Long Déjà Poems
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Où allons nous? Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “Where are we going” by T. Wignesan
Ils sont venus dans une petite ville
Une bande à moitié nue soumise silencieuse
Tout ce qui restait de leur tribu.
Ils sont venus à leur vieux territoire bora
Où beaucoup d’hommes blancs maintenant vont et viennent
comme des fourmis.
La pancarte de l’agent immobilier dit: “Il est permis de jeter
des ordures ici.”
Maintenant les ordures couvrent plus que la moitié du cercle
de bora.
“Nous sommes maintenant comme des étrangers, mais la
tribu blanche est en réalité des étrangers.
La terre nous appartient, sommes nous les héritiers des
vieilles coutumes.
Nous sommes la corroboree* et la terre bora.
Nous sommes de vieux rites, les lois de nos aïeux.
Nous sommes des contes des émerveilles du Temps de Rêves,
des légendes racontées de tribus.
Nous sommes le passé, les chasses et les jeux qui nous font rire, les feux allumés autour de nos campements ici et là.
Nous sommes des éclairs sur la Colline Graphemba
Eclatants et effrayants,
Et le Tonnerre venant après lui, ce gars bruyant.
Nous sommes le lever du soleil silencieux
Illuminant pas à pas la lagune enterrée par la nuit.
Nous sommes des ombres-épouvantes revenant
subrepticement aux feux de campement qui
s’éteignent doucement.
Nous sommes la Nature et le Passé, tout ce qui comporte nos
vieilles traditions
Maintenant en train de disparaître ici et là.
Les broussailles sont détruites, ainsi la chasse et la
rire.
L’aigle, lui, est déjà parti, l’émeu et le kangourou ont aussi quitté les lieux.
Le cercle du bora a disparu.
La corroborée a disparue.
Et nous sommes en train de disparaître.
*An Australian Aboriginal dance ceremony which may take the form of a sacred ritual or an informal gathering. 'Aborigines living in the coastal Kimberley region of Australia's top end sometimes dance a corroboree re-enacting the arrival of dingoes to Australia. (Oxford English Dictionary)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
It was you from the moment I seen you.
I knew in my heart I would be the one to rescue you, but in the end you ended up saving me.
I see in your eyes the pain that lingered inside.
From your past relationships your pride was on cloud nine.
My theory was to put your fears aside.
You feel like I am like all the rest, so you continuously put my love through a test.
Why won’t you let me love you?
My love is a virtue, forever lasting external statue.
It was you my handcrafted imbue tattoo I cling to.
If you only knew how I truly feel about you.
I was sculpted only for you my sahib, I am your rib.
You’re a reflection of me desperately wanting love, but scared of the many risks that come with it.
Love should have come with an asterisk.
You’re my only weakness causing infectious affection.
It was your personality that spoke volumes to me, showering me with chivalry.
Persistency kept me where I wanted to be.
Let me be the one you need, all you need is faith as tiny as a mustard seed.
Abundantly this love will be an adjustment for you, and me.
If you should have a nightmare just know I will be there.
If you’re hurting and need to cry, I will be the one to wipe your eyes.
For my love only identifies.
I fell in love with you, not for the things you’re able to do.
It was simply you…
If you should happen to get laid off work, I will be the one standing in the door.
The only one you brace oneself for.
Your personal landing gear, I am whole heartily sincere.
I will be your rocking chair.
If the time comes and you begin to lose your hair, baby I will be your favorite barber chair your personal concierge.
It was you that introduced your love voodoo.
Only wanting you timeless déjà vu.
You made me love you; you are my lifetime band aid.
Now let me be your brigade, your right hand grenade.
You’re forever nursing aide.
The sharpest in your drawer knife blade.
The one and, only ace of spade your jack of trades.
Equivalent to money your love is symbolic.
A polished rocket you’re extraordinary, and solid.
Biologic process but simply flawless.
If I am getting off topic I might be losing conscious.
