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Se deben compartir las palabras

Shame that it isn't in Spanish, but it came as it did to me.  

Surely we are
the water which creates
getting into the crevices of our minds:
it washes our bodies lathered
by someone else’s hands,
sustains the trees, grass, snakes, the yellow birds,
so we’d have something at which to gaze,
and surely us too,
and launders entangled, still entangling bed-sheets,
sullied by experience, sweat, skin-cells, and hair,
we once considered clean-
nevertheless continued sharing with another
without considering
that the entanglement of these bed-sheets
and person as flexible as we’ve
twisted ourselves into being
are the same pythons
reclaiming breath from the absentee.
Sounds reverberate in these confines:
the moans, gasps, sighs, breathy words
and unshared, not to be shared, emotions
that instruct us:
oh, we are definitely holding the water’s current back,
don’t think that we’re not,
whether or not we possess the desire, curiosity, or fear.
Compensation is an ugly word.
Regardless of whether we ebb the water
there is still a current,
winding, weaving, entangling, twisting
and still eroding, through crevices
and over mountains once created when we smiled.
Waterfalls still fall:
they cannot clean what does not
take on a physical form,
but nevertheless proves itself all too real.
So, they crash upon us
as they do on their cycle back to water
attempting to wash thoughts, memories, emotions away
actually taking people along with them.
For every two glasses of water for nourishment,
a waterfall is surely created.

2 Mar 08

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gee, this is nice writing. it has the mode of spanish writing but it's very much in english, and it's so nice to read a genuine spanish poem in english instead of an english poem about a spanish poem -- a "translation", i mean. gee, what nice sounds complementing the images. and the images are just those earth-bound attainments which support our emotions.

very nice read.

wow, again, re-reading it.
 — joey

Two quick questions
one, what's the reason behind your name, why not cualquier cosa, why"any"? Just a curious thing.

It's not a shame it's not in spanish. It's a wonderful read in english. L20-32 would read great in spanish aloud though.
I tried it and it was wonderful. =)

the words should be shared. When I clicked on the poem, I assumed it had something to do with words. But it's more of a feeling that everything should be shared, not just words, which by the way, you write magnificently

 — Gabriella

Y que pasa cuando llega la llama?
 — vienta

oh y sí,  una medialástima.. Debes escribir más en castellano. Estoy de acuerdo.

Pero es un poema hermoso e inteligente. Te doy las gracias.
 — vienta

Ay un solo problema si escribes en espanol. No todo el mundo te entienderia, pero, harias algunos contentos. =)
 — Gabriella

we share with words the dew of morning and streams of thoughts as fresh clear experiences integrated with Nature: we are Nature as extension, as a waterfall, we are the stones made smooth and the trees roots sipping at both Sun and seep of rains - wonderfully allegorical and interconnecting with words the very verity of we
 — AlchemiA


Si es verdad que la mayoria de gente aqui no lo entenderia. Pero un cambio de vez en cuando es interesante. y, necesario.
 — vienta

Thank you very much everyone- joey, Gabriella, and vienta.  Yes, I couldn't make this poem anything more than what was around, whether those be earth-bound attainments which support our emotions or.. well, don't.  
To Gabriella (sorry, maybe I overlooked or something, but I couldn't find a second question): my name is 'cualquier' simply because I preferred not to label it as anything at the time.  Maybe I do think far too abstractly for my own good or the good of the things I affect, but had I put 'cosa', it would narrow it to something specific, as if I had an expectation to label myself as something or to describe myself in a certain way in relation to how I was feeling in the moment.  It's "any" because it's just that; any-
But, the title is esoteric and not.  Yes, you are right that it it's a feeling that everything should be shared.  But, I dislike that wording (no offense of course, just personal).  It's just my own, or our, ability to relate such ideas through words or gestures.  And those should be 'shared'- though such a word and such an action have their limits in certain ranges and shouldn't proceed further.  This is why I feel this poem is spiteful.  I'm wary of it.  I initially felt that I wanted it in Spanish, simply because... writing in such a way has certain things to it that I enjoy and that writing in any other way lacks.  
But, thank you all for the input and opinions.  Cuando llega la llama, pues... no sé.  Es posible que ya haya venido.  And I will be sure to post works in Spanish should I feel the need or have the ability in the future.  Thank you for the support.
 — cualquier

Oops! well my last statement was supposed to be question, the title, why in spanish, not in english?

