This world is so wide that, even if you flitted around and around it, you would never reach the end of it. This blog is a collage of more or less literary and humorous, outlandish or sometimes even serious glimpses at this great wide world.
Written for Sunday Scribblings. The task was to think of demands one would have as a mega ridiculous superstar on tour. While I’ve definitely missed the subject here, I like this somewhat Emily Dickinsonian ditty in all its simplicity, if I may say so myself.
A love song that has stayed with me for decades - ever since I heard it at my friend Paloma's house in Madrid - is Palabras de amor by Joan Manuel Serrat. He originally wrote it in his native Catalan, and the Catalan title is Paraules d'amor. The version I first heard and still prefer to any other recordings, including those by the composer himself, is by Venezuelan singer Soledad Bravo. It is unparalleled in its warmth and intimacy. The translation below is based on the lyrics she sings on her album Punto y Raya from 1974 (same as in the Youtube audio below).
This could well be my swan song to an emotional involvement that has been with me for over two years and is now showing signs of closure.
– Leonard Blumfeld
Words of love
She loved me so much,
And I love her to this very day.
Together we entered
A closed door.
I could say that she meant
The whole world to me then,
When only words of love
Were burning in the hearth.
Words of love, simple and tender.
We knew nothing else, we were fifteen.
We had not had time to learn anything else,
Had just woken from childhood dreams.
We were happy with three phrases
Learned from old comedians
Telling love stories, poets’ dreams.
We knew nothing else, we were fifteen.
Wherever she may be now,
Whatever she may be doing,
I lost her and will never ever
Get to see her again.
But oftentimes when night falls
I hear a song from far away.
Ancient notes, ancient chords,
Ancient words of love.
Words of love, simple and tender.
We knew nothing else, we were fifteen.
We had not had time to learn anything else,
Had just woken from childhood dreams.
Ella me quiso tanto,
yo todavía la quiero.
Juntos atravesamos
una puerta cerrada.
Ella, como podré decir,
era todo mi mundo
cuando en el hogar quemaban
solo palabras de amor.
Palabras de amor, sencillas y tiernas,
no sabíamos más, teníamos quince años,
no habíamos tenido tiempo de aprenderlas,
recién despertábamos de un sueño infantil.
Teníamos bastante con tres frases hechas
que habíamos oído a antiguos comediantes
de historias de amor, sueños de poetas,
no sabíamos más, teníamos quince años.
Ella, dónde estará,
ella, qué estará haciendo,
la perdí y nunca más
la volveré a encontrar.
Pero cuando la noche cae
oigo lejana una canción,
y en las notas, viejos acordes,
viejas palabras de amor.
Palabras de amor, sencillas y tiernas,
no sabíamos más, teníamos quince años,
no habíamos tenido tiempo de aprenderlas,
recién despertábamos de un sueño infantil.
The horoscope said:
a. You might suddenly desire a big change, Chayote. b. The energy of the day could make you impatient. c. You might feel restless. d. Maybe you realize that you are growing tired of your current job. e. You could crave more creative stimulation and personal challenge. f. Or perhaps you are feeling like you and your romantic partner have become stuck in a rut. g. Find some ways to spice up this important relationship.
I say:
a. Not even suddenly. I've been wanting big change for a long time. But the picture of it is fuzzy.
b. This has actually been an exhausting day, even though it began with good energy from yoga. Several misunderstandings followed, and I felt like an incompetent fool for hours, with my head completely in the clouds, not relating to people right.
c. Yes.
d. It's been worse, but I am definitely tired of it.
e. More creative stimulation would be good. More personal challenge I can do without. I feel challenged enough.
f. Yes, definitely. Even though she qualifies as my romantic partner primarily in my own imagination and in some friends' gossip. They keep seeing us together and putting 2 and 2 together and arriving at 6 1/2 or whatever. And I'm not telling anything.
g. That would be good.
Romance is in the air today, L.B. Take that special woman in your life and do something completely different. Get last-minute tickets to a rock concert, or arrange to spend the day canoeing. Do something to shake up your relationship a bit. It is at risk of becoming a bit stale. If there is no one special in your life right now, call a good friend to see if he can set you up with someone. This is no time to be alone!
No, this does not feel like a romantic day at all. I'm afraid the computer that put this horoscope together is even more wrong than usual.
A. That special woman in my life - if I may call her that - would definitely not be thrilled by a last-minute rock concert. She prefers classical or Russian. And canoeing is out. Did that computer take into account the weather hereabouts? This is more the time for ice skating than water sports.
B. Yes, things are a bit stale in that they're not moving at all. Haven't been much in over a year. In fact, calling it a relationship at all would be exaggerating. Even though there are relationships of all kinds. This is definitely one of all kinds.
C. I wouldn't know which friend to call for that.
D. I completely agree - this ain't no time to be alone. Nobody should be. Not even a recluse* such as I.
* I've been called that by my dear ex-wife numerous times (always feeling that I'd been completely misunderstood in 19 years of marriage). And a British friend recently called himself that and seemed to imply the same for me. The truth: I'm just like anybody else, need time with others and time by myself.
Note: There appears to be some truth to this – generally, the women that appeal to me are similar to my mother, usually in several respects: difficult, negative, depressive, coy, vain, capricious, gifted, always late. You may get a vague picture. I feel trapped.
Like a trapeze artist without a backup net, I dared to break off a relationship with a woman who was in love with me (at least she told me so, and it looked like it to me). Why? I did not love her the same way. I was in love with her briefly, but the initial infatuation faded within a few weeks, to be replaced by thoughts of the woman I was really in love with, had loved for close to a year and had attempted to forget by starting a relationship with another.
Alas, my beloved one told me in very clear words that she did not reciprocate (on one occasion) and that she saw no future for us (on another occasion).
