Salsa on Impermanence (Hector Lavoe)

A contemplation on impermanence by 

the Puerto Rican master of salsa, Héctor Lavoe (1946-1993).

Todo tiene su final, 

Everything comes to its end.

Nada dura para siempre, 

Nothing lasts forever

Tenemos realizar que no existe eternidad

We must realize that eternity does not exist

Como el lindo clavel solo quiso florecer,

Like the beautiful carnation that only wanted to flourish,

Enseñarnos su belleza y marchito perecer,

Showed us its beauty and then wilted and perished,

Como el campeon mundial dio su vida por llegar

y perder lo mas querido en las masas otro mas

Like the world champion who gave his life to win 

and when he loses, the masses love another one.

Shared originally on Buddhist Travellers in 2011.

Rupa & The April Fishes

Born to Indian parents in California, raised in the US, India & southern France, and leading a double life as musician & doctor, singer/guitarist/composer Rupa Marya and her “polyglot band of musical renegades” concoct an enchanting mix of French nouvelle vague, rousing Latin grooves, Gypsy swing, and dreamy Indian ragas. And to top it all, I just love their intelligent lyrics.

Une Americaine à Paris (An American Woman in Paris)

Guy in the Background: 

there are not really differences, I think they are social constructions, we have all the same motivations, the same desires and it's a story of connecting...

a story of speaking, of changing ideas and realizing... 

that seems to me the most important thing, and tomorrow morning, you will be smiling

Main Lyrics:
after some days in silence
I did not say a word
and then I met you here in paris
sitting next to me in a bar
you just came from Algiers
and I from San Francisco
the world is crazy between us
you asked
aren't you afraid to be an American woman in Paris 

with all these angry Arabs
I said no, I'm not American
you are not Arab and we are not in Paris
the world is crazy between us
what do you think of this?
what do you think of all these stories?
these stories, these stories make us crazy

you wanted to take your photo with me
I said no thank you, no photo
I prefer life
I'm not American
you're not Arab and we are not in Paris
we are in life
the world is crazy between us

what do you think, what do you think, what do you think  

what do you think of all this

what do you think of all these stories?
these stories, these stories make us crazy

Trouble

well i've had a fine fine time
but now the moon and its strange light
have put a question on the table
and i know you know what i mean
i can see it in your eyes as they catch upon
something in me
oh that thing is trouble
oh trouble, yeah trouble, beautiful trouble
why don't you stay
i think that you should go
woah, woah
now don't you think that i don't find
everything about you so divine
but just one more moment here and
i'll be through
it's not your fault
and it's not mine
it's the moon and the sweet light
she brings tonight
oh my love, can't you see
she brings trouble
oh trouble, yeah trouble, beautiful trouble
the more i try to explain
the less i know
woah, woah, oh
(Instrumental)
well, it takes 1 to know one
and it takes 2 to tango
and it takes just a count to 3 to fall
out of time out of time
and the ground starts to dissolve
oh my love can't you see
i'm in trouble
oh trouble, yeah trouble, beautiful trouble
the more i try to explain
the less i know
yeah trouble, yeah trouble, sweet sweet trouble
where do i go i don't know
where do i go
woah, woah

Plus Que Moi (More than me)

Oh ma pauvre tete (oh my poor head)
peut pas comprendre toutes ces choses (can't understand all these things)
esclave de mes pensées betes (slave of my stupid thoughts)
enfermée par les histoires que je compose (enclosed by the stories that I write)
chaque matin, chaque soir (every morning, every evening)
poursuivie par l'idée qu'll faut que je m'explique (pursued by the idea that I must explain myself)
et j'essaie avec des histoires mais (and I try with these stories but)
quoi que je dise je ne dis rien (whatever I might say, I say nothing)
et quoi que je sache je ne sais rien (and whatever I might know, I know nothing)

