I open my arms
and it comes to me
within the semisphere
I create when I open up.
And in there I try to
contain the greatness
within this other soul -
another flame that burns by my side.
I put my arms around this
and I can’t contain it.
I can…
I do not want an idea of it.
I want it.
I know all I can have is a taste of it.
My mouth open.
I’m ready.
das possibilidades
que a vida me deu
tive dificuldade em aceitar
teu destino e o meu
e o que e’ que vou fazer meu amor,
se hoje eu estou onde estou
e daqui posso ver bem melhor
se eu te deixei
foi porque quis ver
voce crescer sem a dor
que carrego, e’ minha
e a tua dor, e’ tua, e nao
a razao pra viver tua vida
em vao. vai viver que te amo
e o Sol todo dia
vai brilhar a tua alegria,
vai brindar ‘a tua companhia
entao,
das possibilidades
que a vida me deu
tive dificuldade em aceitar
teu destino e o meu
e o que e’ que vou fazer, meu amor
se hoje eu estou onde estou
e daqui posso ver bem melhor
London, 2000.
“Cloud- dancer”, photo by Luciana Francis.
Luciana Francis - Anthropologist.
1
Listen up to my new sunny a Capella track!
the magnitude of clouds by Luciana Francis.
- a study in stillness and motion on film, London April 2013.
a new poem, eve, read and written by Luciana Francis
a new poem, totems, written and read by Luciana Francis
Pablo Neruda exhumed on the same day Margaret Thatcher dies.
spoken word, music intro, experimental, poetry, word, melody
photo: personal archive (Sao Paulo, Brazil circa 1985).
video “place date day time” by luciana francis - humbly inspired by the high angle shots from Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and by Cartier Bresson street photography.
Everything subsided then. It was the time for unspoken words and unexpressed thoughts. It was time for the unshared.
It was the time for the soul’s underdogs, the mind’s outcasts, for all that was hidden behind her inner alleyways.
That time of night she knew well. It was the time when the tides lowered and everything under the waves would surface beneath the moonlight.
She woke up then to her inner life, to the insides of her who were ever so hidden from the world outside. From time to time, like a dress which would eventually no longer fit, truth would burst out of her seams. The tides lower, the hidden comes to the surface.
Still awake, facing the ceiling, like a boat casually tied up to the port, she would shuffle, she would toss and turn in the waves of her duvet. Her breathing like the quiet murmur of the subdued waves, her body tied but floating on the surface, all that was hidden during the day, behind her alleyways.
It was the time when as a child she would wish for the future to come. Now that she is in the future she as a girl had wished for, what was she doing looking back? Thoughts about her childhood and the wish to flee; she would then recall her flight and her landing here. Her body miles and miles away and her mind like a boat tied up to the port, can she break free?
Her eyes lay wide open when the whole world seems to be asleep. Tied up to the moonlight by a silver rope, the tides come and go, subdued and revealing all that lies underneath: The bare bones, the conches and the shells; the invertebrate creatures and their sinuous flow, thoughts and feelings at their foremost core.
Closer to the heart, the fleshy sand supporting the unconscious streak, like an outstretched palm to the night’s blind eye, the hidden surfaces in the small hours.
Here alone in her realization, she realizes she is not alone in the world. What has isolated her has been the stubborn need to make sense of things that might be better off left alone. She’s always been free. Her childish wish was for the others to break free too. No one has the right to imprison another and no one can force anyone to be free either.
The creatures that toss and turn in the depths of the water at night time should be left to go on with their sinuous flow. And she should know better by now and wake up to the blue eyed sunrise lying beside her.
- London, February 16 2013.
