Sunday Poem: Less than Forever
I wanted to explore why poetry is so important to me, understanding that context is always a key element in truly grasping what goes on behind the scenes.
I have been writing poetry, on and off, since I was 12 years old. Sadly, I haven’t kept a record of those early poems.
Poetry came to me in two waves. As you may know, my family wasn’t traditional in any sense. When my parents got divorced, my mother disappeared and left us with my broken and violent father.
For most of my life, I harbored resentment towards her for abandoning me and leaving me with someone like my father, knowing his personality traits. Over time, I healed, but it took me 30 years to overcome that.
Despite this non-relationship filled with regret and grudge, as I was growing up, I discovered a folder hidden in one of my father’s closets. It contained pages and pages of beautifully hand-written poetry. I was probably 9 or 10 and could barely understand some of the words, but somehow, the sentiment conveyed in these pages reached me.
Digging further into the folder, I realized these poems were written by my mother. Anger welled up inside me, and I remember tears of rage pouring from my eyes.
At some point, I lit a match aiming to burn the folder with all the poems, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was the inner child trying to understand the big WHY; in my case, “Why did mom leave me behind with this monster?” I kept the folder for many years, until I moved to Ireland, when I left behind many of the material things I had while living in Madrid.
I give my mother credit for my love of poetry and writing. “To Caesar what is Caesar's.”
Soon after, a teacher in middle school, Marisol, began introducing me to books that were deep, profound, and challenging for an 11-12 year old. That was the second wave.
I give credit to Marisol, my teacher - I hope you are well, wherever you are. During that period, I read many of the poetry classics from Spain: Lorca, Machado, Lope de Vega, Rosalía de Castro, Miguel Hernández.
As a result, I began to understand that poetry comes from something we all have: our inner pains, desires, and solace.
Ever since then, I have been reading and collecting poetry books. My time in Ireland only expanded my horizons. As I was learning English, I became more exposed to poetry, which has served as a vehicle of self-expression for many years, although I always kept it private.
Until I started this publication.
Today, I’m sharing a short poem with you.
I wrote this piece, originally in Spanish, a few months back, right in the middle of an acute case of stress, anxiety, and depression.
Life puts you in these places every so often, and December last year was one of the most difficult periods I have had to go through in recent years. Thankfully, writing has been highly therapeutic for me, and poetry, in particular, has been a balm for some of the darkest phases of this period.
To my taste, this poem resonates better in Spanish; after all, it is my native language; therefore, I can express my feelings with a more extensive vocabulary and more lyrical resources.
I hope you are having a good Sunday. By any art necessary.
Without further ado, here is “Less than Forever.”
Less Than Forever
Do not stop, do not stand still, do not think about what's next
Do not look, do not speak, do not feel what you feel
Do not breathe, do not walk, do not be what you say
Look at yourself in the mirror, live peacefully, less than forever.
Follow the rhythm of jazz waves, the scale of the piano,
the moan of the trumpet, the scratching of the percussion
Do not stop, do not stand still, do not think about what's next,
Do not look, do not speak, do not feel what you feel.
Look at the horizon, forget the failure standing in defiance,
see beyond the lead covering the river's waters
Do not breathe, do not walk, do not be what you say
look at yourself in the mirror, live peacefully, less than forever.
—
Menos que para siempre
No pares, no te quedes quieto, no pienses en lo siguiente
No mires, no hables, no sientas lo que sientes
No respires, no camines, no seas lo que dices
Mirate al espejo, vive placido, menos que para siempre.
Sigue el ritmo de las ondas de jazz, la escala del piano,
el gemido de la trompeta, el rascar de la percusion
No pares, no te quedes quieto, no pienses en lo siguiente,
No mires, no hables, no sientas lo que sientes.
Mira al horizonte, olvida el fallo erguido en desafio,
ve mas alla del plomo que cubre las aguas del rio
No respires, no camines, no seas lo que dices
mirate al espejo, vive placido, menos que para siempre.
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