Toward the within...

Feeling a bit late…

Diedré Blake — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 08:49:24 +0000

Lavori in corso" Photography by Diedré M Blake, 2012. (Primavalle neighbourhood, Rome)

It’s a wakeful morning, a bit too early. Yet still, it is not early enough for me to justify returning to sleep. I turn my mind to thoughts of my plans for the day, which inevitably leads me to broader thoughts about my plans for my life–I won’t get into that here though. It is about one of my thoughts, a simple plan really, upon which I would like to reflect today.

–

You see, after spending some months tackling the Italian language and feeling a bit bruised and battered by the process, I have finally made a decision. I have decided to learn Italian.

–

At this point, you might wonder what in the universe am I meaning, considering that my previous statement suggested that I was studying or “tackling” Italian. No, I am not completely off just yet. What I mean is that my morning reflection led me to realize that I have not been truly wanting/desiring to learn Italian… that is, until now.

–

I understand that some, perhaps many, people have this edict regarding the language: i.e., Italian is one of the most beautiful languages to speak, to write, and to learn. I have not been of this mindset, and am not certain that I am now. What I am is appreciative of the nuances of the language and I have come to enjoy its melodic quality. I am still more inclined, however, to Germanic languages… but that might have a lot to do with certain aspects of my personality and how those languages complement them.

–

The point is that after all these many months of my studying and my 16-month love affair with Rome, I have only now opened myself to truly connecting with the people and the culture–I was a bit too busy living and trying to extend the pseudo-reality of the honeymoon phase in my relationship with Rome.

–

What I realize now is that I can accept Rome and that Rome can accept me. More importantly, a most wonderful aspect of this acceptance is that we will finally come to understand one another. Yes, it may sound a bit strange to speak of a city in this way, but…

–

A bit late…

Cover of "A braccia aperte" (Image found at http://www.fermenti-editrice.it/iride_p_z.php)

I’ve spent a great deal of time roaming the streets of Rome. From the very start, what appealed to me the most, beyond the monuments, was that I understood little of what was being said by those around me. I wanted to be lost in a crowd of people, with whom I did not have to share my thoughts and to whom I did not need to react.

Of course, it is hard for someone like me to be invisible anywhere in Europe, where my dark skin certainly contrasts with the norm of whatever society in which I am presently. I did, however, achieve a sense of my own private world, away from the some of the harshness of the reality that I had been living prior to my first visit. Rome gave me a chance to see myself again, to hear my own voice, to listen to my thoughts, to believe in the possibility of building a beautiful and touchable future.

–

I suppose that I had thought that if giving up this “separateness,” this self-imposed “isolation,” this ignorance of the world moving around me would mean losing everything that I had gained. I believe I have written about this very issue before, i.e. how our thoughts (sometimes highly irrational) can prevent us from embracing that which is can actually enhance our lives.

–

So, here I am. This morning I have woken with the desire to read an entire novel in Italian. It is my favourite novel from my adolescence. I even went so far as to purchase the book in Italian on Kindle, so that I could immediately begin the process. No, it is not A braccia aperte by Mario Tornello. It is Intervista col Vampiro (“Interview with the Vampire“) by Anne Rice.

–

A braccia aperte

The reason for the image of A braccia aperte is that this book of poetry was what ignited the desire within me to learn the language… It is also another reason why I am feeling a bit late.

–

I discovered the book on a random walk one early afternoon through my neighbourhood, Garbatella–this was before the snow. There is a small bookshop just before the roundabout that leads to one of the major roads in Rome, Via Cristoforo Colombo. I am not quite sure what possessed me to go inside the shop, but go inside I did.

–

It was quite dismal and suitably dark. Here and there were smatterings of stationery and schoolbags. From what I could tell, many of the books had been bought either at the start of the new millennium or in the decades before. The owner of the shop, a lady, was engaged in a long conversation with a customer, regarding the latter’s family–that’s as much as my Italian could tell me. When she did finally notice me, she came over and in halting Italian I explained to her that I wanted to find a poetry book of Eugenio Montale. I had imagined that given the fame of the poet, finding a poetry book of his in a bookshop would not pose a problem. I was wrong.