 — unknown

it's in the poem that your world lives for us. failure means only that we didn't understand, not that we were overlooked by the earthbound hounds and pomegranates of lost friends and lovers. they can join us reading the poem!
 — joey

The title is in Spanish for reasons I'm completely uncertain of myself.  There is something in it, aside from the instance that I desired the poem or rather thought of it in Spanish.  It grew into what it is through the need for words to be shared, the stress on the word 'share'. The poem, if anything, stresses the actual action of sharing as something necessary, but nevertheless having limits.  I can't get around using water in so many of my poems because of the dualities that it appears to have- nourishment, yes, but there's also the possibility of erosion of things, of destruction.  It's a wonderful image to use.  Regardless, the title being in Spanish stresses the action of sharing, not words.  For example, "Se deben compartir..." is what is introduced first and what should be focused on.  Words are the relaying messages and what holds the meaning, but whatever holds any meaning to anyone is in itself meaningless if it isn't shared.  So compare "Se deben compartir..." with "The words should be shared".  Of course, I could change the sentence structure and make it so the word "share" comes first in some way, but there's the risk of losing legitimacy in what is said.  Furthermore, the title holds personal meaning, as a message or communication in Spanish as I've come to find holds more legitimacy or honesty on a personal level than does English.  This poem fell into place without much work on my part- which is why it's hard for me to take credit, aside from the fact that it's spiteful as mentioned earlier.  Because, while the title serves to stress and underscore one side.  The poem itself holds the duality of apparently moderating the act of sharing despite the act being something necessary and good.  As in, share, yes, but there are limits, and if something is thrown as a consequence beyond those limits, it's likely to be washed away.  But, I can't possibly explain this in one comment, nor do I desire to- I feel I'm too abstract.  Joey, however, I believe is beginning to get a good idea.
 — cualquier

Thank you all for your comments and opinions.  Honestly, I hadn't had much faith in this poem as time went on even if the meaning in it sticks out in my head like a lit coal in a dark room.  I need to reconsider far more often.
 — cualquier

your initial uncertainty about this poem was wise despite what these comments tell you
 — unknown

It's really more that my nature is to feel uncertain- particularly about things created by myself.  It applies to anything, and this poem is no exception.  It is nice however to see how others see it and find some sort of solace or support.  
 — unknown

A mi me gusta este poema pero no lo entiendo mucho.  No se que esta pasando aqui.  Por favor, expliquelo un poquito mas para que lo sepa.  Gracias!
 — starr

I will say this:  After a second reading, I can actually feel some Pablo Neruda-isms in the writing.  This would, no doubt, translate most beautifully into Spanish.  And maybe there's nothing to know; only to feel?
 — starr

