Chapter 2 - I am such a Brazilian woman
Iara:
Inside me I keep sea salt drops / Sometimes they run away
through my eyes / Today some left with water that escaped the sky
Ze'ev:
Sea salt drops, imprisoned within me
Escape, sometimes, through my eyes
Today, they washed away
With water that escaped the sky
Iara:
I slept and dreamed / about a river / a stream of tears / I
woke up / with wet eyes / I lost sleep /
Ze'ev:
I dreamed of a river of tears
Awoke with damp eyes
Iara:
I am drowning in a pool of sounds / in a melody without words
/ your eyes are reflected in my tears / they are sunspots on my face
Ze'ev:
This is the shortest poem you have written so far:
Your eyes are reflected in my tears
What is the background?
Iara:
I got excited by a melody I heard. I tried to find words for
it, and "Your eyes are reflected in my tears!" appeared. I also
remembered a picture of tears made from glass that you shared on the Internet,
that's why the sunspots...
Iara:
Morning sun shines / Song of green parrots from the trees /
In Brazil / Attacks me / Like blue parrots in a cage / Who came to my house /
Instead of my brother / who had been born and died/ in Israel
Zeev:
Why "instead"?
Iara:
That's what my mother did ... She wanted to make us happy
after the loss. We were small. She arrived without the baby, brought us parrots
...
Zeev:
I think it's too private so only you can understand it. Why
are the parrots now free and then they were in the cage? Why
"attacks"? Even then it attacked?
Iara:
I went out onto the balcony. I looked for some peace of mind,
and their screams shook me, along with the memory of the blue parrots, that had
once been in a cage. Then they filled the house with their voices, and came
instead of the cry of a baby who did not come. This morning I had in me
weeping, locked inside my body, and the parrots who screamed liberated, by the
tears, the day I thought I had forgotten.
Ze'ev:
Parrots are screaming in the trees
Tearing at my ears
Releasing out of me
A stream of locked tears
Iara:
In the depths of the pool / I did not find you / I did not
find India / I was not a fish / It was just me and the water/
Ze'ev:
In the depths of the pool
Just me and the water
Iara:
A melody was heard in the pool / came and went / closer and
farther away / I searched and searched / found bubbles / between my fingers /
between my legs / they sang a song / and accompanied my body
Zeev:
When I swam / the bubbles between my fingers played me / a
melody that accompanied my body
It sounds like part of a poem that you may try to complete.
Iara:
When I swam / the bubbles between my fingers played / a
melody that accompanied my body / I was half a fish/
Iara is the name of the water's mother of the Indians in
Brazil. She is half fish and half a woman, and she sings songs in the rivers.
Ze'ev:
When I swam
The bubbles between my fingers played
for me
A song that accompanied my body -
I was half fish, half woman
Iara:
Like so it is very nice! I'm currently with my father in the
hospital ... looking for funny things, or trying to laugh at sad things ...
Iara:
Hand in the water / pulling / legs kicking / inhale / hand in
the water / feet / inhale / water / hands / legs / inhale / no head / just
water
Ze'ev:
My hands are penetrating into the water / Pushing water / My
feet are kicking rushing / My lungs breathing in and out / floating body /
empty head
Iara:
The way I wrote, do you think it's not good at all?
Ze'ev:
Sounds good to me. You're advancing. The way I rearrange your
words is always just a suggestion for you to think if you can do it even better
Iara:
I wanted to have a rhythm in the poem, like in the swimming
... When I swim I concentrate on the rhythm, in the water, I feel as if the
water is pushing me, not the hands ... I also love the silence, that I can hear
the breath bubbles. I like the feeling that the body is losing its heaviness
and floats. When swimming the water gets alive, they seem to pull, push, caress
the entire body.
Ze'ev:
Your explanation is excellent. Multiple verbs create a sense
of rhythm.