–

After much conversation, during which I was offered every romantic novel the store had to offer (now folks, do I seem like the romantic novel type to you?), the owner finally left me to wander about… although there was not much wandering to do as the shop consisted of one very tiny room, which currently included all its merchandise (both offered and stored), the owner and her customer, and me. Still, I hovered near the entrance and allowed my eyes to scan over a number of books that were easily visible to me, and that is when I saw it…

–

The small cream-coloured book with its Times New Roman font and its single graphic design of a winged eye appealed to me. Perhaps I thought that it would be easy to read, because it was not a large book, or perhaps because of the simplicity of its design. Who knows. Whatever the reason, I picked it up and opened it to page fourteen.

"Trasfigurazione," Mario Tornello, acrylic, cm. 60 X 80, 1995. (Image found at http://www.museum-bagheria.it/mariotornello.html. Art dated as 1996)

Parlerò di te

Parlerò di te

che mi riconosci il passo

sui mattoni di cotto,

di te che rubi sulla mia pelle

pensieri rappresi, sospesi tra due cieli;

di te, dei tuoi spenti desideri

ormai chiusi in arcani pensieri.

Di te che ho voglia di dire

e di sentire curiosità sopite,

di te che mi sfuggi

come un sabato che se ne va.

Parlami, perché io varchi la tua soglia

sotto l’ibisco che accende lanterne rosa

tra giardini a mare.

Stringi tra le tue dita

di cristallo d’arte

queste mani che ti dicono

quale luogo profondo

hanno scavato tra le mie carni.

E tutto si perde

nella sofferenza dell’attesa,

nelle parole pronunciate e spente

a fil di labbra,

nella palude delle idee

dove ritrovare se stessi

è come avere un poker tra le mani.

–

Without knowledge of the meaning of all the words, I understood the poem. When I write “understood,” what I mean is that the poem connected with some core part of myself that allowed me to grasp its meaning. Whether reading it in silence or aloud, the poem (for me, at least) elicits a profound experience.

–

Caro amico

Ho letto il tuo urlo senza voce

e m’è caduto il cuore.

Mi dici che i morti in riposo,

sospesi tra due cieli bruciano

sullo scoglio vestito di sole.

Non saprò più immaginare

sulla cenere di ciò che fu.

Siamo inermi nel delirio

di chi non sa amare

ciò che l’alba del tempo

ha inciso per l’uomo.

–

Mario Tornello was a painter, a poet, and a writer. He was born on October 21, 1927 in Palermo and died on February 2, 2010 in Rome. He was all that I hope one day to truly label myself to be. At present, I am a bit of a lavori in corso (“work in progress)… but then again, aren’t we all.

–

Now, I am off for my walk; kindle, Italian/English dictionary, poetry book, and pen; for which I am already late… but happily so.

Until next time!

Best,

A Brave and Startling Truth…

Diedré Blake — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 23:00:25 +0000

Happy Valentine’s Day! Love to everyone (and to myself)! And remember to give love to yourselves as well as to those whom you love!

Image found at http://www.achievement.org/autodoc/photocredit/achievers/ang0-003

A Brave and Startling Truth

by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

–

If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.

–

Love costs all we are and will ever be.

Yet it is only love which sets us free.

A Brave and Startling Truth.

–

When we come to it

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for the earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live free without sanctimonious piety

And without crippling fear

–

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

—

Until next time!

Best,

I do not love you…

Diedré Blake — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 20:40:34 +0000

To continue with poetry for Valentine’s Day…

: Image found at http://www.frasiaforismi.com/citazioni/confesso-che-ho-vissuto-pablo-neruda/attachment/pablo-neruda/

Pablo Neruda…

Sonnet LXVI:

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love you

I do not love you except because I love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

From waiting to not waiting for you

My heart moves from cold to fire.

