It’s a bit disheartening to go away for a few days hoping to find new ideas only to realise that you have already written poems that correspond to almost everything you see. Sadly, that was what happened to me this week. Then again, it gives me an excuse to re-visit some older pieces.
Category: travel
notes for a love story
In recent years, I’ve tended to do most of my reading while waiting in queues or while travelling. So far, I remain unconvinced by electronic ‘reading devices’, although having the complete works of Shakespeare on my phone does provide useful ‘comfort reading’ when waiting in the bank.
When flying, though, there’s altogether too much time when electronic devices have to be switched off; after all, if I can’t read during take off and landing, how am I supposed to distract myself? So I often read second-hand paperbacks that can simply be abandoned when finished.
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half found
First of all a picture of a spray of lilac. Because it’s April and it’s about time there were lilacs.
And now some talk of poetry. Because it’s April and even if I’m not managing a poem a day, I am trying to focus a bit more than I sometimes do.
I posted a ‘found poem’ in Spanish a few days ago (yesterday’s poem) along with an unsatisfactory translation into English. In fact the bus station notice about ‘security recommendations’ that the text was taken from used to be much longer and much more detailed. It had caught my attention in the past and I found an old copy of the complete version in my notebook.
This time I have taken more liberties with the ‘translation’, although none of the ideas in the poem are entirely mine: they all come from the Spanish original.
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yesterday’s poem
I was thinking about poetry yesterday, even if I didn’t manage to find time to write anything on the blog about it. Indeed, I found something very like a poem at the bus station in Madrid – far busier on the Monday before Easter than the quiet small-town bus station in the photo.
I’m not sure if the concept of ‘found poem’ exists in Spanish, but if it does, I think this must count as one (line breaks have been tweaked, but the wording is as found):
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high and dry
“Sácale una foto; te gusta hacer fotos de cosas muertas.”
Sometimes I think people – even my closest friends and family – have entirely the wrong idea about me.
We were walking along the shores of the Embalse de Valdecañas in Extremadura, looking for flat stones to skim when we came across the poor creature desiccated by the sun. I’m not sure I’ll ever write a poem that I can use the photo to illustrate, but I took it anyway. **
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don't confuse the narrator 