Iara:
The water / hold / pull / push / caress my entire body /
teach another weight / remind that the air is missing
Ze'ev:
When I swim
I'm carried by silent water
Pulling, pushing, caressing, teaching
How misunderstood is air
How relative is weight
Iara:
A strong wind / Gave back to the beach / What once it took to
the sea / Sofas and armchairs / All in black and white / In the dream
Ze'ev:
I did not understand.
Iara:
I dreamed I was sitting on the beach. Suddenly there was a
strong wind. Sofas and armchairs flew from the water to the beach.
Ze'ev:
A violent wind
Returned sofas and armchairs
From the sea to the beach
In black and white
A wet dream
Iara:
Let me know my soul with your hands / Make it sound with your
touches/ Turn me into a musical instrument
Ze'ev:
Explore my body with your fingers
Make it sound like soul
Turn it into melody
faça me
saber por suas mãos minhalma
que dela
soprem claros sons
me toca
me torna
melodia
Iara:
What exactly do you mean when you say spirit and soul? I do
not know how to translate it.
Ze'ev:
Spirit is like the Spirit of God that was hovering over the
surface of the water before there was light. Look at the translation into
Portuguese in the first chapter of Genesis. Soul in Hebrew is like breathing.
Iara:
I have read, for the first time in my life, the Song of
Songs. It seems to me that you cannot talk about love after reading something
so wonderful. I did not try to understand everything. I read without stopping,
to catch the atmosphere. I did not want to read it in translation, and only now
did I dare read it in Hebrew. Can we live only in the world of words?
Ze'ev:
Is that what you want? Without senses? I search the opposite
direction - trying to live without words ... without success.
Iara:
The senses are confusing, they make you crazy ... you have to
connect them to words to quiet them down. I'm happy when I find words, they
calm my senses, a bit, when they are turbulent.
I knew through his hands / that were traveling/ (loving /
loved /) between folds /in hidden places/ that knew my body / my holes / my
desires
How can one talk about the female body, which is rounder?
When you put your hands on it, you feel the round shapes. Waist, breasts, butt
- are like river twists ... or guitar ...
Iara:
Wake up the caves of my body / by your fingers / by the palm
of your hand / seek its limits / its secrets /
Ze'ev:
"Wake up the caves of my body" is beautiful. It's
already a poem. If I were you I'd leave it like that, but I tend to be too
short.
Wake up the caves of my body
My skin
My holes
Let me drown between your
fingerprints
Know my depths
Iara:
My eyes are an open tap / they have already wet my holiday
clothes / And the rain that is now coming down may be from my eyes / And now he
is already in the plane / Soon he will be in the sky. / And I write so that the
sadness will remain only in words / and I came back alone to my house / and my
husband and my children are waiting / maybe happy that I'm / finally coming
back home.
Ze'ev:
My eyes are an open tap
My tears, mixing with the rain
wet my holiday clothes
You've boarded the jet
Soon to be in the sky
Alone, I return to my husband and children
Iara:
I dreamed of a white dress / lace dress / for a wedding / I
wore it / it was transparent / I did not have shoes / I married barefoot
Ze'ev:
I dreamed that I was getting married
In a lace dress - transparent white
I could not find shoes
I married barefoot
Iara:
I watched this morning from the balcony the rain that had
fallen and was so beautiful. So, I thought about tears, which are not always
caused by suffering, but there are also tears of joy. I went down to the
street. On the way to work, under an umbrella, I saw the flowers falling from
the tree, and then I thought of them as tears, as drops of rain.
Thousands of yellow flowers fall / tears of trees / between
the tears of the sky
Ze'ev:
Why are they crying?
Iara:
I do not know, maybe from joy. And that's how they decorate
the streets and the cars, and the umbrellas that pass.
Ze'ev:
From the tree, yellow flowers
Are falling out for me
In tears of joy without reason
With the rain
On my umbrella
Iara:
I walked on a clean sidewalk / one flower / (which in
Portuguese is feminine and in Hebrew is masculine) / pink / the tree (which in
Portuguese is feminine and in Hebrew is masculine) / threw / to decorate my day
Zeev:
The tree threw me one pink flower
To decorate my day
Iara:
I started thinking about masculine and feminine. It would be
better for a flower to be a girl. Maybe the tree could be a guy ... (in
Portuguese the tree is feminine...) That makes me laugh!! I try to translate.