Thinking of you makes me forget my surroundings.
My heart starts pounding echo sounding.
I automatic start smiling, it’s simply astounding.
You knew it has always been you.
It was you.
“Past Old Strangers”
I met a man with piercing eyes,
Whose cool façade was mere disguise,
Whose soul reflected sadness there,
The like of which I can’t compare.
Whose massive frame seemed somehow small
For one whose stature stood so tall,
Whose glance I felt afraid to meet
For fear of déjà vous’ entreat –
Like past old strangers reunited,
Or some lost love, not yet requited.
He was running, so was I;
We almost passed each other by,
But something gave us moment’s pause
In destiny’s ill-fated cause.
So, we stopped and shared a word, or two,
Like old acquaintances might do.
We passed the time, as best we could,
Both knowing somehow that we should.
And gradually, he made me smile,
As did he, in turn, in a little while,
But underneath I saw the pain
And fear he felt to love, again.
And compassion overtook me then
For all those empty hours we spend
In seeking warmth from someone else
Instead of looking to ourselves.
For all those nameless faces yet,
And all those ghosts we can’t forget;
For all the loves that haunt us still
And rob us of our own free will.
For all those memories that lie
So heavily on heart’s goodbyes;
For all the love that we may miss
Because of nurtured cowardice.
For all the chances we let pass
When stepping through that looking glass,
To let the words we long to say
Fall lost along our appointed way.
Because we fear, in foolish pride,
To let another step inside,
To take a place so deep within
That no one else has ever been.
For fear of feeling human need
In fond fulfillment or lover’s deed,
For giving is that part of love
We find that we’re most fearful of.
And all those things I thought within
That sweet reunion with my old friend,
When glimpsing there beneath those eyes
Midst idle talk and flirting sighs.
But he knew well, as I did too,
The candle’s flame to which we drew,
Like moths who flutter to be free,
But can’t escape Fate’s destiny.
And so it was, we passed the night,
But never touched, as once we might,
For we both feared what we both knew,
As past old strangers often do,
The haunting warmth that we might find,
The kindredship of mirrored minds,
The comfort we would share as friends,
The fear of where it all might end…
J. B. Pearce
Copyright
Why am I missing you in Wyomissing
In Wyomissing where WiFi waves warp Whitman's words
I'm wiki-wishing scrolling through digitized déjà vu
Mississippi .mp3s Mississauga .gifs Missy Elliott remixes
Mishmash of missed misplaced hyperlinks missing persons
Y-chromosomes yearning in Wyomissing DNA double-helix twisting
Your LOLs a lyric lipslock softly #hissing history rewriting
From Issigeac to Missouri's twisted Twitter feed Insta-stories fleeting
Absence makes the heart grow fonder indeed™ (patent pending).
Persisting thoughts insistent as pop-up ads spam in the place where I lived
Roaming data plans streaming memes gone mad mad libs mad love
Enlisting Siri Alexa cosmic GPS Googling "how to forget ex"
To where your heart might choose to compress decompress or stay perplexed
In Wyomissing I sigh and I sit bit by bit byte by byte
Sky vast as the cloud no storage limit limit does not exist
Committing to journey's jumbled algorithm rhythmic logarithm
To find you love my heart's lost rhythm arrhythmia of the soul
Dismissing doubts like spam keep on insisting
Our love's a flame forever resisting
Extinguishing persisting through trials by fire(wall)
Never desisting crossing all area codes morse codes zip codes
Twisting paths and listless constellations celestial navigation
I'll travel far ignoring Terms & Conditions contractual obligations
Transmitting love my heart's submitting committing omitting
To find you no more words omitting remitting or permitting
So here I am in Wyomissing's embrace interface about-face
Memories of kisses a lingering trace copy-paste ctrl+z can't erase
From Mississippi to Issigeac's charm disarm false alarm
I'll roam the world semantics disarm semantic fields semantic yields
But as I search for truth's revelation information overload
A twist so dark beyond explanation quantum entanglement implodes
In my quest I find a terse text next perplexed hex
From you my love "New phone who dis" Dismissed missed kissed-off list.
