Tradittore

cc licensed ( BY NC ND ) flickr photo by --Tico--: http://flickr.com/photos/tico_bassie/4120114329/

It's Day 16 in NaPoWriMo and our task today is to "translate" a poem written in a language we don't speak, using this site. I chose this beautiful poem by Elisa Biagini. I decided to retell it rather than translate it, but after reading the real translation I really feel like a traitor for doing this to it:


I think she loves him a lot.
I think they don’t speak the same language.
She translates his life
With the aid of feng shui.
She sings to him,
Her voice in harmony with his voice.
They don’t speak the same language,
But she writes his life with her body.
She summons the wind to clear the path he is taking,
But there is that bit about the water she used to wash the dishes 
That I don’t quite understand.
She reads his life to him, 
I believe,
In strange doorways.
As he passes by, she pulls him
Into the museum she created of his life.
Of their life.
Hers is an artist’s portfolio.
She is a collector of memorabilia,
Trying to capture the essence of him,
To keep it on the shelves of her museum,
To protect it.
The acid rains
That have been falling for years
Will not taint the silver of their past.

They Come at Night

cc licensed ( BY NC SA ) flickr photo by code poet: http://flickr.com/photos/alphageek/254391170/

NaPoWriMo Day 15 (halway there!). I used the PAD Challenge for Day 15 and wrote two poems, different in tone.


They come at night
Thousands of
Moths
Barely visible
They hide in our closets
While we sleep
Tearing the fabric
Leaving behind
Something that resembles
Our past
But is not quite like it.
A new day comes
And, embarrassed,
We look at each other.
The seams are not quite there
And the sun can be seen
Through the tears.

cc licensed ( BY NC SA ) flickr photo by +yooco+: http://flickr.com/photos/rutsu/3709434413/





They come at night, one by one,
Out of a secret drawer
She surrounds herself with
Sweet little stuffed animals
They are everywhere
And she knows that, once again,
Everything’s good
And she can be
The princess
In her own story.
Don’t tell anyone. 
They might think it is strange
For a woman her age
To have such a dirty secret.

The Nice Girl in Your Neighbourhood

cc licensed ( BY NC ND ) flickr photo by pullip_junk: http://flickr.com/photos/pullip_junk/7681283188/



I was made of clay
And I am as old as the Earth itself.
Nothing about me 
Is the way it seems.
My magic is powerful,
My clothes are lethal weapons,
My wings are invisible
And you’d better never get to know
My rage.
I can be sweet and modest
If that is required.
But don’t you ever
Lie to me
And, whatever you do,
Don't stick around
If I decide to take off
My bracelets.

My NaPoWriMo Day 14 poem.

Day 13 - In the Woods

cc licensed ( BY NC SA ) flickr photo by fatboyke (Luc): http://flickr.com/photos/fatboyke/2984569992/



It is a nice day.
Nothing spectacular,
But the sun is shining and
It is warm enough.
I leave the building,
Go past the shops,
The school and the open market,
Past the swimming pool, now padlocked,
And into the woods. 
It is different here,
Cool and dark
And I need my sweater again.
The trees know it is spring time,
Thought some of them 
Still have bare branches.
The ground is soft,
A little muddy,
Not too bad.
There are ferns by the path
And a red plastic bag.
A dog is wearing red too.
It is a sweater
And he must be hot. 
Maybe he is a she,
I don't know.
I try to record mentally 
Everything I see,
For I will have to write about it
Later.
Still, I lose track
Of the number of times 
I hear a bird singing.
I fail to notice
The green numbers on trees,
The swings
And the birdhouse, 
As I am weighing pros and cons
And pluses and minuses
And good sides and bad sides,
Thinking of a decision I will have to make,
Eventually,
One day,
Though maybe
I will never have to make that decision,
But it is better to be prepared,
Just in case.

My NaPoWriMo Day 13 poem

Day 12 - Cracks in the Wall

cc licensed ( BY ) flickr photo by rabiem22: http://flickr.com/photos/rabiem/8442193634/


There are cracks
in the walls
the house is tilted
to one side
your legacy
crumbling
before our eyes
we do nothing
we watch
time passes and the garden
gives in to entropy
new plants, new trees
and that rosebush that’s
gone wild.
Time passes and your legacy
changes and people
stand on the doorstep,
then leave
never to come back and I
remain inside, though time
leaves traces on me too.

The first poem was written using the 2013 April PAD Challenge prompt for Day 12.

And in the second poem I used the NaPoWriMo Day 12 prompt.



cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo by Darwin Bell: http://flickr.com/photos/darwinbell/3522474942/

I will not write a poem about you

I will not write a poem about you
I promised never
To
Do
That
I will not mention you in my poetry
You will never get in here
This space is mine
Password protected
And secret
The days I read my poetry to you
Are finished
I know you are scared
Your thoughts are censored
Your ground is firm
You see me clearly
And, in your vision, I am safe
As long as I stay away
From poetry.
Besides,
Who knows what might be revealed
If I write a poem about you.
Don’t worry.
I will not
Do
That.
I promised I wouldn’t.

Two Short Poems for Day 11

cc licensed ( BY NC ND ) flickr photo by ViaMoi: http://flickr.com/photos/viamoi/3012259645/

In Case of Fire

In case of fire
I will not save this poem.
I’ll leave it to burn.
Maybe there’ll be some sparks then.
Maybe we’ll see some passion.




cc licensed ( BY NC SA ) flickr photo by lindes: http://flickr.com/photos/lindes/248862557/

If only

If I could only
Express it with clarity,
if I was better
at metaphors and such things
maybe I would be great, then.

Two tankas for Day 11 of NaPoWriMo (hopefully I have got the form right). The first poem also follows the Day 11 PAD Challenge prompt.

I Can't Do This Any More

cc licensed ( BY ) flickr photo by Massimo Margagnoni: http://flickr.com/photos/50335549@N05/7170224022/


We meet at midnight,
Tired and disillusioned.
The habit has set in.
I drag my feet through the mud
To reach the empty field
Where you are already waiting.
Why am I the only one
Doing the hard work?
You take my time
And leave me frustrated.
Every night I promise myself
I will not come.
For thirty days we meet,
We wrestle.
I suffer.
You grow.
You feed on my misery.
You have put on weight
Since we started.
I am drained.
I am fading.
I have nothing else
To give.
Yet I keep coming.
I drag my feet along this path
Filling it with my words,
My life,
Carefully coded.
Each night
A new riddle.
Where will you take me next?

My Day 10 entry for NaPoWriMo. I combined the NaPoWriMo prompt and the 2013 PAD prompt for Day 10.