domingo, 16 de junio de 2013
"On Coming from a Broken Home" by the late Gil Scott-Heron
I
I want to make this a special tribute
To a family that contradicts the concepts
Heard the rules but wouldn't accept
In addition, women-folk raised me
In addition, I was full grown before I knew
I came from a broken home
Sent to live with my grandma down south
When my uncles was leaving
And my grandfather had just left for heaven
They said and as every-ologist would certainly note
I had no strong male figure right?
But lily Scott was absolutely not your mail order room service type cast black grandmother
I was moved in with her; temporarily, just until things were patched,
'Til this was patched and 'til that was patched
Until I became at 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10
The patch that held lily Scott who held me and like them 4
I became one more and I loved her from the absolute marrow of my bones
And we was holdin' on,
I come from a broken home
She had more than the five senses
She knew more than books could teach
And raised everyone she touched just a little bit higher
And all around her there was a natural sense
As though she sensed what the stars say what the birds say
What the wind and the clouds say
A sensual soul and self that African sense
And she raised me like she raised 4 of her own
And I was hurt and scared and shocked when lily Scott left suddenly one night
And they sent a limousine from heaven to take her to god, if there is one.
So I knew she had gone
And I came from a broken home
II
And so my life has been guided
All the love I needed was provided
And through my mothers sacrifices I saw where her life went
To give more than birth to me, but life to me
And this ain’t one of the clichés about black women being strong
Cause hell if you’re weak, you’re gone
But life courage determined to do more than just survive
And too many homes have a missing woman or man
Without the feeling of missing love
Maybe they are homes that are hurt
But they are no real lives that hurt without reach
But not broken
Unless the homes of soldiers – stationed overseas
Or lost in battles or broken
Unless the homes of firemen, policemen, construction workers,
seamen, railroad men, truckers, pilots
Who lost their lives – but not what their lives stood for...
Because men die, men lose, they are lost and they leave
And so do women ...
I came from what they called "a broken home"
But they ever really called it "a house"
They would have known how wrong they were
We were working on our lives and our homes
Dealing with what we had, not what we didn’t have
My life has been guided by women
But because of them – I am the man.
God bless you mama – and thank you.
I want to make this a special tribute
To a family that contradicts the concepts
Heard the rules but wouldn't accept
In addition, women-folk raised me
In addition, I was full grown before I knew
I came from a broken home
Sent to live with my grandma down south
When my uncles was leaving
And my grandfather had just left for heaven
They said and as every-ologist would certainly note
I had no strong male figure right?
But lily Scott was absolutely not your mail order room service type cast black grandmother
I was moved in with her; temporarily, just until things were patched,
'Til this was patched and 'til that was patched
Until I became at 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10
The patch that held lily Scott who held me and like them 4
I became one more and I loved her from the absolute marrow of my bones
And we was holdin' on,
I come from a broken home
She had more than the five senses
She knew more than books could teach
And raised everyone she touched just a little bit higher
And all around her there was a natural sense
As though she sensed what the stars say what the birds say
What the wind and the clouds say
A sensual soul and self that African sense
And she raised me like she raised 4 of her own
And I was hurt and scared and shocked when lily Scott left suddenly one night
And they sent a limousine from heaven to take her to god, if there is one.
So I knew she had gone
And I came from a broken home
II
And so my life has been guided
All the love I needed was provided
And through my mothers sacrifices I saw where her life went
To give more than birth to me, but life to me
And this ain’t one of the clichés about black women being strong
Cause hell if you’re weak, you’re gone
But life courage determined to do more than just survive
And too many homes have a missing woman or man
Without the feeling of missing love
Maybe they are homes that are hurt
But they are no real lives that hurt without reach
But not broken
Unless the homes of soldiers – stationed overseas
Or lost in battles or broken
Unless the homes of firemen, policemen, construction workers,
seamen, railroad men, truckers, pilots
Who lost their lives – but not what their lives stood for...
Because men die, men lose, they are lost and they leave
And so do women ...
I came from what they called "a broken home"
But they ever really called it "a house"
They would have known how wrong they were
We were working on our lives and our homes
Dealing with what we had, not what we didn’t have
My life has been guided by women
But because of them – I am the man.
God bless you mama – and thank you.
domingo, 9 de junio de 2013
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Primer día de colegio
¿Adónde van los sueños vestidos de colegial, con bufanda gris de rombos, jeans y pesada cartera a la espalda?
Van al mar pero sólo hasta que descubren el mar... Van de aquí a allá hasta que descubren el aquí de cada allá... Van de pie en el tranvía hasta que descubren la ansiedad de las heridas abiertas, de las fosas sin nombre, de las grietas...
Años después, nada tiene arreglo ni final en la barra de este bar...
Chema Lagaron en "diez mil corazones y otras canciones indie no escritas"
Campos de Castilla
En medio de la tarde,
aldeas minúsculas sitiadas por campos de paja seca y terruños enjutos de hidalgo ...
Iglesias que se elevan firmes como rey Leónidas a pecho descubierto sobre las casitas entornadas que cubren sus arterias vitales con escudos de teja y liquen...
Campos de cerveza blanca y finas líneas de árboles escuálidos que se extienden interminables y se inclinan haciendo reverencias a la brisa como en el cuadro de las lanzas...
La espuma etílica, corazón del destilado y cabeza de espiga, gira acompasada sobre la meseta como un mar de esperma imantado...
Los reversos llevan a la vista mas allá de donde se puede discernir la forma del arco de violín...
Infiernos paquidermos acechan en la llanura de los desahuciados...
Ruinas de ladrillo y arboledas arrodilladas sucumben bajo los quantums del sol vertical del mediodía sobre una insolación de cigarras enfebrecidas...
Ladridos de un galgo viejo se pierden por las calles vacías en busca unos de otros tras los ecos del silencio más lastimero y apagado, casi de barniz cubista...
Suelos que son como la piel de un guepardo en sus ocres y en sus sombras, en su amenaza y en su acecho...
Almagros y huidas, peregrinos enfermados, alimentos cerealíceos y soportes de buñuelo de marfil en interiores de cofre con asfixia y radiador...
Campos de Castilla que centrifugaron conquistadores lánguidos, hidalgos alucinogenados y directores de cine fogosos...
Campos de Castilla desde un autobús de línea filtrados por gafas de sol al mediodía, llanura y sequía, sopor austero, sueño y desmayo...
Publicado en "Poessijaz y otros Tangos Indie" de Chema Lagaron y Marcela Lokkdos
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