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June 2016
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yorukamome [userpic]
Sindbad's pièce

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...for once, the contrary: after my moving, lots of forgotten things and objects are jumping
off the folders they were for so a longtime sheltered in...so, this TROUVAILLE is a text I
happened to write years ago, on my beloved oldest typewriter - and I like it, and I thought a
good idea to ask my poets/writers friends to read and give their opinion BEFORE I write it as
my new-to-come folio...no more unuseful words, here you are - please let me know (I need to
add that I've just translated it into my poor english, and the PERSONALIZATION of the Town
the Sea the Lamp and so on are wanted, not mistakes...as well as this funny selfportrait is
a smallest piece of parchment paper, 8.07 x 15.03 cms, dating back about that same time
I wrote the "ridiculous" pièce)...thank you in advance:


"all love letters are ridiculous:
they wouldn’t be letters of love,
if they weren’t ridiculous"

(Fernando Pessoa)

--- §---

night, the end of february, dense of unthought thoughts…beautiful night, no more full winter, no more all that cold - night feeling lightsky Easters and lightblue Springs to come, night still wrinkleing up in the cold shivers of an icywhite Christmas - beautiful night, dense of too strong thoughts, too nice too dense to allow the peaceful rhythms of a sleep - my window wide open is not enough for me, it will be a night of doors gone beyond, of a blood too alive, it is the night calling me out there…
…my town has a waterfront of trees, great platans and ancient sea pines, and the mischievous palms rustle their endless rough song - all the lights are turned off, I walk and the scirocco wind persists to slap my face, whips of hair to the eyelids…the moon plays swinging matches of long obscurities and sudden lights with big heavy clouds shred in blackblue rags, a silvery hide-and-seek in thousand drops, impertinent shining corianders sprayed on roofs belltowers far crests of hills…
… it will rain, and soon. those big dense heavy drops, down to cover cars balconies benches with that thin, yellowish sand yet changed to a dirty dry mud…that scroogy violent arid water who has already refused herself to the desert, some little far south of where I am. the only surviving light swings frantic, up there on the east hill where my father was born - he too will see it, from the opposite west hill where he’s buried - my alone, weak, desperate nighttime companion, an old light bulb with its paleyellow staggering far halo…just “her” and I, the town has disappeared from my senses, ”her” and I alone in this air pregnant with storm that quivers and pushes to drive us away…
…”she” swings stronger and stronger, and falls, and shatters, I can hear from down here the light, smothered, quasiapologizing burst…I endure, I won't go away - I step down to the roaring sea, I walk barefoot on the sticky smooth icy pebbles, I walk into the water dense of dense heavy foams, I get wet to the knee, and without other forms than the absentness, the nightness, the dampness I walk on - this water is warm instead, oily big slow waves, my beard greases with their salt, I inhale pungent nicotine and electric iodine…
…my SeaTown seems to have kept waiting till now, up to THIS night, to call me, to squeeze out from Her winterwithered breast this sweetish madness, this tale of myself honeysweetened with memoirs and silences and tears’ salt…here, my child, I have given birth to thee, in that whiteblue house that I lean out on the sea, here I have dipped thee in that same sea, and I have forgotten to cut the cord – you’re still tied to me by the navel, I’m still nourishing thee with sournesses and roughnesses and colours…I am your sap, you are my seed to regenerate me, your daughter is the new flower of my next goldpearl dawn…
…and it is now, it is here, that the vortex of my unthought thoughts changes its form and movement, slowly organizes itself in a rainbow spiral, in a windmill of light, a multicoloured multidivided concentric target, a golden mosaic selfrecomposing out of ruins - now, here, everything is tied up and fused through the insurmountable perfume of the young stubborn fresias, every vase at every balcony is filled with them…here and now, I breath deep, and it is myself what I breath, in the inexpressible scent of a restless new world, tired of winter numbnesses, of misty silences -
- here, now, my mind, my brown eyes finally see, by only one last stroke they hit the heartcenter of this dense night, the perfect center of this chaotic target...here, I lost her. I mean - no... it is only here, where I know I haven’t got her with me anymore, it is only now, when I finally realise the void at my side - here, now, I finally understand the distance and the grief and the absence, NOW and HERE I collect, I convert everything into sorrow, into memory, in a tango’s nostalgia…
...what will I do what shall I do what can I do, I couldn’t believe perfume and sorrow to get to such hurting, to become equally dense terrible intense, the fresias penetrate me from my wet nostrils to the arid breast, to my heart made of dry stone, God – no matter what Thy Name I pray Thee, let her too be so sleepless that she can hear this night and my mute voice, let her be back…
…allow this desperate soul-torn Ulysses find his rout, help this sailor Sindbad to be back from his endless adventure - the splendid ship of my life is no more than a floating wreckage…this Robinson is tired to be a shipwrecked castaway.


