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Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Jacques Prévert's - To paint the portrait of a bird

Note: This poem is originally written in French by a French poet - Jacques Prévert. This was performed at my workplace as a recital+drawing duet. I loved it. Such powerful visual imagery in itself, and exaggerated by the performance of the duo.

To paint the portrait of a bird
First paint a cage
with an open door
then paint
something pretty
something simple
something beautiful
something useful
for the bird
then place the canvas against a tree
in a garden
in a wood
or in a forest
hide behind the tree
without speaking
without moving …
Sometimes the bird comes quickly
but he can just as well spend long years
before deciding
Don’t get discouraged
wait
wait years if necessary
the swiftness or slowness of the coming
of the bird having no rapport
with the success of the picture
When the bird comes
if he comes
observe the most profound silence
wait till the bird enters the cage
and when he has entered
gently close the door with a brush
then
paint out all the bars one by one
taking care not to touch any of the feathers of the bird
Then paint the portrait of the tree
choosing the most beautiful of its branches
for the bird
paint also the green foliage and the wind’s freshness
the dust of the sun
and the noise of insects in the summer heat
and then wait for the bird to decide to sing
If the bird doesn’t sing
it’s a bad sign
a sign that the painting is bad
but if he sings it’s a good sign
a sign that you can sign
so then so gently you pull out
one of the feathers of the bird
and you write your name in a corner of the picture.

Here is the original, for those who understand French. (I wish I did)

Pour faire le portrait d'un oiseau
Peindre d'abord une cage
avec une porte ouverte
peindre ensuite
quelque chose de joli
quelque chose de simple
quelque chose de beau
quelque chose d'utile
pour l'oiseau
placer ensuite la toile contre un arbre
dans un jardin
dans un bois
ou dans une forêt
se cacher derrière l'arbre
sans rien dire
sans bouger ...
Parfois l'oiseau arrive vite
mais il peut aussi bien mettre de longues années
avant de se décider
Ne pas se décourager
attendre
attendre s'il le faut pendant des années
la vitesse ou la lenteur de l'arrivée de l'oiseau
n'ayant aucun rapport
avec la réussite du tableau
Quand l'oiseau arrive
s'il arrive
observer le plus profond silence
attendre que l'oiseau entre dans la cage
et quand il est entré
fermer doucement la porte avec le pinceau
puis
effacer un à un tous les barreaux
en ayant soin de ne toucher aucune des plumes de l'oiseau
Faire ensuite le portrait de l'arbre
en choisissant la plus belle de ses branches
pour l'oiseau
peindre aussi le vert feuillage et la fraîcheur du vent
la poussière du soleil
et le bruit des bêtes de l'herbe dans la chaleur de l'été
et puis attendre que l'oiseau se décide à chanter
Si l'oiseau ne chante pas
c'est mauvais signe
signe que le tableau est mauvais
mais s'il chante c'est bon signe
signe que vous pouvez signer
Alors vous arrachez tout doucement
une des plumes de l'oiseau
et vous écrivez votre nom dans un coin du tableau.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Oscillations


Riding an infinite wave
The crests, the troughs
Endless
A phony eternity beacons
its false hopes and promises
Plead for release
an emotional captivity.
The strange sweetness
Can't be forgotten.
Awaiting the soft sand
or to crash onto rocks
a reconciliation.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

rags to riches!

She was confident, new
The rag
Furious, vulnerable
She sat thinking
crushed in awe :)
A friend came along
Showed her shimmering stars
a wonderful new world
The magic carpet ride
Then they fell
The self-pity pit
Narrow and deep
Why do they care?
They did.
Effects of the dark pit, reflections
a misery so powerful,
the engines had to roar again
The carpet soared high
through the dim-lit sky
The moonlit caves
"Open sesame" and voila!
there were glittering gems
Rich they were! Greedy-eyed.
Filled their pockets
Satisfied.
Turned back. Awaiting them?
Thieves?
There is no turning back.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Poetic puzzles

They are so powerful. They are open and yet so closed. They can tease. Inspire. They can make your imagination run wild. They let you reveal your thoughts and conceal them in any proportion you like.

It was the perfect way to release emotions I would otherwise like not to talk about.
However, there was a hitch. No matter how interesting it was, to set up your thoughts into a measured puzzle with just a smashing of hints that could draw someone(s) attention to it, you realise you are not getting the release you desire. It is no longer an uninterrupted flow of emotions that I'd like it to be.

Yet it makes sense because I'd not like to get into verbose details that nobody cares about and that is difficult for me to put into meaningful words, so might as well put it all into a soup of incoherent words that I can later conveniently call a poem, that only I can understand. Serves my not-so-noble purposes! Muaahahahaha!

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Acknowledgement

It hurts. It is beautiful. Oh, yes.
Do I want it?
Ignoring the signs
Was easier.
Now the pain pierces me.
Will I heal?
Feel the blood rush.
Butterflies flutter.
The soup of emotions.
Will there be calm?
I acknowledge.
Ache, greed, fear.
or a tender, warm present. A future.
Is it a trance?
The questions lingered.
Seemed like forever.
Washed away in a flash!
Crystal clear.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Trapped in the web of I

oe
Another recent attempt : Hopefully a little flowy
Context: A very generic article I read that made me feel "ME Too!!" inducing yet another long, miserable mode of self-reflection. As a result I entirely missed the larger point it made. It was profound and beautiful as I later found out. Me too!?? So bloody what?

Looking inward
I read, write, listen and talk. I am
relating to me
always my experiences, my thoughts.
Why does it have to be me?
Do 'I' matter I ask
the grand scheme of things.
Is not there somebody else
the world revolves around?
Self-centered. No. I am
but self-obssessed?
If there be a difference.
Look, I go there again.
Look within? 'virtue' you say.
But I ever go inward-out?
Stuck in. I am
trapped. Hard to untangle
the I-web.
Weird watching the world. from within
and without
strength to fight free.
Move outward. Thoughtlessly like.
The path unclear
awaiting ME. I laugh

Friday, October 24, 2008

The candyman's smile

My first miserable attempt at poetry. Childish and contrived.
Context: In my pre-final year of undergraduate studies, trying to understand my career choices.

The fair wind blew
My journey I started anew
With new horizons to pursue
My worth for me to prove

The hills stood relentless and tall
Tears I shed plenty and decieved me a lot
At long last I got to the top
But where and why I really climbed I knew not.

The candyman there flashed a mocking smile
At all the lies, convincing in style
Ignoring him I continued to dine
Distracting din of forks, soup, cutlery and lingering sweet wine

A cold guilt in my heart sank
I looked the other way, at the job in my hand
The guilt but vanished only to come back
This time more forceful, freezing, dank.

In dark dawns and damp dews
long hours I spent knowing not what to do
The candyman gave a mocking smile? Not true!
He gently said, "ask the child in you"

I saw what needed to do
What makes one happy and true?
The fair wind blew
My journey I started anew
 
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