Marie Bortolotto 2022, Collage
A callarse
by Pablo Neruda
Original Spanish Version
Ahora contaremos doce
y nos quedamos todos quietos.
Por una vez sobre la tierra
no hablemos en ningun idioma,
por un segundo detengamonos,
no movamos tanto los brazos.
Seria un minuto fragante,
sin prisa, sin locomotoras,
todos estariamos juntos
en una inquietud instantanea.
Los pescadores del mar frio
no harian danio a las ballenas
y el trabajador de la sal
miraria sus manos rotas.
Los que preparan guerras verdes,
guerras de gas, guerras de fuego,
victorias sin sobrevivientes,
se pondrian un traje puro
y andarian con sus hermanos
por la sombra, sin hacer nada.
No se confunda lo que quiero
con la inaccion definitiva:
la vida es solo lo que se hace,
no quiero nada con la muerte.
Si no pudimos ser unanimes
moviendo tanto nuestras vidas,
tal vez no hacer nada una vez,
tal vez un gran silencio pueda
interrumpir esta tristeza,
este no entendernos jamas
y amenazarnos con la muerte,
tal vez la tierra nos ensenie
cuando todo parece muerto
y luego todo estaba vivo.
Ahora contare hasta doce
y tu te callas y me voy.
English Translation by Alatair Reid
KEEPING QUIET
by Pablo Neruda
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
Marie Bortolotto 2022
I TRAPPED MY BREATH IN THE BELLOWS OF MY THROAT
I trapped my breath in the bellows of my throat:
a lamp blazed up inside, showed me who I really was.
I crossed the darkness holding fast to that lamp,
scattering its light-seeds around me as I went.
~ Lalla Ded, 14th C. (India/Pakistan)
Munir Bashir - L'Art du ud
Its chords candidly reverberate
with a longing like that of the homesick
And beauty that wondrously transcends
that of all neys and drums.
Its body is embellished
with the skin of a hapless gazelle,
Its nine strings cast like woven nets
to ensnare hearts.
- Kushajim, 10th C. Arabic poet
THE PIANO PRAYER
The piano listens,
and
in the words of its quiet thunder,
a distance is wrapped in fingerprints.
Left ringing in my ears,
I hear their chambers of sense,
like drops falling on another’s skin.
Running into the arms of sensation,
sounds of fingers praying on human stone,
fingers falling on resonating lives.
Chambers of intricate fusion
and notes drawn from silence
are torn from the uncoiling rocks of symbols.
~ BlackFeatherStill