–

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;

I hate you deeply, and hating you

Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

–

Maybe January light will consume

My heart with its cruel

Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

–

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

–

Until next time!

Best,

Because sometimes love is like this…

Diedré Blake — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 20:50:29 +0000

Just so there is balance… I am including a poem that reflects another aspect of love…

Charles Bukowski

Image found at http://ilviaggionellatesta.blogspot.com/2011/06/il-cuore-che-ride-charles-bukowski.html

to the whore who took my poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; it's stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems;
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be money and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

---

Until next time!
Best,
D.

Oh V-Day….

Diedré Blake — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 10:38:25 +0000

Image found at http://www.clubdilettura.it/our/?p=976

So, this year instead of running all over Rome searching for couples in-love, red heart-shaped balloons or cards, or even chocolate fountains; I have decided that leading up to V-Day (aka Valentine’s Day) just to post my favourite poems related to love… I hope you enjoy.

———————————

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale

e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino.

Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.

Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono

le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,

le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede

che la realtà sia quella che si vede.

Ho sceso milioni di scale dandoti il braccio

non già perché con quattr’occhi forse si vede di più.

Con te le ho scese perché sapevo che di noi due

le sole vere pupille, sebbene tanto offuscate,

erano le tue. (Eugenio Montale)

(I have not found a very good English translation of this. If someone has one, then please post. If not, then I will try my hand at searching again, or… oh my… trying to translate it–I had to for a course. Thanks, Professor Biasiotti!)

Until next time!

Best,

In search of…

Diedré Blake — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 10:37:53 +0000

Image found at http://educatorblog.wordpress.com/category/comic/

In an age of YouTube, Facebook, WordPress, Twitter, and the universe knows what else; we are are inundated with many means of electronic communication, and we are no longer limited to sitting in front of a hulking desktop computer in order to access these many many means. Rather these days people have laptops of all varieties, iPads, cellphones, and all sorts of other gizmos–I really am not hip to it all, so I cannot list everything here, but trust me… it seems like there is a lot out there.

Truly, I am not complaining. I am a fan of technology in many ways. There may be some who will remember me from my computer camp days at Stanford, when I was teaching computer programming to pre-teens who are (oh my word…) in their 20s. So, what’s my point?

Image found at http://www.topnews.in/art-letter-writing-dying-out-people-use-email-and-texts-2153999

The point is that I miss the days of simpler communication. I miss the days when a face-to-face conversation could be held without the barrier and the barrage of constant text messaging or Google-searching or Twittering or whatever else. I miss the simplicity of even a telephone conversation without call-waiting and its constant beep. Actually, what I truly miss is letter writing.

I am not quite sure what happened. (Okay, perhaps it was the advent of email, or MSWord, or something… who knows.) Somehow, however, it seems that many of us have lost touch with the beautiful art form of letter writing in favour of the faster methods of communications: email, Skype, sms/text, calling, etc. It is not simply just that many of us have lost touch with letter writing. It seems that many of us have lost our love of (if any ever existed) the actual art of penmanship. In my opinion, it is a sad commentary when The New York Times has to publish an article on how to improve one’s penmanship and declares the downfall of American handwriting.

I suppose I am wondering what has happened… or rather, why has this happened…

Image found at http://www.mercatornet.com/family_edge/view/9057

I remember as a child and even as an adolescent examining my handwriting, examining the handwriting of my family members, and other people’s. I looked for aspects that I liked and disliked, a stroke here or a loop there. Even today, I continue to be highly aware of my handwriting and it is important to me, especially when writing a note or a letter to someone else. I am prone often to re-writing several times in effort to exact my penmanship to my liking (no, this isn’t perfectionism). This extends itself to my personal writing, such as journaling. My style of writing often matches my mood and I will go back and reflect upon not only what I have written but how I have written.

