Cancion de jinete///Rider’s Song
Cordoba Leina y sola///Distant and lonely
Jaca negra, luna grande///Black pony, large moon y aceitunas en mi alforja///olives in my saddlebag, Anugue sepa los caminos /// Well as I know the roads, yo nunca llegare a Cordoba///I shall never reach Cordoba
por ilano, por el viento,/// over the plains, through the wind, jaca negra, luna roja,///black pony, red moon, La Muerte e esta mirando///Death keeps a watch on me Desde las torres de Cordoba///from the towers of Cordoba
!Ay que camina tan largo!///!Oh, what a long way to go! !Ay mi jaca valerosa!///!Oh, my spirited pony! !Ay que la muerte me espera,///!Oh, but death awaits me Antes de llgar a Cordoba!///Before I ever reach Cordoba!
Cordoba Lejana y sola///Distant and lonely
~Frederico Garcia Lorca
For some reason, this poem struck me when I was younger. I admired how the Rider kept plowing on, went through the journey even though he knew he wouldn’t be awarded. The journey was enough for him.
Everyone has read and loves this poem, but I’m going to post it anyway cause everyone should read and love this poem.
I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you Nobody too?
Then there’s a pair of us-don’t tell! They’d banish us, you know
How dreary to be somebody How public, like a frog
To tell your name to the livelong day to an admiring bog!
This is my favorite poem because I, too am Nobody. It’s also like the time Odysseus called himself Nobody to trick the cyclops. He is Somebody, as is Emily, but they claimed to be Nobody. It sort of banishes the idea of Somebody, says “No, we are all Nobody. Some of us also happen to be Somebody. Some of us can be Somebody someday.”
My arms hang limp no strength to cling the ropes
Scream, write drop it the weight write to drop weight write
get up refreshed game to play, ball to kick
The air is clear burst with song, sing with soul, sing
It stalks the edge of this dream curling the fresh-pressed ends wake up before you get to tired, must sleep
You’re flying on a dragon searching for the path the sandy ground shining heat from your bed leave the dragon to sleep
The fresh-pressed smell of the distant city beckons your eyes awake the light flickers off, turn on your torch you land, you must sleep
The dragon scales hurt your thighs as you slide down into sleep
What makes me sane right now separates me from my insane inner ring?
What makes you think that the book you read right now is not the same exact copy as the one you lay down a year ago?
Why should thoughts not be real when what is real cannot be known?
If I’m the all-mother,
You’re the moon
Pulling the tides
Not quite knowing why
There’s a sea in me
And I know the channels
But you’re the key, the light,
And away, the gate
You should stay,
‘Cause I’ll be away,
Not knowing how long
I was watching Sherlock before you came
Into the room, the light shone from your soul
You became my Watson
No clicks, just
Light shining, though you’re so dark
You’re warm, you’re light
How do I write,
Apart for unknown,
I recreate your soul in these pages
An android assimilation of you
Expressions I never saw but I impose
‘Cause I am the all-mother
And you’re just
Light the way,
Pull me whilst away,
Oh, won’t you inspire me now
You come to life when I’m reading a book Like I were a stuffed flower and you a bee with no pollen as far as I can tell, it can’t just be random; you must’ve read the book or at least’ve seen the movie
You’ve read Conan Doyle and have Christie on your TBR but a true reader would have it the other way ’round you’re a man made of classics, don’t care to get dirty When you see me reading random, you don’t care to say hi But you come so alive when it’s good and proper reading blind to the way that you’re giving me mixed signals
Slow Chicano lit and Philip K. Dick not sure why you like these with high standards like yours but if it makes you alive, anything to see your eyes You say you want to read me, I’m not sure if I’m your type Especially since my novel is forever changing but surely you’d read me ‘cause we share a Love Of Reading