Tag Archives: music

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 22 – Oggi

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Alzati, e cammina. L’inizio del movimento
non è difficile: metti davanti all’altro il piede
e poi l’altro, e poi ancora, e così via, a ruota

fino a che non si alzano altri, e comincia la ruota
a girare, anche nel piccolo è movimento
è tuo, è nuovo, è qualcosa che inizia a prender piede.

Qualcosa che si dissesta, si smuove, un piede
che perde ma poi si riprende, che la terra ruota
su se stessa, ma non per egoismo: libera, in movimento.

E col tuo, di movimento, non devi far la ruota: prima un piede, poi l’altro.

 

(Tritina: tre strofe di tre versi, tre parole chiave [piede, ruota, movimento], schema ABC, CAB, BCA, più verso finale con tutte le tre parole.)

Bonus content:

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 2 – Qualcun*

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Qualcuno era femminista perché era vissuto fuori dall’Italia.
Qualcuno era femminista perché la nonna, la zia, la sorella… il babbo no.
Qualcuno era femminista perché vedeva la prima generazione, la seconda, la terza e ancora qualcosa mancava.
Qualcuno era femminista perché si sentiva solo, ma non aveva paura.
Qualcuno era femminista perché aveva avuto un’educazione troppo cattolica.
Qualcuno era femminista perché il cinema lo esigeva, il teatro lo esigeva, la pittura lo esigeva, la letteratura anche… lo esigevano tutt*.
Qualcuno era femminista perché “La Storia è dalla nostra parte!”.
Qualcuno era femminista perché glielo avevano detto.
Qualcuno era femminista perché non gli avevano detto tutto.
Qualcuno era femminista perché prima era sessista.
Qualcuno era femminista perché aveva capito che la terza generazione andava piano ma lontano.
Qualcuno era femminista perché Sibilla Aleramo era una brava persona.
Qualcuno era femminista perché Berlusconi non era una brava persona.
Qualcuno era femminista perché era maschio ma non macho.
Qualcuno era femminista perché beveva (non proprio) e si comportava come una persona normale.
Qualcuno era femminista perché era così ateo che aveva bisogno di una morale.
Qualcuno era femminista perché era talmente affascinato che voleva essere un* di loro.
Qualcuno era femminista perché non ne poteva più del qualunquismo.
Qualcuno era femminista perché voleva un’uguaglianza seria, vera.
Qualcuno era femminista perché la patriarchia i diritti la lotta. Facile no?
Qualcuno era femminista perché la rivoluzione oggi no, domani forse, ma dopo domani sicuramente…
Qualcuno era femminista perché gli slogan non bastavano più.
Qualcuno era femminista e confondeva a suo padre.
Qualcuno era femminista perché guardava sempre oltre.
Qualcuno era femminista per moda, qualcuno per principio, qualcuno per frustrazione.
Qualcuno era femminista perché voleva pareggiare tutto.
Qualcuno era femminista perché conosceva gli impiegati statali, parastatali e affini.
Qualcuno era femminista perché aveva capito che l’“intersezionalismo” è l’unico modo.
Qualcuno era femminista perché era convinto d’avere dietro di sé amici e compagni.
Qualcuno era femminista perché era meno femminista di altri.
Qualcuno era femminista perché c’era il grande movimento femminista.
Qualcuno era femminista nonostante ci fossero altri movimenti femministi.
Qualcuno era femminista perché c’era bisogno di meglio.
Qualcuno era femminista perché abbiamo il peggior tipo di parità d’Europa.
Qualcuno era femminista perché lo status peggio che da noi …oddio.
Qualcuno era femminista perché non ne poteva più di migliaia d’anni di uomini viscidi e ruffiani.
Qualcuno era femminista perché gli stupri, l’aborto, gli uteri in affitto, le quote rosa, il Berlusconismo, Miss Italia, eccetera, eccetera, eccetera.
Qualcuno era femminista perché chi era contro era femminista.
Qualcuno era femminista perché non sopportava più quella cosa sporca che ci ostiniamo a chiamare ‘tradizione’.
Qualcuno credeva di essere femminista e forse era qualcos’altro.
Qualcuno era femminista perché sognava una libertà e una parità diversa.
Qualcuno era femminista perché pensava di poter essere vivo e felice solo se lo erano anche altr*.
Qualcuno era femminista perché aveva bisogno di una spinta verso qualcosa di nuovo, perché era disposto a cambiare ogni giorno, perché sentiva la necessità di una morale diversa, perché forse era solo una forza, un volo, un sogno, era solo uno slancio, un desiderio di cambiare le cose, di cambiare la vita.
Qualcuno era femminista perché con accanto questo slancio ognun* era come più di se stess*, era come due persone in una. Da una parte la personale fatica quotidiana e dall’altra il senso di appartenenza a una razza che voleva spiccare il volo per cambiare veramente la vita.
No, niente rimpianti. Forse anche allora molt* avevano aperto le ali senza essere capaci di volare, come delle gru ipotetiche.

