I just had to write this March 30, 2009

Sudden inspiration. I was on youtube watching random videos and I happened to see a clip of Little Ashes in which Salvador Dalì, brush in hand, is looking at Federico Garcia Lorca writing, there was something in this scene that stroke me, I don’t know what or why but I had to write about it, and even before the clip ended the poem was already in my head. I wrote it first in italian, and then did my best to translate it in english, because I just felt I had to write it in both languages.

 

I feel him

pacing

back and forth

behind me

staring at me

writing

I feel him

his gaze brushing my skin

tracing patterns of fire

looking at me

looking trough me

for my soul

The pencil ready

in the writhing hand

to catch my essence

 

I’m glad you liked it! 🙂

Since Hwalk asked, I’ll post the original version in italian too:

 

 

 

Lo sento

dietro di me

osservarmi

mentre scrivo

Lo sento

camminare inquieto

alle mie spalle

Lo sento

la mia pelle brucia

dove l’intensità del suo sguardo

la sfiora

l’ attraversa

in cerca della mia anima

La matita pronta

nella mano fremente

per cogliere la mia essenza

 

 

 

 

 

Distracted March 29, 2009

Well, tonight I was awake as usual but I didn’t stumble across interesting thoughts about writing because just a few hours before I had booked a holiday in Egypt! I was/am so excited! My mind wouldn’t think anything deeper than the words “coral reef, fish, sun, pyramids, relax, fun,…” and when I tried to think of something else the word egypt jumped out in the middle of everything: “I’m going to take – egypt – a shower”, “Mom, where – egypt – are my jeans?”, “what would you – egypt – like to eat?” Ahah, just give me a couple of days and I will be back to normal. 🙂

The only thoughts I had about writing were: ohhh, I can’t wait to write looking at the sunset on the Red Sea…I want to write about the nightsky in the desert….I wish I could write underwater while snorkeling, to describe all the wonderful exotic fishes! So, really, not very deep or interesting.

If I have time today, or tomorrow, I’ll dig in my room and my closet because I’m sure I wrote something in english on paper but I’m very disarranged (I’m not sure it is the right word, what I mean is that my room is unkept), so since my night was almost thoughtless I’ll have something meaningful to post.

Inspiration March 28, 2009

I’m sleepy…last night I read City of Glass until 4, but I had to know how it ended! I have to say that I’m usually disappointed by the last book of a series, for perhaps the first time I am not. So if you like the fantasy genre I suggest you The Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare, it is very well written and the story is amazing, especially the last book which is perfect.

Of course when I closed the book I didn’t sleep and my brain began to buzz as usual, what kept me awake this time was Inspiration, its meaning and behavior. Have you ever thought a plot, a story for a book and then decided not to write it? I have, more than once. What surprised me is that I saw that someone else, after a couple of years, had published the story I was thinking about and abandoned (of course not exaclty, just the basic idea). So now I’m wondering, inspiration strikes at the weirdest times and I often don’t remember what I was doing or what exaclty inspired me when a story comes to my head. Are the stories already there waiting for being discovered? So that if you abandoned them, they’ll look for someone else who will tell them to the world? I’ve always felt that planning a plot is like putting together the pieces of a puzzle, but what if it is like baring the puzzle piece by piece?

As usual I’m not sure this makes sense, just another errant sleepy thought.

Shut up March 27, 2009

I was digging in my computer files yesterday and among old stuff I wrote last year I found another little thing in english, it’s a poem…let’s just say that I was in a romeo&juliet time, that explains the various “dost” and “thee”. Hihi. I’m not used to show what I write so I’m still nervous and keep thinking that someone will ask “what are you doing here? the exit is that way!”. Anyway, I’m bubbling, so here it is:

 

 

Shut up

cruel heart

leave me alone

why dost thee make my soul

cry, your lead presence

makes me die

I beg you

oppressing thought

free my mind

for I suffer

I let myself suffer

I let myself feel

the hope I don’t deserve

I knew

where I was walking towards

and now

my heart’s screaming in pain

I wish I were deaf

I loath

how did I let this happen?

I knew, I knew, I knew

when I first felt

my heart sinking

I knew

I could have fought more

and more

and more

but I surrender

to such a tender thing

Tyrranous love

take thy dagger

and stop my agony

because your dark eyes

so cold to me

make mine

weep and dissolve yours

with tears

for I see you

my soul burns

freezes

looks for a way to escape

for I can’t forget your name.

 

 

 

 

Writing…in music

First of all: thank you very much for your comments and advice, I really appreciated them and I’ll keep them in mind while writing! And I’m glad my english is understandable!

Tonight I was thinking -instead of sleeping like a normal person (which explains why this morning I didn’t wake up and miss my early lesson at university) – about writing and languages, and languages and music. I know it seems to someone that they’re distant but they really aren’t. I usually read in the original language of the book, it’s some kind of rule because I just can’t stand translations, they change the primary rhythm and refinement so the story loses part of its magic. I even found myself reading books in languages I don’t know, I remember with great affection when I tried to read Dostoevskij in russian, it was hilarious, of course I give up after a few pages because it was pointless. Note to self: learn russian.

Anyway I think that writing in a particular language make the story flow like a melody, so tonight I found myself wondering about which music could represent best writings in different languages, and I end up with this: I think that english is  very direct and simple, but in the meantime it is rich of details that thanks to its nature aren’t heavy, and flows like a river in a linear simphony with light flourishing notes. French is very dulcet and soothing, it reminds me of a sweet melody, a lullaby. Italian writing is forcibly formal and complicated, it could be compared to lyrical music with its flaunting voice and elaborated notes. German is strong and solid, it reminds me of an angular music composition with zig zag notes and points. Latin is solemn and ancient, nothing can express it better than carmina burana, with its grave voice and sober notes. Spanish is cheerful and playful, it could be compared to a colourful song with great rhythm and passionate notes.

Then I finally fell asleep and my list stopped there. Does it make any sense or I just wasted a good part of my sleep?

I am a writer or I want to be a writer, that is the question March 26, 2009

Hi, I’m Nadia. I’m wondering exactly what I am doing here. Mmm, but see, I’m a very impulsive person, I just thought “hey, I’d like to have a blog and write stuff” and here I am. I should probably warn you that english is not my language actually since I’m italian and I live in Italy, but, risking to sound cheesy, it’s the language of my soul. Even if I love english doesn’t mean that I’m good at it, so you’ll probably read funny mistakes.

I’m a bookworm and proud of it. When people ask me what I want to do in my life I always fall in a interior semantic struggle, maybe you could help me solve it. I love writing, every kind of things, poetry, books, thoughts,…and here it is the problem: you write and love to do it, hopefully someday you’ll publish something so what you want to do is writing, but when they ask me I have to choose between these:

– I am a writer

– I want to be a writer

If you don’t see the problem I’ll clarify it for you. You write so you are a writer (like cogito ergo sum- alas I studied latin but it is useful in times like this). But if you don’t publish people won’t understand why you call yourself a writer. I think writing doesn’t belong to libraries but to yourself, so you see that there’s a great difference between the two sentences. I am still not sure about the one to use, it’s obviously subjective. It’s almost hamletic “I’m a writer or I want to be a writer, that is the question”!  What would you say?