I suppose one could say I have always had an interest in graphology or what is commonly known as handwriting analysis. I suppose one could also say that I am a product of an old-fashioned British colonial system, where I went to Catholic school and had numerous nuns staring over my shoulder to ensure decent handwriting!

No… The truth is simply that I like the actual act of writing, the feel of pen against paper, of ink flowing into form of letters then words.

There is a beauty and an art to the process of penmanship, of letter writing, of which I believe it is important to go in search….

Image found at http://www.literaryduckblog.org/2011/04/10-favorite-collections-to-celebrate-national-poetry-month/

Until next time!

Best,

P.S. Oh, apparently it is going to snow in Rome this weekend (again)…

Surrending to surprise…

Diedré Blake — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 12:48:17 +0000

Image found at http://www.personal.psu.edu/tdp5041/blogs/it_301_pathways_to_fluency

Sitting on my bed with one boot on–wet–and the other carelessly tossed on the floor–dripping–I have come to the realization that I am not as spontaneous a person as I could be. In other words, I do not particularly enjoy surprises and like things to be in order. In other words, I am a bit of a control freak.

So today as I made my way to the university, rain falling and drivers honking, I was quite decided that The Weather Channel along with everyone else with whom I had spoken during the previous day about the weather and the chances of snow falling in Rome… were quite wrong. The morning’s rainfall did nothing to change my perspective.

Setting out for the day, I dressed in my it’s-absolutely-positively-only-going-to-rain gear. I went to my first class, a meeting, then the pharmacy, and then my eyes met with the fall of snowflakes. These snowflakes were not the tiny snowflakes the disappeared as they landed… Oh, no, these were the huge, mushy, hahaha-we-are-here-to-stay-so-just-deal-with-it kind. I was wrong. It is snowing in Rome (and hell did not freeze over in response to this event as I had suggested to myself, nor did pigs fly–I have a talent for engaging in denial… at times).

Snow storms, ice storms, and blizzards experienced in Boston last winter as well as my corresponding fibromylagia flare-ups, I realize now, were made into distant memories. A past that no longer touched the present, or so I thought.

The snowfall was a “surprise.” My emotional response was even more so–I was happy. You see, cold and snow has meant to me the experience of increased pain and fatigue over the years. More importantly, snowfall produced within me a feeling of anxiety because I feared for my physical wellness.

To be happy to see snow, to think of Boston, to feel the cold of my past meeting my present, is something for which I am truly grateful. I am happy that somehow the world in which I once lived is making a space for itself in the one in which I am now living… So,

Happy Snow Day, Rome…

and to everyone else in places covered today in white!

Today I have learned that joy can be found in surprises whatever the form they take… just like in one of my favourite films Il Tigre e La Neve (The Tiger and the Snow). This film reminds me that the accidents/surprises of life, of living, creates the poetry of our existence.

Until next time!

Best,

Watching cartoons on Sunday…

Diedré Blake — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 18:59:26 +0000

Image found at http://www.pbs.org/parents/birthdayparties/arthur/

I watch cartoons almost daily. No, really, I do. Why? Well, the reasons are many as well as both simple and complex. For example, today I am watching cartoons (or rather listening at the moment), because I need to hear something familiar as well as I like to hear and see how life problems can be solved within two 11-minute segments–this is a possibility that makes me happy.

Actually, I don’t watch all cartoons. To be quite frank, I have no idea what cartoons are actually on cable television these days (I am not a fan of what I have seen in the past, so…). I am more a PBS kind of lady (You Go WGBH Boston!). For example, I am an enormous fan of Marc Brown’s Arthur the Aardvark and Norman Bridwell’s Clifford the Big Red Dog. I appreciate cartoons that have substance and tackle the issues that children may face in their everyday lives as well as more significant/traumatic events (such illness and death).