E ora? Di nuovo, ora ci si sente come in due: da una parte l’umano inserit* che attraversa ossequiosamente lo squallore della propria sopravvivenza quotidiana e dall’altra la gru, che vola contro il cielo, contro il sole, contro la tempesta.

Stavolta, niente miseria.

(Niente spunto, ma ringraziamenti a Gaber. Certe risposte a volte cambiano, ma il simbolo rimane.)
nlis

On Finishing Things

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On Finishing Things

or, What I Think I Learned from Moving to a Different Country to Go To University

Be selfish. Because it won’t be enough to remember to take care of yourself. But also connect, to friends, to students, to colleagues, to staff, to people living around you. Be thankful for them, for their help, for their presence. Be thankful to your closest supporters, to your steam valves. Be kind. A little goes a long way, and you will feel much better for it.

Watch Liberal Arts, and prepare to scoff – but even so. Watch Whiplash and prepare to shudder – but even then. Watch Community, season one episode one, season five episodes one and two – watch it all, in fact. Watch Monsters University, despite it not being as good as Inc, and watch Inside Out [I’ll come back to emotions later, too]. Watch Dead Poets Society, if you feel you should, I suppose.

Learn to meditate, and breathe, and sleep. Learn to read as much as you want of anything you want, and that it’s ok to abandon it for a year if something else comes along. Learn to bingewatch with other people, and bingewatch alone. Learn to listen, but also to talk, and it doesn’t always have to be about that much.

Read Ali Smith’s Artful and Deborah Levy’s Things I Don’t Want to Know. Read William Letford’s Bevel and Marina Keegan’s The Opposite of Loneliness. Read Vaughan and Staples’ Saga and Luiselli and McSweeney’s Sidewalks. Read Comme un Roman, by Daniel Pennac (or by Sarah Ardizzone), or maybe Journal d’un Corps (or Diary of a Body, by Alison Waters). It helps to know your limits, of the page, of the body, and others have explored those edges. Read Jeanette Winterson’s Written on the Body, too, and Claudia Rankine’s Citizen. Read Gillen and McKelvie’s The Wicked and the Divine and Noelle Stevenson’s Nimona.

Find something to become passionate about, and abolish the guilt from the pleasure. [Mine is Transformers, but you already knew that.] Be aware of what is flawed about your interests, do your best to come to terms with it and try changing it where possible. Learn from the mistakes it makes. This also applies to yourself.

Because what you must remember, what you need to make sure you never forget, is to have ambition (cue Atanas Valkov). To be curious (cue Melodysheep). To remember that emotions are allowed, they are natural, they are yours. Because being strong can be a weakness, and showing weakness can definitely be a strength. Accept both. Allow both. Get angry. Make it count (cue A Monster Calls).

You will cry. You will laugh. Sometimes there will be little difference between the two. You will feel lost as everyone is younger than you or looks trapped too early. You will meet people and they will leave, and you won’t. And then you will, too.

So take time to say goodbye. To say thank you. To say sorry.
And do it all with a smile, where you can.

Night shuffle

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Play.

I did not mean to walk your streets tonight, but I did. I walked past your defences, your missing kind, your barely hidden happiness, as someone held me and helped me up.

Skip.

Walls of colour, from A to H, spread themselves before me, leading to hues of pink, gold, oxidized bronze. Your trees hold twinkling fruits, and I still don’t know how to be alone.

Skip.

No silver, no wick, no weaving. The flint is still there, stubborn and content. Glint of glass walls further to one side, no one reading, seasons change, people fall, hearts beat.

Skip.

Is there something I should know? Hall after hall you still keep secrets, even in the open, hardly hidden, standing tall in stone and tar. Bridges need crossing.

Skip.

Before the other side, some of your plainness shows, and still manages to pluck, softly, strings that had settled, gently. You’re the lucky one, you caused it.