Donc je les lance dans le fleuve (Therefore, I throw them into the river)
toutes ces histoires qui m'énervent (all these stories that annoy me)
et vois celles qui flottent ou s'enfoncent (and watch which ones float or sink)
parce que le fleuve est plus sage que moi (because the river is wiser than I am)

Et aussi mon estomac (And also my stomach)
devient entortillé autour de mes idées (become entwined around my ideas)
essayant de faire les choses plus nettes (trying to make things clearer)
je trouve que je les fais plus melées (I find that I make them more complicated)

Chaque matin, chaque soir (Every morning, every evening)
je me demande c'est quoi la verité (I ask myself what the truth is)
et j'essaye avec des histoires mais (and I try with these stories but)
quoi que je dise ce n'est pas ca (whatever I might say, it's not that)
c'est pas à moi de raconter ce que l'on ne peut pas (it's not up to me to tell what I cannot)

Donc je les jette dans le ciel (Therefore I throw them into the sky)
moi pieds sur terre tenant le bout de la ficelle (me, feet on the ground, holding the end of the kite)
et vois celles qui tombent ou s'envolent (and I watch which ones fall or fly away)
parce que le ciel est plus honnete que moi (because the sky is more honest than me)

Et quoi que je dise je ne dis rein (And whatever I might say, I say nothing)
et quoi que je sache je ne sais rien (and whatever I might know, I know nothing)
je les raconte a la lune (I tell them to the moon)
ici toute seule, toute la nuit (here, all alone, all night)
et apprends d'elle de la folie (and I learn from her of madness)
parce que la lune sourit plus que moi (because the moon smiles more than me)

Yaad (Memory)

 

Gracias a La Vida

A little poem in Spanish, subconsciously inspired by the famous song:

Gracias a la vida
Que no dura solo un día
Gracias al anochecer
Que nos enseña
Gracias a la alegría
Del amanecer
Y para la sonrisa
Del baile creer.

—okei

Translation:

Thanks to life

That does not last just one day

Thanks to the dusk

That teaches us

Thanks to the joy

Of the dawn

And for the smile

To believe in the dance.

 

Video: Gracias A La Vida by Mercedes Sosa. Words by Violeta Parra.

Two Poems by Lorca

Philosopher Will Buckingham plays classical guitar, accompanied by two poems of Federico García Lorca in translation and a selection of Bulgarian art. The video was taken at the Bulgarian Cultural Institute, 15th Feb. 2013. at a book reading of 'Descent of the Lyre'. More information here.

"Arbolé, Arbolé seco y verdé" literally means "Tree, tree dry and green" but it is almost impossible to translate capturing both the rhyming sound of it, and the opposition between "dry" and "green". So it is best left in Spanish.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pym3t1YZikA

 Arbolé, Arbolé... (original)

Arbolé, Arbolé
Seco y verdé.

The girl with the beautiful face
Is gathering olives
The wind, prince of towers
takes her by the waist.

Four horsemen pass by
on Andalusian ponies
with suits of azure and green
and long flowing robes.
"Come to Cordoba, young dear"
The girl does not hear.

Three young bullfighters pass by,
Slender about their waists
with suits of orange
and swords of ancient silver.
"Come to Sevilla, young dear"
The girl does not hear.

When the evening draws on,
In purple dusk diffusing,
a young man passes by carrying
roses and myrtles of moonlight.
"Come to Granada, young dear"
But the girl does not hear.

The girl with the beautiful face
still goes on gathering olives
with the grey arm of the wind
encircling her waist.

Arbolé! Arbolé!
Seco y verde.


Captive (original)

Through the indecisive
branches
went a maiden
who was life.
Through the indecisive
branches.
With a tiny mirror,
she reflected the day
which was aglow
upon her clear forehead.
Through the indecisive
branches.
Upon night's shadows,
lost, she wandered,
weeping dew,
for time held captive.
Through the indecisive
branches.

