Etiqueta: poetry

  • Machete


    Amanda Palmer's Machete cover art. Features Amanda, a machete and Anthony-Ash-for-short Gaiman-Palmer(?).
    Amanda Palmer’s Machete cover art. A picture by Allan Amato, features Amanda, a machete and Anthony-Ash-for-short Gaiman-Palmer/Palmer-Gaiman (I never thought I don’t know which surname he’s been given).
     You can play Machete using this handy widget:

     

    More info on the song: http://bit.ly/AFPMachete.

    MACHETE, by Amanda Palmer

    i have never liked the box of knives
    you said was a paradox because you’re kind
    but withstood a childhood that robbed you blind
    of love that was safe and so you learned to fight
    x3

    what do i do with this stuff?
    it seems like yesterday i called you up
    i had a terrible case of the past
    i didn’t know how to get it off
    i didn’t know how to get it off

    and you took
    your machete
    and you sliced through the vines that wrapped around me
    and you said
    i don’t know what i’m doing
    so i’ll just keep on cutting
    it’s worth a little blood to get your arms free

    i have never liked the box of knives
    you said was a paradox because you’re kind
    but withstood a childhood that robbed you blind
    of love that was safe and so you learned to fight
    x2

    what do i do with this stuff?
    it seems like yesterday i was in love
    i kept of covering the soft parts up
    i didn’t know how to get them off
    i didn’t know how to get them off

    and you took your machete
    and you hacked through the woods in the surrounding
    and you said
    i don’t know where i’m going
    i just know that i’m heading from
    the dead things piling up behind me

    and you took
    your machete
    and you carved out a path to my chest and you said see
    there’s nothing not worth keeping
    you’ve felt so many beatings
    but
    nothing’s going to work if you believe me
    nothing’s going to work if you believe me

    i have never liked the box of knives
    you said was a paradox because you’re kind
    but withstood a childhood that robbed you blind
    of love that was safe and so you learned to fight
    x2

    i have never liked the box of knives
    i took it to the oceanside the day you died
    i stood out on the dock
    no matter how hard i tried
    i couldn’t drop them in
    and i collapsed and cried:

    what do i do with this stuff?
    it seems like yesterday you were alive
    and it’s as if you never really died
    and it’s as if you never really died.

    and you took
    your machete
    and you said boo guess who
    but seriously, beauty
    you said
    see ?
    you get the drill now don’t you
    it’s not a will or won’t
    you can’t keep making symbols out of nothing

    so i took your machete
    and i sliced off your head and you laughed
    and you said see
    it’s just like anti matter
    it’s dumbo’s magic feather
    you don’t need me here to cut you
    you don’t need me here to cut you
    you don’t need me here to cut you
    you don’t need me here to cut you

    free.

    Below, my translation into Spanish of Amanda Palmer’s Machete.
    Above, kind lady with machete in Nicaragua’s Masaya vulcano. And me.
    This translation (WIP) in memory of my kind German mom, Benita, the Anthony Martignetti of my life. I wrote about her here: http://minibego.com/es/2013/05/un-poco-de-azucar-un-poco-de-sal/.
    She died last year.
    /////

    MACHETE, por Amanda Palmer

    Traducción (en progreso) de Begoña Martínez

    nunca me gustó la caja de cuchillos
    dijiste que es una paradoja, porque eres buena gente
    pero aguantaste una infancia que te birló
    todo amor carente de peligro
    así que aprendiste a luchar.
    ×3

    ¿qué hago con esto?
    parece que fuera ayer que te llamé
    sufrí un caso de pasado grave
    no sabía cómo quitármelo de encima
    no sabía cómo quitármelo de encima

    y tomaste
    tu machete
    y rebanaste
    los sarmientos
    que se enredaban a mi alrededor
    y dijiste
    no sé qué estoy haciendo
    así que seguiré cortando
    un poco de sangre no importa
    si así se liberan tus brazos

    nunca me gustó la caja de cuchillos
    dijiste que es una paradoja, porque eres buena gente
    pero aguantaste una infancia que te birló
    todo amor carente de peligro
    así que aprendiste a luchar.
    ×2

