I am such a Brazilian woman-2

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!