Desiderata of Max Ehrmann & The Art of Marie Stillman

Art of the female Pre-Raphaelite painter Marie Euphrosyne Spartali Stillman (1844-1927). The year she died is also the year Max Ehrmann wrote his most famous poem 'Desiderata', read here in the background. The music is the gypsy beat of 'Mahalageasca' by Mahala Rai Banda.

 

 
Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Ko Un: Poetry is water, but poetry is also wine!

Suffering, inebriation, sorrow, melancholy, transience, profound peace, celebration: the Korean poet Ko Un is almost 80. Suicidal in his early years, suffering tuberculosis, personal loss, insomnia, beatings at the hands of the police, for a decade he was a Buddhist monk, then imprisoned several times in solitary confinement for his political activism, few could be more prolific — in the relative calm that followed in Ko Un's turbulent life, he wrote over eighty books in fifteen years. The first translation of his work published in the UK, 'First Person Sorrowful' (2012) has just come out this week. The translations are by Brother Anthony of Taizé who was born in Cornwall, but has lived in South Korea since 1980.

Places I wanted to Go (2002)

Thirty years ago
I had places I wanted to go.
I was everywhere on a map
of a scale of 1,000,000 : 1.
Twenty years ago
I had places I really wanted to go.
The blue sky that kept returning to me through the bars of my cell window
was my road.

Thus far I have managed to plod here and there.

But I have set a few places aside.
After I have quit this world
the places I want to go
will keep on waiting for someone to come.

I had places I wanted to go.
When flowers fell,
when flowers fell in the evening,
I straightened up,
closed my eyes.


Sunshine (1984)

I really don’t know what to do.
Let me swallow my spit,
and my unhappiness, too.
An honoured visitor is coming
to my tiny cell with its north-facing window.
It’s not the chief making his rounds,
but a gleam of sunlight for a moment late in the afternoon, 
a gleam no bigger than a square of folded pasteboard.
I go crazy; it’s first love.
I hold out the palm of my hand,
warm the toes of my shy, bared feet.
Then as I prostrate myself on the floor
and bask my gaunt, unreligious face,
in that scrap of sunlight, all too fleeting it slips away.
When the visitor has receded beyond the iron bars,
the room becomes several times colder and darker.
This special cell in a military prison is a photographer's darkroom. 
Without sunlight I laughed like an idiot.
One day it was a coffin.
One day it was altogether the sea.
Amazing! A few have survived here.

Being alive is itself being at sea without a single sail in sight.


Little Songs (2002)

Today
may be a trivial day,
it's the day someone's being born,
someone's leaving,
someone's waiting.

Today too, the glow of the setting sun is glorious.


~*~

Scarlet rhododendrons are in blossom.
The crape myrtle trees beyond have no thought of blossoming.

So everything in this world has its own way of living.
Glad of that,
I wander on.

 

—Ko Un (trans. Brother Anthony of Taizé)
from 'First Person Sorrowful' (2012)

Shakira — No

In the final few seconds she stands above the water (like the archetypal Fool at the edge of the unknown) but unlike in "Whenever, Wherever" in which she jumps into the abyss, this time she smiles and turns away. The "No" extends to encompass even the "No" itself! Brilliant!

Shakira 
— No lyrics in collaboration with Gustavo Cerati)

No, no intentes disculparte 
(No, don't try to excuse yourself) 

No juegues a insistir 
(Don't play at insisting) 
 
Las excusas ya existían antes de ti 

(The excuses were already there before you) 


 
 
No, no me mires como antes 
(No, don't look at me like before,) 
 
No hables en plural  
(Don't talk in the plural) 

La retórica es tu arma más letal 
 
(Rhetoric is your most lethal weapon)  

Voy a pedirte que no vuelvas más 
(
I am going to ask you never to return) 

Siento que me dueles todavía aquí  
(
I feel that that you still hurt me here)  
Adentro (Inside) 
 
Y que a tu edad sepas bien lo que es
(And that at your age you know well what it is
) 

