FERNANDO PESSOA.. CAFE CUBANO CASAVANA. HERMAN HESSE. THE JOURNEY TO THE EAST. A TOUCH OF SAUDADE

There books that are found in the libraries of all well read people and they change from generation to generation but some are eternal

Kahlil Gibran.  The Prophet

Herman Hesse   The Journey to the East 

I will add Fernando Pessoa.  The Book of Disquiet

and there are other books, obviously..

Fernando Pessoa, that great Portuguese writer, well known for his personal insecurities had written:

“If one of the faces that I pass daily on the streets disappear, I feel sad, yet they mean nothing to me, other than being a symbol of all life.”

For me, a great pleasure is being able to recognize faces in faraway places, as I enter a hotel, a restaurant or a common place. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than greeting the receptionist by name, at Double Tree at Kuala Lumpur (12 time zones away from my habitual residences) or at the AVIS rent a car counter at Omaha Airport or the waitress with the sonorous name, Ochun, at La Burrito Habanera along the Rampa across from the Riviera cine in La Habana or look for a familiar place along the streets of Palermo in Buenos Aires.

We are sitting Miami, expectantly for the Tropical Storm Elsa to arrive.  I was eager for my Cortadito estilo Habana and I hurried to the Cafe Casavana.. and to my horror.. everything was shuttered up and a printed paper was affixed to the window

As Pessoa had written.  It is about Life 

who will now pour mi cortadito estilo la habana

few moments of banter about how i prefer my cuban coffee 

to be made by Cubans especially Habaneros

in a city full of venozalanos y colombianos ..

when she saw me , she would ask. queres tu cortadito

estilo de la habana ?  even before i opened my mouth..

she now has disappeared into the multitudes of the cuban 

migrants to this city of migrants..

there was also a colombian lady who used to greet me very affectionately and we briefed talked about my travels in Colombia

where am I going to find them ? 

Herman Hesse in his book also said something similar

when you no longer no the person is present, you begin to 

miss them more and you begin to look for them 

everywhere ..

There are three other branches of this Cafe.. Tomorrow I will go to one of them, to order a cup of coffee.. but with sorrow in my heart, i will drink it and will not tell anyone

why I am sad ..

with my luck, i may run into one of my erstwhile cortadito makers?  OJALA ..

READING SHAMLOU IN MIAMI IN THESE UNCERTAIN TIMES ..

I think of Ahmad Shamlou in the same manner I think of Pablo Neruda of Chile and Pramoedya Ananta Toer of Indonesia .
All suffered for their beliefs.
But they saw only beauty in the lives around them 
Shamlou drips with metaphors 

It is morning and I am in Miami 
In these strange times when we cannot plan our days and times.

Reading Shamlou.

The sun and the fire
no longer
possess any warmth or light,
that one might excavate the ember of some dream
from within 
the cold ashes of the kindling..

from Another Season 

The ocean grows jealous over the drop 
that you sipped from the well.

from Anthem for an enlightened man who went away .

in the poem, I see the pain felt at the power of the oppression of the society.
The governing powers do not want you even to taste a little bit of freedom .
As Lady MacBeth would say: I am so deep in the ocean, that drowning is the only choice.
This morning, a new book in translation from its french original by Leila Slimani (Maroc/France), winner of Goncourt Prize
about the total hypocrisy  of the Moroccan society which has put into laws the morality forbidding pleasure for the women, by stressing those qualities that men want in them and covering up them so that they become oversex-ified objects.

Why do these men find expression of human mind so odious?
Trump in America, Bolsanaro in Brasil, Most Muslim nations of the world (even including Tunisia!), Urban in Hungary..

It would be the women who would lead this new revolution of thought 
What a progressive world it would be then ...

Thank you, Mothers, Daughters, sisters and Lovers .


No one speaks with any one 
for the silence speaks with a thousand tongues 

from Nocturnal 

I keep his poems, along with poems of Forugh Farrokhzad and the uncontestable Hafez....

just a few lines now and then ..
think of some dear person 
and randomly choose a ghazal.. 

I would do that now..
I will think of some one from the town of P.
and randomly choose a ghazal
No 114 comes up 

perfume-place falleth

Amidst the proud debris of the night, a voice emerged

that was neither bird nor ocean 

And hence I felt the full burden of my races exhaustion

upon my own sunken shoulders.

from The Anthem for one who left and the one who stayed behind.

