siempre, siempre

Being in Nicaragua feels like swimming in poetry. I've been writing like crazy here and it's such a wonderful feeling. There is something about the small things of this place that I'm falling in love with, something about the details of life in Nica that I'm becoming obsessed over and can't help but expand on. I find myself thinking of lines of verse that I could create about the sharp spines of stray dogs, or the milky-looking water that runs down the street during the heavy rain, or the funny contrast of bright, bright colors on buildings and signs that are always muted with dirt. I find myself daydreaming about the sound of rolling r's in Spanish, or horns honking in Managua, or the sound of the frog that lives outside our room window and sings all night. I find myself craving to put these things down on paper, and find myself so in awe of the way that these things just feel like art to me; I feel like I am walking around in a beautiful museum and I want to capture all the pieces and hold them up to the light.

And the more I write, the more I am learning about myself and the more I am learning that I NEED to write. It's simply how I experience things, this blog being a good example. The way I process is to create my experiences into new words and pour it all out onto a page. And the other thing I'm learning about myself through the writing process is how expression fits into all of that. I'm a communicator, a sharer. If you ask me how I am, I'm going to tell you. (And even if you don't ask me how I am, I'll probably tell you anyways) I'm not too good at keeping the details of my life inside, and that's where poetry and writing and this blog all come in. I've got to do it - it's how I'm learning about this crazy beautiful museum-like world, and how I'm learning about my own place in it. So even if you didn't care to know all that, I'm sharing it with you :)

p.s. Another writing-related thing: in an attempt to better my Spanish abilities, I tried reading one of my favorite poems in espanol. It's called "Clenched Soul" by Pablo Neruda. It was originally written in Spanish, but I've only ever read the English version. I recited it for a class last semester and I just adore it. I posted the Spanish version below. If you want to read it in English, click here.

Hemos perdido aun este crepusculo.
Nadie nos vio esta tarde con las manos unidas
mientras la noche azul caia sobre el mundo.

He visto desde mi ventana
la fiesta del poniente en los cerros lejanos.

A veces como una moneda
se encendia un pedazo de sol entre mis manos.

Yo te recordaba con el alma apretada
de esa tristeza que tu me conoces.

Entonces, donde estabas?
Entre que gentes?
Diciendo que palabras?
Por que se me vendra todo el amor de golpe
cuando me siento triste, y te siento lejana?

Cayo el libro que siempre se toma en el crepusculo,
y como un perro herido rodo a mis pies mi capa.

Siempre, siempre te alejas en las tardes
hacia donde el crepusculo corre borrando estatuas.