Romperle el corazón a alguien así 

(To break the heart of someone else like this) 
 

No se puede vivir con tanto veneno,  
(One cannot live with so much passion) 
 
La esperanza que me da tu amor  
(
The hope your love gives me)  
No me la dio más nadie 
 
(No one gave me more ever)  
Te juro, no miento 
(I swear, I do not lie) 
 

No se puede morir con tanto veneno 
(One cannot live with so much passion) 
 
No se puede dedicar el alma 
(
One cannot devote one's soul) 

A acumular intentos 
(
Attempting again and again) 

Pesa más la rabia que el cemento  
(Anger weighs heavier than cement

)
 

 
Espero que no esperes que te espere 
(I hope you don't expect that I'll wait for you) 
 
Después de mis 26 

(After turning twenty-six)  
La paciencia se me ha ido hasta los pies  
(Patience has sunk down to my feet)
 
Y voy deshojando margaritas 

(And I go plucking daisy petals)  
Y mirando sin mirar 

(And wondering without looking)  
Para ver si así, te irritas y te vas 
(
To see if you get irritated and leave)


Live Performance:

Ideas for an English version.

No, don't tell me reasons why
Don't try to insist
Your reasons, weren't they just another lie?

No, don't look at me that way
Don't say how I'm missed
Your words are just a lethal game you play.

I'm going to ask you never to return
I still feel how you hurt me here inside
In my heart
And at your age, you know well what it is
To break the heart of someone else like this.

No, no-one can live with so much passion
The hope that your love gave me
No-one else gave me before
I swear, I do not lie.

No, no-one can die with so much passion
No-one can devote their soul
Trying again and again
Anger weighs down like coal.

I hope you don't expect I'll wait for you.
Since turning twenty-six
Patience has sunk down to my toes
So here I am counting daisy petals
Wondering without looking
To see if you'll get fed up now and go.

Lhasa de Sela — El Desierto

Lhasa de Sela (1972-2010)
— El Desierto (The Desert)


He venido al desierto para rear de tu amor  
(I've come to the desert to laugh at your love)
Que el desierto es más tierno y la espina besa mejor 
(As the desert's more tender and the thorn kisses better.)
He venido a ese centro de la nada pa' gritar
(I've come to this middle of nowhere to shout)
Que tú nunca mereciste lo que tanto quise dar
(That you never deserved what I wanted to give so badly.)

He venido yo corriendo, olvidándome de ti
(I've come running, trying to forget you)
Dame un beso pajarillo, y no te asustes colibrí
(Give me a kiss little bird, don't get frightened humming bird)
He venido encendida al desierto pa' quemar
(I've come on fire to the desert to burn)
Porque el alma prende fuego cuando deja de amar
(Because the soul is set alight when it stops loving)

 

Lhasa explains her father's philosophy about growth and breaking free, which inspired her song "soon this space will be too small".  

Each time we reclaim our freedom and break through the barriers that enclose our world, we come into a new and bigger world and face new barriers and circumstances. new dangers, new choices and new freedoms to be re-claimed. Just as the baby in the womb must think, "this is it!" at birth, so we think at death. But is it? Or are we too smart for our own good.

Arjuna said: A very beautiful & a very wise person. Loved the song, your translation, and her thoughts on growth.

Eden said: I think she is beautiful as well, so sad to hear she has died. I too loved the song, the words and the story of her father's idea. I've added these to my favorites. Thank you for introducing her to us.

Kathy said: To return with such a memorable tribute is so very good of you to share, Okei. You are among a few friends who stole some time away recently, and it is nice to have you return. Hope your visit with your family was a pleasant one. ~ Blessings!

Lin said: ((okie)) Wonderful to see you again. "Soon this space will be too small" Thank you !!!