Still, I dared to follow my heart and received, in the course of this year, ups and downs galore, a few days of happiness with my beloved and other days of piercing pain.
All in all I often feel like I'm living in two worlds (similar to J. Nash in A Beautiful Mind) that are both cohesive in themselves ... but of which only one is real. Yes, you guessed it, it's the one with the piercing pain.
Hopefully it's all good for something. Some learning experience perhaps.
Daring or idiocy? That is the question.
- Leonard "Truth or Dare" Blumfeld
Written upon inspiration by Sunday Scribblings. Many of the ups and downs mentioned are recorded in this blog in more or less subtly encrypted form.
"Something grave happened today!"
"What do you mean?"
"Your lithe body is no longer lithe. Did someone offend you? Did I offend you?"
She cried on my shoulder.
"You would never offend me. You couldn't possibly."
"You never know. – But tell me what happened."
"It's silly. I'm sure I'm exaggerating. Except that I can't help but feeling down like this."
"Tell me."
"My daughter loathes me, and I got my income tax statement back today. I owe them money and I don't have any! How can this be?"
"Now, now. We'll look at this one at a time. First off, why do you think your daughter loathes you?"
She told me about both troubles, and some of her litheness returned as she was doing so and we were thinking of ways for her to come out of the fog – familial and financial.
Posted as an entry for Sunday Scribblings' Weird. What's the connection – what does this fibonacci have to do with weirdness? Well, it's about the weird game of perceived true love, perceived self-deception, renewed hope, renewed attraction, inability to let go I've been playing with and against myself for close to two years now. What stamina! That is weird, isn't it?
Looks like the downward half of the sinusoidal curve is here again. Friendly, noncommittal treatment. Turndowns I find offensive because they go overboard in being turndowns. Like this: "Would you like half of one of these?" "No, I don't like chocolate crescents." "I normally don't like them much, either. But they looked so cute with the chocolate stripes on top I couldn't resist." "Without the chocolate stripes I would have liked them." Get the point?
She says, looking him in the eyes unflinchingly: Why do you call me your nightmare incubate? Is it to tickle your vanity? You used to think of me so differently, said you loved me, only me. Told me I was so beautiful that simply looking at me took you to a different world. Now, tell me, where did all that go? How did I become your nightmare incubate?
- Leonard "It's All Vanity" Blumfeld
Written using incubate, nightmare and vanity from 3WW.
Oh no - it's been weeks since my last appearance here.
What have I been doing?
Lots.
Let's see - there was an Indian event here in Stuttgart, for which I organized some of the music (Subroto Roy Chowdhury on sitar, accompanied by Sanjib Pal). There was a trip to Munich to see my daughter before the end of her semester break. We dived into the art world by visiting an exhibition of Pakistani sufi posters and the gigantic Alfons Mucha show (art nouveau), which included some of his well-known posters but other works as well, including some bombastic Pan-slavic megalomania paintings.
My love life's been on the rocks and mostly in the dumps.
Strangely enough, I can't seem to enjoy life when I do not allow myself to be in love (and yes, with that one particular woman I've been writing for, to and about for the last year and a half).
She stub- bornly refuses to become my next relationship experiment.
- Leonard "Truly Loves Her" Blumfeld
Personal note: Mind-wrote this while taking a shower, went out to have dinner, returned, and it was still on my mind. So I simply had to write it down and publish it!
This also marks my first return to the fibonacci in quite a while.
What a beautiful late August day - not hot, but warm and sunny. The trees, chestnuts are first, are beginning to shed their leaves, and there's that crisp breath of fall in the air. I could stay with this season for a long time; it's my favorite.
Is this poem autobiographical? you might ask. Well, yes and no. Looking at myself and my failed relationships of the last seven years with some cynicism, this is definitely deserved. But then again - I never had even the slightest bad intention... Perhaps I should not be so harsh on myself.
Do I love her as truly as I profess? By my standards I do, perhaps even by fairly elevated standards. Will it last? That I don't know. But it has for a year and a half.
Sweet lilac flowers appear on the tree but once a year;
Your breasts bloom for me every day; you are more than spring.
My desires shone brightly like chestnut shoots;
You brought them out into the sun. We sit under a roof of foliage,
Smiling at each other in the luscious shade.
Longing has scarred me like a tree struck by lightning;
Now your bees are with me, and my eyes overflow from your honey.
I’m at a curious stage now, where there’s a lull induced by a two-week vacation. Everything’s on hold, sort of, and, apart from a framework of some planned work and engagements, I do not know what will happen afterwards regarding a certain person. Make that two. Nothing might happen. Things might go on as suspended and stop-and-go as they have been. “Keep on patiently, like you have been,” the Italian tarot lady said, “trust your feeling and do not listen to anyone else.” So I keep it up, more or less, wavering, just like anybody else, between hope and disillusionment. Some sort of cipation. Not quite anti.
Has that ever happened to you? You were paddling along just fine downriver, with one useful but unloved paddle in one hand and about half of another paddle somewhere in between hand and bush, when that unloved paddle became too unloved and the longing for the half-paddle became more important? Eventually, you got disgruntled enough to discard the unloved albeit useful paddle, suddenly found yourself going upriver, and the half-paddle turned out to be entirely elusive? OK, so I'm talking in riddles here, but the situation is pretty clear: up shit creek without a paddle. Scared shitless and almost willing to turn around again to grasp for what might remain of the unloved paddle...
These emotional ups and downs versus one particular person seem to have some regularity. Intensity and certainty are inevitably followed by increasing uncertainty and doubt ... and then reverse certainty (that it's all artificial heat-up and all too welcome misunderstanding of signals on my part). But ... there were smiles from her yesterday even though cold had seeped into my emotional feet.