Just stupendous! Brilliant! Joys and sorrows in an endless tango.

I am going to delete my earlier response. I don't want to ruin it with my words.


oh c'mon, wick...you're teasing me - your words are always Words!

BELLISSIMO, mio caro amico!!!

grazie...spero sia per il testo!


Matchmaker me

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I'm going to tell my one unmarried sister about YOU. She's never been married. She is biu ddi ful, talented, also plays the piano, and paints and has a Master's degree in Physics. Hmm...perfect match accept she does not smoke. hehehe

Re: Matchmaker me

nice gal, wick, but UGH!...hard to live with me, poor sistah!
wonder how she matches with you smokey one....hee hee hee!



Trust your intuition on this one, and do it


oops, that was me, I forgot to sign in.....Yes, trust your intuition.....

(no subject) - (Anonymous)   Expand  
God, you are indeed a great thinker!

"all love letters are ridiculous:
they wouldn’t be letters of love,
if they weren’t ridiculous"
(Fernando Pessoa)

--- §---

I so ADORE these sentiments! How true!

Re: God, you are indeed a great thinker!

yes, I too am in real love with this sentence
since the very first time I read it...!

(no subject) - (Anonymous)

...how did you know I like Ginsberg - and FAR more than him
the good ol' Jack Kerouac, one of my writing myths when I was
younger?...together with the UNIQUE Steinbeck, they have been
building me up for years and years...I can remember every single
sentence, every passage of every book they wrote - and I have them
all!, just gifted my whole collection of Jack's to daughter (but
one, I kept for me "the dharma bums") and I will NEVER even lend
one single page of John!...too too kind of you, claudia: like
wicapis, you put poor me in SUCH A LIST - hyperembarrassing, NE!

It has all the feeling of pent-up energy right before a storm, and then there is the hallucinatory quality of your thoughts, right before you come face to face with your loneliness and your loss of someone--someone who separated from you or was taken from you?

Yes, the piece gives a very strong sense of your mind interacting with all the world around you, with the town, with the weather, with the electricity in the air--and then all of that coming to one focused point at the end. It's fevered and frenetic and restless, and then at the end, there's a big feeling of sadness and loss.

thanks, dear...too good words, as always - I'm glad
anyway to see how this old forgotten page still can
give sensations and create some (although very strange
and totally personal) HARMONY in my readers' mind and
moods...the Person separated from me, but after those
crazy chess moves of an ironic destiny - oh well, it's
life paths, ne?, and after all my aim was not to call
back to my heart such a mémoire...I want to add (allow
me to, not any unkindness) that the main feeling I can
remember of that (absolutely REAL) night is not frantic,
but sorrowfully "calm and silent"...thanks indeed again!

wow, excellent, deep, wonderfully expressive, beautiful images of soul !

and your illustration is the same.....rich, colorful, nice composition.

i love...."a silvery hide and seek", "impertinent shining corianders", " vortex of my unthought thoughts", "windmill of light" , "golden mosaic selfrecomposing out of ruins".

are you going to hand letter all of this on one piece? what size?

ooooh, you're back at last!, we were concerning
about you - sorry no time enough for some correct
reply, I'm at work on a horrid computer, it takes
me hours to see my typing...later, dear, hugs!

before I was reading something, I had composed a ku about this picture (with replacing that object in the hand):

standing at
I paint on my wall
the window

then, reading, I was recreating in my memories a story written by me in 1991... before those events I wrote about.
you can have a glance into a machine translation of it in English here - enjoy as I did with yours.