In Wyomissing where dreams unravel travel advisory
I learned the truth your heart's new travel Marvel universe multiverse
My heart now shattered can't keep dismissing missing hissing
Y R U ghosting me in Wyomissing Existing in digital abyss sing
Y am I missing U in Wyomissing?
I awake to the beautiful plaintive strains
Of a violin - then realize it’s just in my head
Just a dream - a shame to find
I’m in the hospital - same room - same bed
The monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall
Time, an indefinite progress of my existence
Time for my pills, time to call the nurse
Time not on my side, breaking down my resistance
After lunch a quick nap
Then the visiting hour I dread most of all
Seeing pity in their eyes, they wish me back
To what I was before my withdrawal
The world of music - my life - my love
The fame and fortune that once was mine
Exhilarating - Intoxicating, a wife at my side
With children sharing the Glory Divine
I lived it - I breathed it
Plucked at its very soul
The core of its existence in my hands
Like a faithful servant it played its role
I look at the painting on the wall
A feeling of Déjà vu enters it seems
I’ve seen this glade of lush green plants
And these sparkling bubbling streams
I remember drawing back watching afar
An Angel who danced in its midst
Who danced with wild abandon
Her hair that the sun had kissed
I remember wishing I could dance with her
With this Angel from above
A hundred birds would sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
But it’s just a painting - There’s no girl there
And I’m just a sick old man
Wallowing in my grief and sadness
Existing however best I can
What’s this I’m suddenly in the glade?
A young strong man once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
The world I’ve left behind
Unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
With sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers in our hair
Footnote:
We do not know for sure if my Father – who was a great violinist and classical musician, had imagined this story when he was a young man, when he chanced on a young girl dancing in the glade. It’s a story he told us many times and we loved to believe it.
I like to imagine a fitting finale to the first story, when his time came and have pictured it in this poem.
This story begins in my Poem arrangement 'Dance to Love - Part 1'
Hovering beside a group of words,
Strategically aligned to make them meaningful,
Primitive noises and symbols are constructed,
Passed down from elders who are wise with knowledge,
Taught to use them for powerful communication,
Emotions stirred into structured but stiff cocktails,
Irresponsibility is lost in translation,
This is what we're taught,
An education of destruction,
Behaviors we're to believe are normal,
While we unknowingly create chaos through vowels,
Consonants created equally as terrible,
As the groups we are controlled by,
They make us feel accepted,
love fills our bottomless pit,
With hope comes commorodory,
But We only find ourselves more alone then ever,
When we're no longer useful to the cause,
We're handed a red solo cup of destiny,
Being a part of something in a history,
A history that will be lost over and over,
These events elevate the mind,
There is no existing in time,
You are handed the gift of déjà vu,
Because you've already done this,
And it reminds us of the truth,
A linear universe,
A place that repeats itself,
Again and again it happens,
Unwilling to accept it,
We turn a cheek,
To save all we have,
The belief that we have a purpose…
The search for meaning comes up short,
When we focus on the meaning of life,
You miss the real reasons your alive,
We're not meant for this planet,
We should have figured this out when we were born.
We're given a name,
To help us with an identify of self,
The story of me begins,
And it ends,
In between is an awareness that doesn’t belong,
Experiences that are hijacked,
Given to us,
For a hypothesis of scientific purpose,
Like a conscious robot,
To see if we can feel alive,
We are living,
But we are abandoned,
Left behind by master,
What's your’s is mine,
And ill make you bleed for it if I have to,
Darkness takes over when we believe the story of me,
Mine is the war inside,
Killing anything in the way of my pleasure,
Leaving you as a short term memory,
Lossed to fires and eroded by water,
The legacy of you will never be forever,
You are a temporary tyrant,
Pursuing the darkest of evils,
The unknown,
The lessons of life,
understood as a behavior,
And tolerated because its nature..