Starr, you're very much right about the emotion.  Whether this poem is read slowly or at a more lively, fueled pace, the words chosen, the diction used, everything and some that even wasn't under my control placed itself in a certain manner to reveal the emotion in this poem.  No, the emotion in the poem isn't forthright anger, flaring at anyone or anything that reads it, but there is an addition of spite in the words- I feel as if I've repeated myself too often- in relation to all of the dualities given.  We are the water which creates waterfalls, if our actions can be underscored by anything around us, it would be what nature does to itself and to us.  We are water; we are nourishment and yet... with nourishing, we create waterfalls.  I've been told, and I've considered, that the final two lines of the poem are unrelated and seemingly random, but as far as I can read the poem they clarify the rest of the poem.  We're water, we share ourselves with others (someone else), get into minds, crevices, each gap where we can squeeze ourselves.  And, it's established that this act of sharing is something necessary for people, yet the images provided can be taken negatively: our bodies, washed by water, are lathered by someone else's hands not of the person who we initially shared ourselves with, the water provides life to things that immerse our minds and our curiosity around us (and us too).  The water cleans bedsheets sullied by such things, sheets we once considered clean, and in the presence of the water impurities are washed off.  But, nevertheless, what it launders are tangled bedsheets that we share with someone (NOT the absentee)- the sheets are only entangled, and the person only as flexible, to the extent to which we're twisted.  We've, like a stream of water, skewed our own meaning and the meaning of what it means to share anything with anyone meaningful because it isn't anyONE anymore or there wouldn't be an absentee.  This poem from then on seems to digress in my opinion, but centers itself for the most part around the situation that an absentee who is hurt by this washing, laundering, nourishing someone else with water (and we're the water in that case); the same water which garnered something for us to gaze, to invigorate the lives of the things around us and in turn of us too, is what provides strength of the python (earlier the snake) to squeeze breath out of the person who isn't there.  You could say it centers around the notion of betrayal, but that's poor word choice.  Each subsequent stanza appears to divide out and assess specific aspects.  The waterfalls are the consequences, really (and we create them/are components of them).  All they do is their duty to wash away emotions/memories/thoughts (most likely ones that would consistently harm us, like the natural human tendency to desire to move on, flow on, forget).  But again, they can't even touch that which isn't physical (or if the physical form isn't present with us), so they rather just crash upon us because we're there apparently in the way; apparently taking people, us, along away.  The final two lines reassert the beginning, the second stanza at best.  I hope this helps, tried not to simply go through and explain the poem, but I did want to provide something.
 — cualquier

Regardless though, Starr, if anything would reveal this poem for what it is, it would be the emotion behind it and realising that it's more emotion than explanation.  Thank you for the comment.
 — cualquier

i really want to reiterate that you've matched a very fine sense of image with a very fine language to express it in. this is so much finer as an english poem than any translation into english of naruda and really, from my reading, better than most naruda in concept and expression.
 — joey

Thank you, Joey.  It still feels awkward almost for me to take much of any credit for this- it fell into place as carefully as it had because of how I thought/felt in the moment, I wouldn't really have been able to alter it much in any way.  Although I wouldn't compare myself to Neruda and rather enjoy his poetry a lot, thank you for the comment.
 — cualquier

and joey knows what it would be like in spanish.....
 — unknown

we all write our real poems without knowing how or why they've been written. a lot of the real talk here in the forum is just about that problem -- where does it come from, and if i am the only one who really understands it, is it a poem?
 — joey

unknown, why wouldn't i be able to read naruda in spanish? because you don't want me to?
 — joey

I will have to visit the forum more, then.  Thanks for letting me know- such discussions really interest me.  I'll stay out of the Neruda quarrel between joey and unknown, though..
 — cualquier

i first read Naruda in spanish in the north of spain several years ago. really, i liked his notebooks best because i thought his poems were somewhat dishonest -- but, only in the way that Auden's are -- trying to justify "poet". i really like Lorca.
 — joey

Joey, I'm surprised- one reason that Lorca remains as one of my favourite poets is because of his honesty- the honesty to remain in no other way than as how he feels; melancholy, ambiguous, yet able to be related to.  
 — cualquier

one of the things that i really was moved by was his little house in granada -- i'm sorry, but i remember the house more than i remember the alhambra or the cathedral -- and there's a letter to him from De Falla in the house, on display, and that idea is the consummation of two parts of me as one.

but, surprised? -- i thought that that kind of honesty was the only thing i really have to offer other writers.
 — joey

Thanks for the breakdown, Cualquier.  Appreciate it.  This is a very beautiful poem.  Ever hear of Martin Espada?  He's one of my personal favorite Latino poets.  He's got a brilliant book out called "City of Coughing and Dead Radiators."  
 — starr

I love your words, it just feels a little rocky at the end
 — CrudeEcstasy


i wasn't aware that spanish was your first language?
 — unknown

had i said so? that was wrongly said. feeling is such a wholesome thing when one is dead. it's not the peninsular spanish of a grandmother -- full of useful ancient greek, roman and arab butterings over the celtic. he's a man writing to men about being a man, when there's no world to rule but men's hearts. i speak heart.
 — joey

 — unknown

i think i forgot to rate this very fine piece.
: )
 — fractalcore