Watching cartoons reminds me that even the problems that I face as an adult are solvable. Yes, adult problems may seem more challenging than those addressed on a children’s show. However, what cartoons such as Arthur teaches the viewer is that all problems can be addressed and solved with the support of others and through taking responsibility for one’s part… no matter how old you are.

So, today I am watching Arthur. It makes me happy. It reminds me to be real. It encourages my child/playful mind… And no matter how many times I have watched every episode, I manage to learn something new. So, perhaps you should give it a try too. Today is as good a day as any to try…

Season 1, Episode 1: Arthur’s Eyes

(Deals with having difficulty of change and being verbally bullied.)

Season 15, Episode 2 (I believe) Prunella the Pack Rat

(Deals with the issue of hoarding as well as recycling and global warming.)

Hope you enjoy!

Best,

Apparently being ill has some benefit…

Diedré Blake — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 22:10:23 +0000

Suppleness Of The Moment, photography by Dolores Juhas (http://dolores-juhas.tk)

For years I searched to discover its name, this world that was now home. As a result, I learned many things about myself and people. I learned too that it is difficult to understand your reality if it is routinely questioned or denied by others… and even yourself.

Growing up, illness was an expense, financially, physically and emotionally. Then the only option was to “always” be healthy, to deny your discomfort, to deny your fear. Now acceptance has become a way of life. Acceptance of a body that becomes ill, becomes fragile, becomes older.

When I finally knew the name of my world, I gained a new perspective of myself and also the world in which I did not know I had been living. Fibromyalgia was its name and I was one of its many inhabitants. Some of us were better off than others. That, however, is the nature of any world.

Under Pressure, photography by Dolores Juhas (http://www.dolores-juhas.tk)

You fear the unknown. You fear yourself. You fear the isolation that seems inevitable. Even though you share with others a common experience, yours is still unique. It becomes an isolating world. But solitude has its benefits. It can force an unrealized willpower to emerge and build a future.

One that is not free of its reality, but that uses it to help you to begin experiencing happiness, experiencing love, experiencing togetherness, experiencing life. This world of illness is mine, but it does not define me. I exist in it. I strive to make a difference in it. I reap the benefits of it–living.

—–

Two things: life is a profound and brief miracle, live it as well as you can.

My thoughts are with my friends and acquaintances, who within the last week have lost loved ones or feared such loss.

Until next time…

Best,

self-portrait, photography by Dolores Juhas

Photographs are by Croatian photographer, Dolores Juhas, whose work has been featured in such magazines as Italian Vogue. You can visit her website at http://www.dolores-juhas.tk or email her: d_juhas@yahoo.co.uk. She has her own blog at http://themax.bloger.hr

A moment for reflection…

Diedré Blake — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 22:22:17 +0000

Image found at http://themoreyouread.com/2009/09/memoirs-of-a-geisha-by-arthur-golden/

I am an enormous fan of the novel Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden as well as of the film. I would recommend both novel and film to anyone. Of course, I would suggest reading the novel first, because it is truly amazing. The film, however, presents such lovely visual imagery that it may serve a purpose for those who read the novel after.

In particular, I enjoyed the following scene. More importantly, however, is the quote below. In my opinion, it reflects the process of emotionally shutting down, i.e. of isolating oneself from the world around. That is that we can sometimes create distance between ourselves and others, an emotional and psychological wall, in an effort to self-protect. We expose only the parts of ourselves that we feel are acceptable to the world around us and hide away who we truly are.

“The heart dies, a slow death,

shedding each hope like leaves…

… until one day there are

none. No hopes. Nothing remains.

She paints her face to hide her

face. Her eyes like deep water.

It is not for Geisha to

want. It is not for Geisha to feel.

Geisha is an artist

of the floating world.

She dances. She sings. She entertains you,whatever

you want. The rest is shadows. The rest is secret.”

(from Memoirs of a Geisha)

Until next time!

Best,