    ¿qué hago con esto?
    parece que fuera ayer que estaba enamorada
    seguía tapando las partes blandas
    no sabía cómo quitármelas de encima
    no sabía cómo quitármelas de encima

    y tomaste tu machete
    y cortaste por los bosques
    a nuestro alrededor
    y dijiste
    no sé dónde voy
    solo sé que me alejo
    de las cosas muertas
    que se acumulan detrás de mí

    y tomaste
    tu machete
    y abriste un camino
    a mi pecho
    y dijiste mira
    no hay nada que no merezca la pena guardar
    has sentido tantas palizas
    pero
    nada va a funcionar si me crees
    nada va a funcionar si me crees

    nunca me gustó la caja de cuchillos
    dijiste que es una paradoja, porque eres buena gente
    pero aguantaste una infancia que te birló
    todo amor carente de peligro
    así que aprendiste a luchar.
    ×2

    nunca me gustó la caja de cuchillos
    la llevé a la orilla del mar
    el día de tu muerte
    de pie en el muelle
    por mucho que lo intenté
    no los pude tirar
    me derrumbé y lloré:

    ¿qué hago con todo esto?
    parece que ayer aún vivías
    y es como si nunca hubieras muerto
    y es como si nunca hubieras muerto

    y tomaste
    tu machete
    y dijiste, bu, adivina quién soy
    en serio, bella
    dijiste
    ¿ves?
    ahora lo entiendes, ¿verdad?
    no es un lo harás o no
    no puedes seguir
    creando símbolos de la nada

    así que tomé
    tu machete
    y te corté la cabeza
    y te reíste
    dijiste ¿ves?
    es igual que la antimateria
    es la pluma mágica de Dumbo
    no necesitas que esté yo para cortarte
    no necesitas que esté yo para cortarte
    no necesitas que esté yo para cortarte
    no necesitas que esté yo para cortarte

    y liberarte.

    ///
    PS: Punctuation and capitalization have been left as in the original. I’m still working on the rhyme (for example love that was safe has been changed to love that wasn’t dangerous so it rhymes). Improvements, feedback, suggestions are all welcome (use the comments below).

  • Am I a cat? [poem]

    Am I a cat? [poem]

    Am I a cat?

    I bask in the sun,
    I lay in your lap,
    I find my own way,
    I don’t like other cats.

     

    You find my white hair
    On anything black.
    I’m fastidiously clean
    And I love to nap.

     

    Am I happy to see you?
    Without a single doubt.
    It’s not like I chase you
    But I’m always around.

     

    I’m sure that you know
    What I do at night.
    I come back to you
    I’m glad it’s enough.

     

    When I climb to bed,
    I claim the warmest spot.
    Those arms on my chest
    Make me wanna purr.

     

    Except when they don’t.
    I’m up, I’m awake.
    I jump up and down.
    Get outta my way!

     

    I’d like to be more human
    In other people’s eyes.
    They see me as a mutant
    I see through all their lies.

     

    I might be a bit feline
    But I’m not your cat
    I don’t own you either
    You can hold on to that.

     

    —@minibego, Rome, Italy, november 2015

    Cat's eyes, by Martin Cooper (flickr)
    Cat’s eyes, by Martin Cooper (CC BY)
  • I was a task, written and read by me

    I was a task, written and read by me

    This poem is halfway between David Allen and Charles Bukowski.

    Poem: I was a task. Written and read by Bego.

    I was a task

    I was a task
    On your to do list.
    Oh, how I played in your brain,
    How I ran and played and danced,
    How I waited for my turn.
    How I grew up
    Suddenly urgent.
    It was so beautiful
    That final day
    When I was your top priority.
    You gave me all your attention.
    I felt so special.
    All other things
    Pushed aside
    For me.
    Now,
    Crossed off and grayed out,
    I fall into oblivion.
    But
    That final day
    Was so beautiful:
    The ecstasy
    The second
    You finished
    With me.
    I thought:
    «Oh, no,
    I’m done».