Things have been busy and loud. I haven’t had much time to reflect on everything happening here, which is why I have several blog post drafts but none that I finished writing. There’s so much I want to write about and to tell you what’s going through my mind as I try to remember my Spanish, navigate this new city and experience new sights, smells and tastes.
Last week, a Swarthmore members of Taller de Paz, Haydil performed at a spoken word event at Familia Ayara (art/music/youth center) alongside a dozen or so other poets. Hearing them spill the details of their personal lives with such passion, I felt like my misunderstandings in Spanish didn’t matter. The passion was universal.
Whenever I’m in a new place, I find myself writing more. Although I consider myself a mixed-media artist, I usually stay within the confines of visual and aural art. But being in spaces of slight discomfort or newness, writing draws me in a way the other more familiar mediums don’t.
I wrote this poem after seeing walls upon walls of graffiti on my walks around the neighborhood and on the hour long commute to the neighborhood we work in:
Walls slick with neon worlds
names and dreams of the ones they deemed replaceable
Some float as if they are
juicy puffs of helium,
looking for more air.
Others climb in stealth,
next to the banks and high rises,
black scraggly vines of rebellion.
But it’s the bulging eyes of the painted faces,
claiming these rocky surfaces
that demand our attention and time,
choking on the chemicals of society.
We fear that if we get too close,
we might just choke too.
After I worked with the kids yesterday in the park on posters and banners for peace (our week is The Week of Non-Violence) to hold up during a march on Saturday, I wrote this little poem:
Scorched under the merciless sun
my eyes gloss over
from piercing rays and toxic aerosol chemicals
The clouds pass over, offering a moment’s rest
and the children run over
to reclaim their innocence
Most days they have no choice
but to burn their dreams
and hide the dirty ashes under a carpet
They’d rather rise up with the fumes,
than lose themselves in the impossible fight for entrance into
a world where the sun offers solace,
holding them with warm, yellow hands.
Unlike the works I make out of paint and fabric or on the piano, the poems I write feel cliche and trite. It’s all a process I suppose. And it seems to reflect the awkwardness of my first couple of weeks in a new place. If the past is any indication, I’ll stop writing poems when I start getting comfortable here. So I guess I’ll have enough poems for a mini-collection by the time I’ve moved over half a dozen times before I head home next year…:)
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy this burst of writing inspiration. And I’m going to document the words of others too, so that when I look back on this time, I’ll know how the space of growth and growing pains felt.
My friend Jonah and I swapped t-shirts at the end of the semester and the t-shirt he gave me says:
“my choice is what I choose to do
and if I’m causing no harm
it shouldn’t bother you”
Yesterday, he sent me the link to the song that the quote came from. It’s by Ben Harper and it’s called “Burn One Down”
Listen carefully from 1:30 but the whole song is great. It’s a message I want to tell the whole world.
Another set of words that really reached my heart:
“Beyond the edge of the world there’s a place where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And hovering about there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.”
– Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Emptiness and substance. It seems to all be in our head at times…but to me, this quote articulates the uncertainty and the unembodied “stuff” of our world with more clarity than I’ve yet to encounter.
Well, I’ll leave today’s post at that for now.
Off to another loud day!