Initially devised with two parts (I – Lethimos Camerata and II – Moratorium), I’ve decided to make Moratorium the first part of Canto III, as not to over-saturate this already emotionally-heavy composition.
This one, although deserving of a better construction, was very hard to compose, hence the time it took to execute; What may seem simple at first sight, as in, a victim of sexual abuse in Greeces old customs of pederasty claiming his own control over such enacted violence (a storyline I had constructed long-ago, as to inter-connect with many other elements of the story), also holds a necessary and integral part of my own life. How may we cope with what was forcefully taken from us? Well, I do not know, I’m still in a path of surviving myself; but I do know I must validate my own pain, and feel it in its most tangible form — a mass replacing that which has been taken. For too long, Lethimos refused to feel, lest he feel the pain which composed him; I, too, ran for too long; I, perhaps not as tragically as Lethimos, must also claim what lays still, rather than exalt what has been taken. I do not know to which level this may apply to you, my dearest reader, but know this: I will not bestow upon you any ill-thoughts or pity, but instead, dare to listen, for our pains, are those which we alone know best.
I love you all, you who reads me, and not lightly, but as sincerely as I can. I still haul much pain, but having that pain translate to beauty in your eyes, is a solace only a firm hug can equal.
Thank you, so much.
“noise, peace” took a lot of my poetic energy to write, and I’m still slightly on cooldown. These times also great to compose, because they allow me to produce humble and simpler compositions that are just as necessary as others of higher complexity.
Heavily inspired by Chinese music and partiture, this specific composition is only special in the fact that it isn’t special. I quite like that.
Disclaimer: “The Moon Sets Over a Desolate Castle” is a traditional chinese melody.
Author’s Note: the division of the composition is only aesthetically deliberate, the two parts do not have autonomy in either order or independence.
Recently, I came across the endlessly talented Tadzio and his blog of English translations of Italian poems. A little apprehensive at first, I decided to give a shot of my own at translating some of my most adored portuguese compositions.
Florbela is the poet I credit with my interest in composing, so it would be fair to say that any verse of mine you might have liked, is due to her incredible humility and fine-crafted lyricism. Very devalued in life, she now stands as the most important female poet of the portuguese poetic pantheon, one whose influence reaches far and wide within our culture.
And its portuguese, original version:
Disclaimer: I’m not a professional or academic of this subject, this translation is merely an attempt at a very arduous and respected Art, that of translating poetry, and I have no intentions of devaluing it with my impish attempts.
Second Disclaimer: I did severely alter the verse that mentions “saudade”. There is a common myth that saudade is an exclusive word of Portuguese, and there is another common myth debunking the former, stating that “longing” and “missing” are direct translations. Neither are correct, there are translations of saudade, and also imports, as Catalan shares the same word (thus making it not exclusive), and other languages have direct translations. English is not one of them. Missing or longing do not mean saudade.
I could not recommend more that you visit The Container and be delighted with Tad’s brilliant translations.
I’m including numbered lines in case anyone wants to comment on a verse without having to copy it, since these are images. I’ve never realised until now how hard I was making it for you. That aside, this is another one of those decompressing compositions, but I quite like this one, it makes sense to me.
I’ve been editing part three of the monad series, it’s a lot of stuff, it’s taking me a while. In the meantime, I’ll leave this failed sonnet here. I couldn’t make it work for me, but perhaps you can see some beauty in it.
Ando um tanto entristecido, de modo que as minhas composições são um pouco mais clichê e lamechas. Mas gosto delas do mesmo jeito.
Maybe one of my most thought out compositions, this one is mostly surreal, in the style of the elder french poets. It drawns purely from existentialism and it can be somewhat complicated to unravel, so if you have any questions, just pop em up.
(Disregard the graphic elements, I was trying these out on paper and then tried to replicate them here)
The bulk of my poetry isn’t found in this blog, but in my longer stylised compositions containing the array of symbology and my core ultra-romantic elements. Avenues in France is one of such, perhaps the first of it’s kind published here, and part of my series of monadic poems subdivided in various structures.
Tell me if you like these types of heavy poetry, I may publish more (I was planning on publishing surrealism poetry next, like Yangtze or Gran Java)
I was talking to my dear sister early yesterday about how I’m always single, things never seem to quite work. Then I saw a documentary about wolves, and voilá, we have a poem.
If anyone ever wondered about my process, there doesn’t seem to really be one, I just take things and write them down, almost like notes, except they rhyme.
A bit of an abandoned project, I had hopes of transforming a portuguese poem I had into an English form without translation. Due to structure constrains, I wasn’t able to fully converse it, it was supposed to have eight more stanzas (to match the portuguese version with 20 stanzas).
Turns out the English language is generally more laconic, and you can convey more using less, in turn breaking the general spine of the poem. This is what was left, hopefully someone can look at it and see something worthwhile.