Tamara said: (((*okei*))) thank you

okei said:  Thanks all! I would like to continue the arc of thought of her father... it makes me think of Freedom. We are all enclosed by our world and circumstances in various ways. And we must find our freedom within this world, to reclaim that which is ours. And sometimes this means to break down barriers into a new and bigger world, but this involves facing more unpredictability, more dangers and more choices... with more freedoms, and yet we are still not truly free...

Indeed, she has a very distinctive face, perhaps because of her native American roots. They call her a Mexican/American/Canadian singer, but she was beyond those kinds of labels. (And she sang songs in Spanish, French and English.)

Excerpt from which the above interview was taken with selections of her music and music she liked:
http://www.cbc.ca/apropos/episode/2010/01/16/january-16-17-2010/ 

Cesária Évora & Marisa Monte — Mar Azul

 

Cesária Évora & Marisa Monte 

 — Mar Azul (The Azure Sea)

Nunca no zanga We've never quarreled
Nunca no tive um briga feia We’ve never had a serious argument
Nunca no pensa na separaçon We’ve never thought of parting
Nunca no fri nos coraçon Or wounded each other

Deus ta leva-no sempre assim May God always keep us this way
Na paz, amor e carinho In peace, love and affection

Na otra vida tem tempestade For life is made up of storms
Vento do norte, vento do sul North winds, south winds

Ma sperança di mar azul But the hope of the azure sea
É pa quem tem fé na sê amor. Bears up those who believe in their love.

Symbolism: East and West

Ingredients:

A collection of quotations, followed by a little video of the paintings of Marc Chagall (1887-1985) accompanied by Cerys Matthews, formerly of Catatonia, singing the Welsh song of unrequited love "Myfanwy".

Directions:

Jean Moreas ("Manifesto of Symbolism", 1886)
"To clothe the idea in perceptible form..."

François Cheng (Chinese Poetic Writing, 1977)
"The influence of a language conceived no longer as a denotative system that "describes" the world, but as a system of connections that provokes the act of signifying, is decisive here. Poetry, calligraphy, painting and myth form a semiotic network, both complex and unified, which cannot be compartmentalised. The three talents (san-tsai) of Man, Earth and Heaven participate in a relationship of both correspondence and complementarily. The role of man consists not only of "fitting out" the universe, but of interiorizing all things, recreating them so as to rediscover his own place within. In this process of "co-creation", the central element with regard to literature is the notion of wen. This term is found in many later combinations signing language, style, literature, civilisation, and so forth. Originally, it designated the footprints of animals, or the veins of wood and stone, the set of harmonious or rhythmic "strokes" by which nature signifies. It is in the image of these natural signs that the linguistic designs of calligraphy were created, and these are similarly called wen. The double nature of wen constitutes an authority through which man may come to understand the mystery of nature, and thereby his own nature. A masterpiece is that which restores the secret relationship between things, and the breath that animates them as well."

Odilon Redon "My drawings inspire, and are not to be defined. They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined."

Chung Hung (6th century) "The Breaths animate beings and things; these in their turn inspire man. Pushed by the impulsions and feelings which dwell within him, man expresses himself through dance and song. His song is a light which illuminates the three spirits (Man-Earth-Heaven) as well as the ten thousand creatures. Thus it makes an offering to the spirits, and makes manifest the hidden mystery. For unsettling Heaven and Earth, for moving the gods, nothing equals poetry." (The Chinese, like the Egyptians, have a myth of how the linguistic signs of writing were stolen from the gods, analogous to the Greek myth of Prometheus who stole fire.)

Goethe (from Prometheus)
"...Do you somehow imagine
That I should hate Life,
Flee to the desert,
Because not every
Flowering dream should bloom?
Here I sit, I form humans
After my own image;
A race, to be like me,
To sorrow, to weep,
To enjoy and delight itself,
And to heed you not -
Like I!"