When I am in La Habana, I pass by the Persian restaurant, possibly the only Persian restaurant in the Caribbean..
and pay homage to Ahmad Shamlou

No one told me about the Persian singer Faramaz Aslani 
but it was nice to see a video filmed in the familiar parts of La Habana 
the song is YAR 

That is all for now...

RIGHT BEFORE THE MORNING LIGHT. CREEPS SOFT UPON THE SILL...

Sandman

Kirsty McGee

Right before you close your eyes
Whispering yours prayers
When the sandman blows your eyes
I'll be there
When you wake up in the night
Sounds the second stair
That creaks under the careless foot
I'll be there
Gather roses while you may
While the bloom is full
For the blossoms soon will fade
And the bloom grow dull
Right before the morning light
Creeps soft upon the sill
When the shadows chase the night
I never will
When your voice is softly heard
Singing in the morning air
But the note does not ring true
I'll be there
Gather roses while you may
While the bloom is full
For the blossoms soon will fade
And the bloom grow dull
Right before you sleep at night
Closing up the blinds
In the windows black embrace
If you find…

Source: Musixmatch

The softness approaching me

blinds my eyes to the tenderness of a promise 

footsteps i heard were the ones left behind

the morning of that distant land swallowed you 

perhaps your goodbye would reach me 

when you arrive at the destination 

the softness approaching me 

was a mirage 

you were nowhere to be found 

i am with the flowers 

same looks of longings 

hurry before the mist departs

soft words of love and caress

the wind will sift through her hair

my gentle kisses remain 

10 40 pm in Miami and Havana.

Other times in Other places 

POETRY ARRIVES IN THE MORNING, ONE DOES NOT ASK FOR ITS SOURCE

In the past couple of mornings, soon after I wake up in Miami, Poetry has arrived, carried by the winds from the East.
To thank the winds, I searched out for a poem 
Forugh Farrokhzad ..( who told me about this incredible woman poet of Persia ? was that a visitor to Kuala Lumpur? or at an Indian restaurant in Reading, UK ?)

I speak out of the deep of night

out of the deep of darkness

and out of the deep of night I speak.

If you come to my house, friend

bring me a lamp and a window I can look through

at the crowd in the happy alley.

Like one sends your requests in a bank, inside a tube, and await for your money in your car, I sent this back with the wind to the source of the poetry.

While I adore my language, emotional poetry sounds better in French, Spanish or Portugese.. I was happy to read the lines in French.. 

Merci beaucoup.

I had to return the favour
Who else but our dear Pablo..

Do people near the mountains in that distant land still read Pablo? 

Those who want to know, what it is to be Passionate at the same time Innocent, read the above line by Pablo 

In those days, a young doctor walked around with a copy of The Captains Verses in his white coat, inscribed with a stanza of an english poem: 

Come, the wind may never again Blow as now it blows for us; And the stars may never again shine as now they shine; Long before October returns, Sea of blood will have parted us; And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!

Pablo Neruda's poetry came bundled with tears. Lonely days in Thursday Island in the far north of Austrlalia, where Melbourne was just a memory.

Take those dried tears, let them fly this message of Pablo along with the wind that brought me the French translation of Forugh.     A Manha sera outra dia, as sung by  Cesaria Evora.     

Passei a noite inteira na janela
Esperando por ela
Ela chegou de madrugada
Chorando e não me disse nada

Passei a noite inteira na janela
Esperando por ela
Ela chegou de madrugada
Chorando e não me disse nada

Pedi uma explicação
Soluçando ela me dizia
Fora passar de mão em mão
Amanhã será outro dia

Pedi uma explicação
Soluçando ela me dizia
Fora passar de mão em mão
Amanhã será outro dia

A Manha sera outra dia 
Tomorrow is another day

with you and 
Forugh 
Shamlou
Neruda 

20. Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit...

Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.

Écrire par exemple : « La nuit est étoilée,

les étoiles frissonnent, bleues, dans le lointain. »

Le vent de la nuit tourne dans le ciel et chante.

Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.

Je l'ai aimée et parfois elle aussi m'a aimé.

Je l'ai tenue dans mes bras, des nuits sans pareilles,

Embrassée tant de fois sous le ciel infini.

Elle m'a aimé, et parfois je l'ai aimée aussi.

Comment n'aurais-je pas aimé ses grands yeux fixes.

Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.

Penser ne l'avoir plus. Sentir l'avoir perdue.

Écouter l'immense nuit, sans elle plus immense.

À l'âme est le poème, à l'herbe est la rosée.

Si mon amour ne peut la retenir, qu'importe.

La nuit est étoilée sans qu'elle soit près de moi.