It seems that the simpler the poem, the more complicated the translation. Only
then one realizes that the poem is not simple!! In the translation I got
something like:
In the middle of the road was a flower / the tree threw / It
decorated the pavement and the day
Iara:
A hole held my leg / I kissed and smelled / unintentionally /
a sidewalk
Ze'ev:
Did you fall on the sidewalk?
Iara:
Yes, it happened to me this morning ... on the way to work. I
was late, so I hurried and fell off. I was not injured. I cursed. Now my
whole-body hurts.
Ze'ev:
I was so hurried
On the way to work
That the sidewalk stepped on me
It kissed my face
My hands and knees
Until I cursed
Iara:
Beautiful! Funny but painful ...
Iara:
The sheep are tired of being counted / Talking dogs / A
forest of lights spreading on the balcony / I am still looking for / a time
zone / that has escaped to another country
Ze'ev:
Why forest? How can a time zone escape? Good luck with your
sleep.
Iara:
<Forest> - I live in a high place. When you look from
up, at night, there are so many lights, it's like a jungle of bright concrete.
<Time Zone> - It's like I'm in another time zone, the wrong one ... as if
I had run out of the right time.
Ze'ev:
The sheep were tired of being
counted!
Dogs barking
A jungle of bright concrete
Throwing light on my balcony
All night I yearn for sleep lost
Iara:
When we were children / we met / hugged / got excited /
kissed / cried / laughed / in the dining room of the kibbutz / and today / in a
dream
Ze'ev:
A beautiful story - where is the poem?
Iara:
I have questions:
1. Do you distinguish between a poem and a song?
2. I understand when you say it's a story and not a poem, but
sometimes the border is not so clear to me.
Ze'ev:
In a poem, every word is important, and it should describe
something that only you have seen, in a way that is special to you. In the
niche of Sao Paulo and Jerusalem you have no competitors.
Iara:
In my poem, it seems special to me that we were children
today. It happened only in my dream. When I got up I did not know whether I was
a child or an adult. Whether time passed or whether there is no time at all. At
least the girl I was dwells still in my dreams.
Ze'ev:
When I woke up I was not
Male or female
Fat or thin
Happy or sad
It was clear to me
That there is no time
But I was in no hurry
To draw conclusions;
I did not miss anything
Iara:
In a tree shade / in Saturday / I sat / scent of leaves /
cool breeze / shivers / birds change roles in singing / orchestra / children /
dogs / bicycles / and the time is no time / it passed / I did not feel it
Zeev:
On Saturday
I sat down
In the shadow of a tree
In the smell of its leaves
A cold wind sent shivers down my spine
Birds chirped at me chamber music
My eyes were filled with
Children, dogs, bicycles.
I hardly noticed
How the time passed
Iara:
A beautiful mouth of a woman / kisses a speaker on a stage /
Her voice kisses me / I see that she is still a child
Ze'ev:
What did you want to say?
Iara:
She was a child / shy / sad / her mouth did not know what
kiss is / Now she is a woman who sings on stage / kisses the speaker / and the
mouths of guys / her voice kisses me / I still recognize her as that little
girl
Ze'ev:
Who are you talking about? Who is this little girl? What did
you see? When?
Iara:
She was a child I treated / Shy / We painted / talked / she
learned how to sing / Today she is a singer / who paints sings and dances / in
front of hundreds of people / on the stage / and I still see in her eyes / the eyes of that girl
I saw how time passed through the body the mouth the feet and
the songs.
Ze'ev:
Before each worm a butterfly
How time flies
antes das borboletas
lagartas
o tempo voa
Iara:
I thought about it .... about a worm and a butterfly ... It's
nice that you heard!