оригинал по-русски

ciao, diev, welcome back!...I like very much the ku, as well as
the "mental image" of OPENING A CONSCIOUSNESS WINDOW through a
mute wall closed to the light, so thanks for that "hommage à":
I will check and read your work as soon as I have some more time
to STOP enough and do it in the correct mind attitude...I'm sure
I will enjoy!

I have read it, dear Kamome-sama, and time has noticeably slowed down. It is an existential piece of writing, and reading it gives the same feeling.

ciao, val..."time has noticeably slowed down" ? nice
and very pleasant com(pli)ment, NE! as you can read
some replies above, I was just saying something like

great poem

from deep sea
coming up my soul
sweet and bitter.

Inspired by your poem, I made a short poem.
I became as if I were standing on the hill beside
Amrufi's sea.

thank you, kamone san for your beautiful poem.


Re: great poem

thanks for sharing, sakuo sensei...I love so much
your third line, that SWEET AND BITTER - as I said,
the special attitude to synthesize makes your few
Words deeper and LOTS clearer than my too long
and chatty piece...I need to learn more and more
and better practice FUDOSHIN in my life, ne!

uoff!...and finally I have read it: It's a very existential writing, and reading it gives me a strange feeling... I love the stream-of-consciousness narrative style, by the way. And your painting is well done as usual.


bene...considero sinceramente un complimento
(dal mio punto di vista di "scrittore anomalo")
lo "strange feeling"...credo sia esattamente
quel che volevo risvegliare nel mio lettore:
grazie - soprattutto per la faticaccia di
leggerlo tutto intero... ;D

Dear kamome, pray do not think i've been neglecting you, but the bambino consumes all my attention and energy. I didn't want to read this in haste in order to write a brush-off reply.

As always with good poetry - and i consider this poetry - it's hard for me to say why i like it. To me, it smells of wet stones and flowers so tender and intense in the cold air, and it's black at first and then it gets grey before the dawn. I used to love those black nights fading into the grey; I felt alive and alone in the strange empty world, and there was time to think of nights gone...

This piece reminded me of Lawrencce Durrell whom i love, not because it's really like his writing but it gives me the same feeling. The painting is too beautiful though.

ciao, mushi-san...thanks for coming and taking your ease
and time to read: too good words for a small thing - and,
you know, while reading your comment lots of reply Words
came to my mind...but I chose to only say one thing that
I know you will perfectly understand:
OF SEASHORE STONES...am I rightly interpretating your mind?

i finally got a few moments together to come over here and catch up! i love the pictures of your new place and this is very beautiful. the english is fine and eloquent i would say.

i really like the end. all the best.

WOW! già è un piacere raro averti qui...ma poi leggere un tale
complimentONE al mio misero inglese è davvero troppo, BLUSH BLUSH!
jokes apart...sono contento che ti piaccia - e sto ancora aspettando
che tu e Mr. Lucky-dalle-magliette-con-il suo-buon-odore (muahahah!)
vi decidiate a passare qui - magari anche solo per un mezzo weekend
e un pranzo insieme...perciò DATEVE 'NA MOSSA, AHO'!

(no subject) - (Anonymous)

merci, chérie...dommage que tu n'aie pas lu, mais il faut admettre
que la traduction n'était pas un petit travail, cette fois-là! ben,
peut-être je vais la faire quand même, un de ces jours: j'aimerais
beaucoup lire ton commentaire concernant ce coup de folie littéraire...