Yen Yu (12th century) Man, Earth and Heaven correspond to human feelings, natural wonders and the language that is beyond language. "Among the great poets of the T'ang, the highest place is always given to the ineffable spirit. Like antelope horns which blend with tree branches in the forest, their verses are little preoccupied with observation or analysis. They possess a radiant transparency which can never be discerned. Sound which vibrates in the air, colour which shimmers like a mirage, the moon reflecting in the water, the face looking out of the mirror: such is the appearance of their poetry, a poetry of limited words, yet of meaning always extending Beyond."

Evelyn Pickering de Morgan "Art is eternal, but life is short…"

Ch'ing yuan Wei-hsin (8th century) "Before I had studied Zen for thirty years, I saw mountains as mountains, and waters as waters. When I arrived at a more intimate knowledge, I came to the point where I saw that mountains are not mountains, and waters are not waters. But now that I have got its very substance I am at rest. For it's just that I see mountains once again as mountains, and waters once again as waters."

Three World Poets in Translation

Ingredients:

This is a 3rd video recording I took from an excellent and free reading-of-world-poetry-in-translation event I went to yesterday. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mG9WUQysPD8

Directions:

Mbarka Mint al-Barra' (Mauritania)

Poetry and I

http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poems/292/Poetry_and_I

The sin is that I wasn't a stone

     And the troubles of the world make me sleepless

And I shield myself with poetry

     And it keeps me company when I'm far from home

And poetry is my satchel that I will always carry with me

     It holds the taste and fragrance of the earth

It holds thickets of prickly branches

     It holds palm fronds loaded with dates

It paints all the stories of love in my language

     Its colours form the spectrum from grape to dawn

And I said bring the most beautiful of stringed instruments

     So the universe may know how music flows

And play its soothing melody

     That brings justice to those who are in love

Letters burden this world of mine

     Trouble leeches ink from the quill

Trouble leeches ink from the quill

     When I read of the longing of lovers I burn

~*~

Reza Mohammadi (Afghanistan)

Drawing

http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poems/348/Drawing

There was a voice and it coursed

from a pair of parched lips,

drawing me out of my body.

The voice was despotic, uncurbed

as a horse dragging my soul

across rocks and up scree.

I don't know why the voice,

the maker, drew me as unroofed,

as a vagrant, a fool,

or why it split me in two

and then drew me from you,

sliding the earth in between us.

It sketched a door of death then

and depicted me nailed to the door -

but that wasn't enough so it rubbed us out

and started from the beginning,

drawing us in the likeness of doves,

caged in separate cages.

It wasn't enough

so it drew me with neither wings nor feathers

but it wasn't enough

so it dashed us to pieces

and drew me as your son, you as my father,

and a moment later I was a stone

and you were a star shining down on me,

making me into the most precious thing...

It wasn't enough.

It drew you as a desert and me as a breeze

on the long wander through you.

It wasn't enough. It erased us

and sketched me as a cup of tea,

full of good and full of evil,

and made you the sugar that sank in me

and got dissolved and finally we

were lifted up to a pair of parched lips

and drank

~*~

Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi (Mauritania)

Dream

http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poems/32/Dream

Poetry - may you be a green body.

May you be a language

in which I wander

with my wings and my self.

Be the inspiration of my tongue,

so that I may pasture

the tribes of my voice - though they are silent.

Sleepless

and alone, I see

you will not be

a green body.

You were neither

a good master, to be bought,

nor the muse.

My longed for delirium, my memory.

A Body

http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poems/255/A_Body

The body of a bird in your mouth

breathing songs.

Raw light spills from your eyes,

utterly naked. 

You must breach the horizon, once,

in order to wake up.

You must open window after window.

You must support the walls.

I let alphabets cling to me

as I climb the thread of language

between myself and the world.

I muster crowds in my mouth:

suspended between language and the world,

between the world and the alphabets.

I let my head

listen to the myth,

to all sides praising each other.

And I shout at the winds from the top of a mountain.

Why does my tongue tell me to climb this far?

What is the distance between my voice and my longing?

What is there?

A body transcending my body.

A body exiled by desire.

A body sheltered by the wind.