chant unique [no name]

the name does not matter; he was a poet
and wrote from the skin, maybe from within
the salt, maybe from the sea.

of the soul
he said the wind, the rose touched of ivory
in the remoteness of an island, he said the sun
touched the moon reclined upon another island
said kingdoms where trees grow
like temples, hushed the prayer
cried the laughter, washed the tears
after the chant, lengthily walked
along the sand.

he was a poet, the name
does not matter, and thus his hands would run
across the shore, erasing strophes whispered
to the mouth of dawn; he was the wake
and the poem, was the boat already gone
the whole wave, the muse and the swing
inside the hull of the inkwell, the crossing
the storm, the roar of sails being ripped
at the sight of arrival.

the name does not matter;
of the poem, it was love made on the bow
rising, and it was hair untied, it was the
rudder, the moans in rumor, mermaids
neptunian secrets of being nothing more
than men, those who make the slopes
of cliffs divine, those who laugh at monsters
and at legends, when of warm breasts
and long fates are the capes they round
as they decipher hope at the end of fear
in the concave side of discovery.

he was a poet, and she, the whole page
every line sailed with no sextant or astrolabe
in the lips parted for the maps which
are drunk upon the stars; the name
does not matter, the epic, the book
that may come to be or not; simply she
the silk, the spice, the maritime path
to reach the land, the seagull and the
ample flight beyond the sky, beyond
the north, beyond the highest mast
of even higher poems that follow
with no name, higher dreams awakening
in the crow’s nest of those dreams
that never sleep.

a poet, he was
and a sailor, on each port one of those
dreams, one of those names that distance
invents, when written from a desire
of being close, of being hers and of
planting the milestone upon her memory
with no boundaries, of calling, to the
green fruits with red pulp deduced
and almost blood, already, in the teeth
and in the veins, their own.

the name
does not matter; what remained
when he set sail again was just an echo
a simple echo by the corner of the shortest
verse of the universe where, if we will
may begin something wider than the whole
ocean, once more.

with no name, the echo
was that of soul, maybe now, quite simply
seaweed; of what she was, onto the beach
with no name, but that was everything
heard solely within the shells, the voice
of her body, no longer even a silhouette
of motherland, woman and lover, beloved, left
in the grains of time: “farewell, poet, farewell!
I am staying here!”

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®

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Dear friends,

This poem – in its original version, in Portuguese – was my contribution for yet one more collective creation of the “Entrecampos” workshop of poetry.

The theme proposed for this particular workshop was actually Portugal, my country and that of many of the other poets of “Entrecampos” (which also includes authors from Brazil, Angola, Mozambique, and other countries where Portuguese is the official language) and In my collaboration, I have chosen to depict the poetic, passionate, maritime and “navigator” spirit of this tiny country, by the ocean, and of its people, mostly through metaphorical imagery.

“Portugal”, the collective poem, is to be completed by June 10^th, Portugal Day, and its final version – so far, 16 poets have sent their collaborations, but more are still expected – will then be refined, in the course of a specific workshop to be held in Lisbon, by all the poets present, both physically and online, via skype, paltalk and messengers.

The common goal will be, as it always is in “Entrecampos”, to produce a final poem that will read and feel as if it were truly written by all as one – with all the coherence, flow and harmony of a concert, performed by all the musicians and instruments that configure a perfectly attuned orchestra, and thus, as a whole.

I will be posting an article – perhaps not today, but soon – about the “Entrecampos” workshop, but mostly, about this concept and extremely enriching exercise of collective poetry; it may be a new and very interesting venue for many of you to explore, as poets – as authors!

In the meantime, here go my wishes of continued creativity and a wonderful weekend to all of you, with lots of

Love&Light*

Alexandra*