Skip.

Orion, inevitably on your sky. Fairy lights, also inevitably, on your skyline. Friends intermittently on your roads, this road. Some have come home, some on your back.

Skip.

It’s getting cold. I’m getting cold. Walk with me some more, first. A ghost above me, pasts beside me, a door just ahead. Am I ever coming back for you..?

…skip.

(Bonus track: No words left after all that. Just step forward, right or wrong foot, doesn’t matter. Time to walk again. Time to set out and find the next one. I might be back.)

Emissaries

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Towards fresh flowing waters
they linked their paths,
channelling the music
the hues and flavours
of a crowd winding its way

with measure and care
around rise and falls of a score
towards a crossroads on the track
stepped across the borders.

They did not change that much
they did not stay the same, either.
They could not stay, so left
goodbyes rolling off the tongue
with ease, at last.

Flowing

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It pulses. Listen?

At heart, it hears the river flow
the humble river the river burns.

No real direction
from your starting point
other than onwards downwards inwards
it heals as it runs up stream down stream streaming constant flowing constant changing constant motion reckless breaking through the banks the dams the walls that hold that stand that shelter that keep that ground that close that stop.

It pauses. Shuffle?

Stumble upon stumble into another stream another beam another ray no other way to run to lose to loosen off this crude matter it don’t matter where when there then the forces beyond forces within forces join and grow and glow and flow wild harder faster further higher more than more then anchored grounded held still stood stopped.

It pleases. Feel?

how it shapes | how it shares | how it flows
what it shapes | what it shares | what it grows
why it shapes | why it shares | why it knows

Know how. Know what. Know why. Now.

Glitch

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our demons
our demons can’t
can’t kill us
our demons
starve the ego
and fly
by night our demons fly
only by night

between two points
(on my watch)
drive it
(on my watch)
drive it like
(take to the night)
drive it like you stole it
take to the night

bad wings can’t
kill us
can’t carry the sun
(I need my memory back)
and we swarm
we starve
we can’t
can’t kill
fly

keep
to the beat
keep
to the heart
keep
control
feed
control the feed
feed
the heart

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 29 – Where

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Where have my robots gone?
Is there another shelf for them
or desk on which to lead
their silent plastic lives?
A room that is one
and two and four
and a space that is more than
what it seems, more
than what it sounds.

Where has my artwork gone?
The wordland, the doctor,
the space between will and power
and better angels still?
No room for one more
as the walls are
laid bare again –
to prosper perhaps beyond
the boxed papers whispered
by faceless passers by
and sudden saxophones.

Where have my covers gone?
Are there no more layers
for them to build upon truths
and cushion the inevitable fall?
There is room for more
than one person
more than one body
to lie away
from the streets
more than one spirit
to inhabit the shape
left behind by another.

Where have my words gone?
Were they lost
where I last saw
where I last heard

Where will my room
find its space
find its sound
find its place
once it’s gone?

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 10 – Stuck

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I long for the summer.

You’ll follow where I go
knowing I will find
the chance to go back.

I try to do it myself,
I want to see and
let the words fall out.

I long for the summer.

I’ve just got to go,
another colour turns to grey
and I have to take it.

Just like you,
I am aware that
there’s no one left to blame.

There’s no one left to blame.
I’m walking away
now I truly realise

I long for the summer.

[Found poem. Each line is chosen from a song obtained by googling the previous line. When stuck in a circle, repeat the first line.]

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 8 – (Alter)Ego

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You’re making me…
You wouldn’t like me when I’m…

..who am I kidding, liking is a given.
You’d like me when I’m angry
you’d like me when I’m hungry
you love me, really, in any way.
Not to be childish,
but I just woke up – what do you say?

Ignore that grey dude,
go for something fresh.
There’s a green, lean, lovin’
machine buried in here
and it’s about to burst out
into song – yeah, good at that too.

Never mind the gamma ray,
think more gabba gabba hey.
I got a whole lotta love
to share with you
and I’m not letting it drop
like a lead balloon.

I can feel it pumping
just for you – or you –
radiating from inside.
Come closer, there’s no danger.
Trust me: I’m a doctor.
Should I put it on a banner?

Nothing puny about this god
you can bow in adoration.
I’m a smash hit, babe,
a revelation – feel the funk.

Yeah, that’s right.
I’m the Incredible Hunk.