POESIA

                          Gabriel Aresti, 1963

 

Esanen dute

hau

poesia

eztela,

baina nik

esanen diet

poesia

mailu bat

dela.

the universe provides... and thank you Quasar and z0tl and Serenity... Basque poetry rocks... but before we get to that, I was wandering the web as I usually do in the wee hours of morning or anytime I happen to have a few moments to sit down at the computer which could be anytime of day any day of the week except, of late, the mid-day hours as I've not to long ago returned to the world of day trippers and, though quite flexible, basically a 9 to 5 schedule for the purposes of earning money to pay the bills of living in this sweet and funky (and rather fragile) culture when I came across the news that 30 Seconds to Mars are supposed in town on March 10^th and the venue doesn't have any info yet (weird) and I just found out that Warped Tour will be back on June 25^th  (funky) and in between making lists (though checking them twice wasn't happening at that particular time) and the good folk at tickle dot com give me a free 15 page in-depth analysis of my brain after I took their IQ test in my sleep one night and my dear adorable genius cute thing reminding me of years gone by when I would stumble upon the brilliance of brief thoughts and diary celebrity and I asked myself, what would bobby burgess do?...

actually, aside from all the name dropping I did over in the daily babble (where you will find me writing freely if you want to), if you are really curious about ric, the person (that would be me), then there are two starting points I would try before passing judgment on what you see here in myspace (because this is more performance art than autobiography) and the first would be the back door (sometimes actually referred to as my website) and the second, for more detail, would be RealTime™ where real people and touchable (offline) friends go to keep in touch with me because there I actually attempt to write brief entries about the daily life I enjoy (most of the time) in the offline world...

this myspace has a mind of it's own because I let it (and you) lead me wherever the next click may lead (and ooooo baby baby, it's a wild world) cuz I do not believe in censorship by an individual (and I am but one individual, no matter what the many voices in my head might try to tell you as I smirk at the parentheses that leave us wondering, and while I will delete a comment if the sales pitch is too redundant or I do not like what they are selling, I see myspace as the world {as opposed to a small web space with specific purpose way off the beaten path} and I am exploring the world, not creating (and there is a world of difference I wish more people would see and actualize in their own lives on and offline}, so fault the reflection I offer all you wish, but judge me after you see me, not just the reflection of the world I paint in words here, m'ok?)... if you get that, then maybe you get this translation of the poem I started out with here today:

POESIA

        Gabriel Aresti, 1963

They'll say

that this

is not

poetry,

but

I tell you

that poetry

is

a hammer.

 

 Translation: Toni Strubell

Original version: POESIA

the Beatles know and told us through Maxwell, for anyone listening, but then, that is all ancient history now (so I might as well quote Socrates or Faust or some other long dead writer for many of you who judge the wrapper and consume the contents without even tasting it), but the TV generation is all around us (and I've been one too), so I fault none and judge less and reflect and enjoy as much as I can (with others when others are open to play, and in words when others are vegetating)... it keeps me from falling into the traps of empty minds...

or we could watch Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure for the forty third time (though unless you are looking for topical political satire, for truly timeless irreverence pass Airplane! and move along to Monty Python and Robin Williams)... but that aside was brought to you by Rasputin, who turned on the TV and found Bill and Ted talking to Socrates and forgot he was channel surfing... he'll be nodding off with the remote in his crotch soon enough...

meanwhile, speaking of speaking in tongues (and remembering that when irreverence gets too irreverent, is becomes serious... and vice versa), back in my head (and my web surfing), I bring you yet another Basque poem, dude...

EGIA BAT ESATEAGATIK

  

Egia bat esateagatik,

alabak

hil behar bazaizkit,

andrea

bortxatu behar badidate,

etxea

lurrarekin

berdindu behar bazait;

Egia bat esateagatik,

ebaki behar badidate

nik eskribitzen

dudan

eskua,

nik kantatzen

dudan

mihina;

Egia bat esateagatik,

nire izena

kenduko badute

euskal literaturaren

urrezko

orrietatik,

inoiz,

inola,

inun

eznaiz

isilduko.