Voilà tout. Quelqu'un chante au loin, là-bas, au loin.

Mon âme, de l'avoir perdue, est mécontente.

La cherche mon regard qui veut s'approcher d'elle.

La cherche mon cœur, sans qu'elle soit près de moi.

Et la même nuit a blanchi les mêmes arbres.

Nous autres, ceux d'alors, ne sommes plus les mêmes.

Je ne l'aime plus, mais comme j'ai pu l'aimer.

Ma voix mendiait au vent d'atteindre son oreille.

À un autre, elle sera. Comme avant mes baisers.

À un autre, sa voix, clair, son corps. Ses yeux infinis.

Je ne l'aime plus, oui, mais la désire encore.

L'amour est si bref, et le temps de l'oubli, si long.

L'avoir serrée dans mes bras des nuits sans pareilles,

Mon âme, de l'avoir perdue, est mécontente.

Que soit dernière, cette douleur qu'elle me donne,

Que soient derniers, ces vers que j'ai écrit pour elle.

https://lyricstranslate.com

THE NIGHT OF FULL MOON, TENDER AND RAW EMOTIONS AND SAUDADE

During these days of tranquility and silence, I have been able to experience solitude and emotions in their rawest form. Emotions so raw and tender that tears flow.
While cities of Nights and Lights are now silent and dark
I am overcome by the incredible power of music. It is universal because it is coming from all parts of the world, but the sensations are the same. They touch the same parts of your heart.
Here are some of the songs I listened this evening, as the moon was climbing up the sky, in its Spring glory.

The

I thank the singer, the mournful voice.
Who was she?
When I read about her, it was I who became sad.
A woman who crossed cultures Lhasa cut so short of her life.

A younger voice and another one, mature, representing the hopes and aspirations of the young IRAN
Ebi lives in Los Angeles, I think. Shadmehr Aghili has also left Iran and lives in LA. 
How sad must be their hearts to leave their homelands behind and their inspirations.

Jacob Gurevitch is Danish and his music appeals to every one, with a strong spanish flavour to it. This song, Lovers in Paris, isnt that the dream of every one to have a lover in Paris or be with your lover in Paris. I enjoyed the multiple times I crossed the Pont Neuf and thought of Les Amants de Pont Neuf. It is a lovely city to miss.

Ernest Hemingway thought of Paris as Moveable Feast. Having lived both in Paris and La Habana, my moveable feast is La Habana.
So how nice to listen to Faramaz Aslani with Babak Amani play their song in Havana!
The song is called YAR 
Here are the lyrics in Persian and English ..It is far more beautiful in Persian (a culture I adore but do not speak the language)

Yar - یار

سفر کردم که یابم بلکه یارم را

نجستم یار و گم کردم دیارم را

نجستم یار و گم کردم دیارم را

از آن روزی که من بار سفر بستم

به هر جایی که رفتم در به در هستم

به هر جایی که رفتم در به در هستم

فراموشم مکن من یار دیرینه ام

بیا خالیست جای تو به بالینم

تو را در خوابهای خویش میبینم

در آغوشم بگیر از خود رهایم کن

گرفتار سکوتم من صدایم کن

میان روزهای خویش جایم کن

Friend

I traveled, maybe I found my friend

I didnt find any friend and lost my land

I didnt find any friend and lost my land

Since that day I prepared for trip

Where ever I went , I am homeless

Where ever I went , I am homeless

Font forget me, I am an old friend

Come, you are missed beside me

I see you in my dreams

Hug me, and free me from myself

I am the prisoner of silence, call me

Fit me in the good days

I also listened to Tango tonight..

Astor Piazzola  who had been dead for many years when my association with Buenos Aires began.

I remember when I heard  Vuelvo al Sur, sung by that inimitable Roberto Goyeneche with the magican bandeneon of Piazzola.

I was watching a movie called SUR , at an art movie theatre in Coral Gables Florida 

Gotan Project, KOOP all have contributed to the emotion of that song for me.

I wanted to hear Libertango of Piazzola tonight and was rewarded with Russian and German productions of that song. Grateful.

You can imagine the state of my heart by now. I am enjoying my solitude. I had started re reading L'alchimiste, it is like a perfect accompaniment to the wine of music..

Then I re discovered this short dutch video and I cried throughout its duration. It had greater poignancy at this time, when hugs and kisses of loved ones are out of bounds.  Let us hope that very soon, I too will be reunited /united with my loved ones, like the little girl in the video.

and if you ever have been a lover, you will recognize this city below