M. Stefano/2017
The blue hour takes root ...
There is the dark wing of the steamer,
Which takes the open sea, and carries away its regrets,
Tiny passengers, waving handkerchiefs
And the seagulls passing and passing again.
Heavy rusty chains, in heaps on the edge of the quay,
Puddles where the clouds pass,
In which dead leaves are diluting.
The evening is maritime,
The sun is still clinging to the cranes of the harbor,
Which seem aimless,
And on the summit of the trees.
The freshness already slips on its silver soles,
And it remains a few moments, on the water
The wake of dreams.
It doesn't wait to dilutes itself in oblivion.
The boat came out of my field of vision,
Perhaps a point, hidden behind the buildings of the mole.
The wind knocks at my window.
A bus goes up the avenue, almost empty.
The silver stone of the moon rises from the horizon.
The muses escaped.
The blue hour takes root,
I put a disc
And from the piano, Chopin chords.
These are the "Nocturnes".
They soon overtake the reddish mists:
Ultimate bursts of a day that goes out.
---
( translated from french )
---
original text:
----
L'heure bleue prend racine...
Il y a l'aileron sombre du paquebot,
qui prend le large, et emporte ses regrets,
des passagers minuscules, agitant des mouchoirs
et les mouettes qui passent et repassent .
De lourdes chaînes rouillées, en tas sur le bord du quai,
des flaques où passent les nuages,
dans lesquelles se diluent des feuilles mortes .
Le soir est maritime,
le soleil s'accroche encore sur les grues du port,
qui semblent désoeuvrées,
et sur la cîme des arbres.
La fraîcheur glisse déjà sur ses semelles d'argent,
et il reste quelques instants, sur l'eau
le sillage des songes.
Il ne tarde pas à se diluer dans l'oubli.
Le bateau est sorti de mon champ de vision,
peut-être un point, caché derrière les bâtiments du môle.
Le vent frappe à ma fenêtre.
Un autobus remonte l'avenue, presque vide .
La pierre argentée de la lune monte de l'horizon.
Les muses se sont échappées.
L'heure bleue prend racine,
je mets un disque
et du piano, s'égrènent les accords de Chopin.
Ce sont les « Nocturnes ».
Ils devancent de peu les brumes rousses :
ultimes sursauts d'un jour qui s'éteint.
RC
POTD 6th August 2019
The clock ticks down the passing day
Tedious seconds count down my existence
Time for my pills ~ Time to call the nurse
Time ~ taunting my resistance
Soft haunting strains of a violin float
sweetly liquid, melodiously unchained
freeing my mind from weariness faced
No barriers ~ it flows ~ unrestrained
My world of music I lived it ~ breathed it
In whispers ~ it spoke to my Soul
bringing with it, adoration and glory
and a passion beyond my control
I glance at the painting on the wall
pondering this feeling of déjà vu
Memories of this glade from before
Triggers mentation I need to pursue
Memories flood ~ a vision in the distance
an Angel dancing in its midst
who had danced with wild abandon
lucent skin the sun had kissed
How I had yearned to dance with her
with that angel who made me sigh
she had come to shine her own pure light
prompting my spirit to fly
But there’s no girl there ~ awry is my mind
And I’m but a frail old man
I must erase thoughts from my life bygone
And prevail however best I can
~ Every great dream starts with the dreamer
who ventures where mortals dare not tread
And laughs with mirth and cares not for
unfinished rhapsodies playing in his head ~
What’s this? I’m suddenly in the glade?
A strong young lad once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers everywhere
It seems I’ve left the world behind
And unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
by Maria Williams
Thank you for listening and watching this video.