Zeev:
It is interesting that in Hebrew the word for butterfly
[Parpar] consists of two symmetrical syllables, whereas in Portuguese there are
twice BO in Borboletas
Iara:
You hear them flying, in their name, but in Hebrew they fly
like males and in Portuguese they fly like females. I gave the singer this
butterfly poem that we wrote thanks to her. I wrote her only the translation. I
explained to her about our partnership. She was very excited about the poem,
loved it, and asked to thank you.
Iara:
There is no light and no color for the sky / Like in
Jerusalem / I remember that / and always want to return to that
Ze'ev:
Nowhere in the world
Is there such a bright
And deep sky
As in Jerusalem
I remember this
And that is what I always
Want to go back to
Iara:
A watermelon on Yom Kippur in the morning, and bread on
Passover, has a taste of freedom!
Ze'ev:
I do not like exclamation mark; I try to keep this task for
the reader. Just after I finished lunch, I read in a Yedioth Ahronoth, our
daily newspaper, a horoscope forecasting that I would have an easy fast. Is it
not amazing how the astrologer knew I was not fasting on Yom Kippur?
Amen
Watermelon on Yom Kippur
Bread on Passover
Driving on Shabbat
The taste of freedom
Iara:
Two months ago, I saw an Israeli film "I Was Once"
and I got very excited. The story takes place during the period I lived in
Israel. I did not know Haifa then. Israel looks different. Nor did I ever think
that Holocaust survivors were afraid to tell how they were saved. And I was
about the age of the hero of the film ... songs on the radio, school uniforms,
everything came back to me in my memory. I remember the first time I could read
a translation in the cinema, it was in Israel, my father took us to see Tarzan!
And suddenly I managed to finish the lines before they changed. Now the renewed
connection with Hebrew awakened in me a world that was almost forgotten. I did
not think I'd ever have such surprises. That's why I say I was reborn.
I may have heard about the Holocaust in the Diaspora, in
Brazil, where everyone is Christian, with crosses. I learned from my parents
that the Gentiles are sort of "dangerous enemies" and that we have to
be prepared to live with them, and to defend ourselves. That is why I lived as
if in a ghetto until the age of 17. This is also related to the pride of being
a Jew. When I entered the university, the largest hospital in South America, I
met people like me, flesh and blood, suffering in beds with pain. My gentile
friends were smart, gentle, full of humanity. I did not feel a difference
between Jews and non-Jews. On the contrary, I noticed that pride is simply
protection, a need to feel stronger, smarter, to be sure they will not
exterminate us again.
I was raised only among Jews. Club, school, youth movement.
So that I would be strong, that I should know what to answer, so that I could
defend myself against the gentile enemies. At the age of 17, I was in a school
preparing for university entrance examinations, and suddenly the world opened
up to me! So many goyim! And some of them were even good looking, smart,
interesting ... To my surprise I could not find the enemies. For a while I
became an "anti-Semite"... I did not approach the Jews of my class in
medical school, I worked on Yom Kippur, I ran away when they lit candles. I
knew a Palestinian, a good friend, who explained to me all the pain of his
family. We all had the same pain.
Meanwhile the dictatorship ended, and I learned that the most
important thing is to be free, and that was it. And there was a war in Lebanon.
I had cousins, soldiers. One, loved, wounded, not difficult, but I was so
angry! I've been fighting disease here, I made an effort that the people will
not die, and one bullet is enough to kill soldiers, children almost like me,
healthy, beautiful.
Once, a friend told me that it is impossible to write under
the influence of your emotions. You have to stay away from them and then write.
It was hard for me to understand that, but I'm starting to learn ... I'm very
excited during Jewish holidays. I have all sorts of nostalgia, memories from
all my life, people who have already died, or loved ones who live far away. It
is interesting that every time I tried to think in order to try to organize the
emotions within me - the words really got confused, I could not. I've gotten
used to thinking in Hebrew words lately, but my vocabulary is small, or I find
it hard to find them. But then the Portuguese words were trying to get into my
thoughts instead of the Hebrew, and then I could not think at all. I feel that
I have two different places for each language within me, with all the worlds
that each contains. You have to close one to turn on the other. You need a
passport for passage!
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