lumia Pa ondê bai Ai solidäo é um sina
Ausencia, ausencia
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
Absence, absence...
If I got wings To fly at that distance If I was a gazelle To run without getting tired
Then, at your side I would see the daylight And "absence never again" It would be our lemma
But only in my thoughts I travel without fear I got my freedom Only in my dreams
In my deep dreams I have your protection I have your love And your smile
Oh, I’m feeling lonely Like the Sun alone in the sky The sunshine is blind Can’t see his clarity What he is illuminating Where he goes next Oh, solitude is my FATE...
Anna
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
Kane kouragio Anna, fight with time My Anna, with the different habits the different moves You had very good manners It was obvious that you were coming from another world But you were doing everything you could in order not to show it You didn't contemn poorness but it didn't attract you as well Everything in you was different Your room with the rare objects the letters, the gifts You bet that you had a better taste than mine! You were coming to find me My bed, your breast... Anna, little dirty lady And outside (down) the windows, a wet road the sound of the train, the nightfall And my room, Anna hanged in the air like an orange Kane kouragio Anna
Who knows where you are now who knows how you are doing Who knows where you are now. How you can do without having what you love and without loving what you have...
You know Anna, for the two of us, it was written (in the destiny) to meet What could others know? How could they know? My cutaneous little lover Do you remember? Millions of moments moments that become fewer and fewer as some foray them in front of our eyes, every day Hopelessly (!) I fight to keep them, hopelessly (! again) they trickle slow and they go towards the big sea So many years have passed I don't wear my student jacket any more and I can hardly get used to this well needled costume I don't condemn money but it doesn't attract me so much Agnus Dei, Yesterday
Tonight I will visit your first dream Don't get old Anna, don't get old Lie to your husband Rip the invitation, cancel the dinner Touch me, like that time, with your knee under the table Tonight, Anna In the best hotel Tonight In your first dream Kane kouragio Anna
Who knows where you are now who knows how you are doing Who knows where you are now. How you can do without having what you love and without loving what you have...
Don't get old Anna, don't get old because I won't have anybody and anything to keep me young I am alone, still insisting here although it has again started to rain as it always rains in the islands during October Remember? A sea made of lead and a sky of pines Remote, mixed voices The voice of the mother, of the friend, of the daughter, of the brother, of the lover of the siren of the ship White clothes, removed quickly just before the rain The light was lost with them A short walk still...there. Next to the sea And then...the end, the end Kane kouragio Anna
Who knows where you are now who knows how you are doing Who knows where you are now. How you can do without having what you love and without loving what you have...
Kane kouragio Anna... [Pou Na 'Sai Twra, Anna (Don't Give Up Anna) Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]
There are just many, many hidden (ridden and read on) reasons why do writers do the write thing. Isn't that so? Click on Why We Write (with a comment of mine:) and read a piece of Danny Rubin, writer of “Groundhog Day” at whywewriteseries.wordpress.com to view how many successful writers may cope with when they are not allowed to write. (Well, even when they cannot, they write). I remember each and every phrase of a good conversation, and if I do not have a pen and paper, at least I count on my own memory to Words Wide Wrap. I remember having read in some newspaper that if the educational system continued as it was, as people were reading books less and less, the world would be full of idiots who cannot even write their names. I recently read (not in the same news, but still a paper) that there is a Sci-Fi book written by a famous author (that I never read/heard) where only ignorant people would inhabit the planet, for the real intelligent ones wouldn't have children. Thank God neither one of those predictions seem exactly right. At least, the majority of people in this planet can read or write. And with the upcoming of the internet, more and more people are writing and reading. But prior to that all, quality and intention must be at the upfront. If there are poor information, most clearly they will generate poor educated people. If families, as a support system, didn't exist at all, more and more children would be left in their own devices, which in turn would be a shame for humanity. So, what really matters here? Is it just to write, or to write well, or what we write to our children? The same goes with television, cinema, theatre and all the media which make accessible information (including, especially, the internet): Good choices lead to better results. And by having a clear vision to make those choices we must share information, we must write our ideals, our experiences, our lives. I'm not a Imdb name holder, or am I on any internet "move" database nor am I a journalist (I gave up that dream when a man to whom I entered my inscription to the University told me I would add in the already big list of liars in the media) to discuss and make opinions (as I do not have any 'pinions neither am I-care(^l^)ess a peanut to think I can win one). But I recently heard (now at a TV News station) two journalists complaining about "opinionating blogs made by amateurs with no comments added" to their sharing. And I got to the conclusion, with a Confucian confusion in my head saying that Yes/No, we should write to be read, but most importantly with guts to read and hear our own selves (and now is my Socratic stomach speaking). And yes, this is a narcissistic activity, but what is not? Even when we are helping someone else, as much as it seems so altruistic, we are actually helping and thinking of ourselves, for that action comes from solely, only and lonely our own hearts, making it beneficial to our own personal growth, and if we are lucky enough may benefit others in our way to our epiphanies. And that's why I write.
San Juan de la Cruz, Patron of all poets, died in the night of December, 13/14, in a mystical place in the South of Spain. I spent my vacation last year in Andalusia and Portugal, where San Juan used to travel to apply his charity healings/hearings. In a very humid day, I went to visit his humble church there in Ubeda. I felt his presence in each corner of the building, and especially on the small table where he lied on his last days. As homage to this great Saint, whose works were influenced by Oriental philosophical concepts, I made a Novena in a Haiku alliteration/alteration of nine stanzas with nine words, each one of them made for each precedent day before the Christmas Eve (which is, beginning from today, in nine days). I hope you enjoy it as well. Have A Happy Holiday!
San Juan de la Cruz e-ternamente Ilumina sua luz.
Hi-Calls (a Cross tic)
Estrada praieira Gotas de chuva O sabor a sal
Beach city Electric rain assaults Taste like pepper salt.
Polluted city Utters state so critic Raindrops acid citric.
Evolved world Lack of words For human's ambitions.
Sky in graffiti Art for elite Tainted rainbow seat.
The oak tree Envelops a secret: A leaf falls.
Wind blows In the cold breeze Numb heart freezes.
White snow falls Attacking army. Red stains the scene.
Saint on the fountain. Embare Sea A church sees.
Ana C.
Note: Saint Anthony of Embare Basilic is a Gothic Church that contemplates the sea, and it's located in front of a sculpture of Saint Anthony in the center of a fountain. And Embare means "waters that heal" in Brazilian Indian language, and it's a beach located on my birthplace city of Santos (Saints) in Brazil where I will spend Christmas this year.
Don't let me even start by saying that a Darwin frog only found in Chile and Argentina are an endangered species already.