Video arrangement, production, direction
and compilation:
Ron Williams
Video editing, sound mixing, graphics:
Jayne Hartanto
Part 1 and Part 2
Narrated by Kelvin C
If you like my video please share and subscribe on You Tube - thank you
Copyright © August 2019 Maria Williams
POTD 6th August 2019
Soon I will be traveling
To the valley of the stars
And the shoreline of the Milky Way
Where near connects to far.
My senses fading rapidly
As darkness closes in
Like a fog bank over mountain tops
Void of sound or wind.
Bow and arrow-headed past Polaris
Beyond Orion’s belt –
Galaxies beyond galaxies
Or anything yet seen or felt.
Star-dust bound to that forever now
Eternally timeless life and death –
To the Maker of matter and anti-matter
And giver of life and breath.
Minstrel of music, Painter of skies
One for All and All in One –
Where old is new as morning dew
And darkness and light come from.
Where departures are deceptive and death reflective
Of times and places we’ve known –
Where déjà vu’ is nothing new
And oceans turn to snow.
Where once upon a mystery
In those early Christian miles –
I heard Jesus laughing and Buddha clapping
The day I learned to smile.
With Shiva dancing and Lipizzons prancing
In a wave-like, particle spin –
Where uncertainty turns to reality
And disappears like a by-gone wind.
Where stretching the bounds of life itself
Is a weirdly – wonderful ride –
Like falling from a roller coaster down below
And the bottom is nothing
but sky.
I’m going back there and everywhere
In the eye of the hurricane storm –
Into the realm of the looking glass
Where memories and dreams are born.
Where truth is a lie and fiction real
And proof is a playful thing –
Where telekinesis is more than a thesis
And the universe sparkles and sings.
And the warm Light of Transcendence and others in attendance
Wait where the river runs deep –
For another soul’s travel to try and unravel
How far we can go when we sleep.
Where yesterday lives with tomorrow today
And heaven is real as green grass –
For you, me and they and all who obey
In the laws of good nature that lasts.
Where consciousness resides love never dies
And home’s not a place but a thought –
Separation ended, hatred suspended
And nothing more needs to be sought.
The sun plunged
In the space of silence,
The summer has been extended
In a slow wandering ...
The orb has been drunk,
Gradually, by fringes.
> We did not hear anything,
From the fall of the angel ...
The horizon has folded its wings around
Confusing the distants ...
Evening invades what remains of the day
In a jiffy.
Water reflections exchanges
The colors overrated,
With the sky full of oranges,
The trees are just silhouettes ...
The night the already marks yesterday
This is a timely opportunity,
Where piercing welcoming clouds
unfolds, shamelessly ,the moon ...
It will take an earth tour,
And plenty of patience,
For the solar triumph reappears
In its rebirth ,
As clarity rises
And progresses slowly
Until the most intense moment, at its solstice,
To the top of the firmament.
And the celestial body draws, now
All things , in gold drops ,
..... - And this is another day.
It drinks in his turn and evaporates it....
-
Le soleil a plongé
Dans l'espace du silence,
L'été s'est prolongé
Dans une lente errance...
L'astre a été bu,
Petit à petit, par franges.
> Nous n'avons rien entendu,
De la chute de l'ange...
L'horizon a replié ses ailes, autour
Confondant les lointains...
Le soir envahit ce qu'il reste de jour,
En un tournemain.
Les reflets des eaux échangent
Des couleurs surfaites ,
Avec le ciel tout en oranges,
Les arbres ne sont que silhouettes...
La nuit, marque déjà l'hier,
C'est l'occasion opportune,
Où, perçant des nuées hospitalières,
se dévoile, sans pudeur, la lune...
Il faudra un tour de terre,
Et beaucoup de patience,
Pour que réapparaisse le triomphe solaire,
Dans sa renaissance ,
Que la clarté se hisse
Et progresse lentement,
Jusqu'au plus intense, à son solstice,
Au sommet du firmament.
Et l'astre dessine maintenant ,
Toutes choses en gouttes d'or,
..... - Et c'est un autre jour.
Il le boit à son tour, puis l' évapore....
-
RC