the lawn mower roars
back and forth across our yard
to show love in action
.
.
the dishes clatter
in their cleansing bubble bath
to show love in action
.
.
Happy Anniversary.
Remembering Masks… July 16, 2011
Once upon a time, on this day in history a few days after I turned 13, I had a life changing conversation with a friend. He shared with me a short story he’d found called “Masks.” It was profound and the resulting conversation about honesty and being true to yourself left me in a cloud.
In fact, when I got home, people were afraid there had been a lot more than conversation going on, since I was so dazed and blissful.
I don’t remember the details of the story anymore, and I don’t remember the conversation either. What I remember is the attachment that came from listening and being heard. I remember the comfort of someone I admired spending time with me. I remember the sense of connection, fondness, and adoration.
It was still resonating enough at my graduation that 716 was the number on my grad t-shirt.
It still resonates enough that I’m writing this blog about it decades later.
So Happy Masks Anniversary. May you live your life unafraid to be yourself and to accept others as themselves. May you speak words of honesty with warmth. May you be the kind of person who draws others to your sincerity and good humour. May you be an inspiration that echoes through the decades.
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PS. If you know the story “Masks,” which was apparently from a youth writing anthology published in the late 70s, I’d appreciate knowing about it. I would love to read it again.
Canzoniere 61 the final translation July 14, 2011
Earlier in the week I led you through the process of translating Petrarch’s Canzoniere 61. I thought I’d share with you the final version that is going to press in Awakening Dreams. There have been a few words changed up to improve consonance and punctuation has clarified meaning. As well, line 2 was altered as it didn’t end on the correct beat (iambic rhythm) in the draft.
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Most blesséd be the day, the month, the year,
And blesséd be the hour, the moment when,
I found this place, and saw my sweet torment.
Her lovely eyes completely tied me here.
So blesséd was her breath as I came near,
That Love entangled me within her scent,
Against his arrows left me impotent,
And bound my heart to hers. So, thus endeared,
Sweet blesséd voices call my lady’s name,
And weave her glorious beauty in my verse.
My sighs, my tears, and my desires contained,
Most blesséd are the papers I disperse,
To share the thoughts that bring me fame,
The thoughts of her that are my blissful curse.
Translation (c) Shawn Bird
Not only did this moment capture Petrarch, but it captivated artists through the centuries who imaged the moment that Petrarch describes in this sonnet, and painted it as they imagined it. The painting on the left is the actual moment of meeting in St. Clara’s in Avignon. I have been in what is left of this convent chapel, as you can see from the photo below. If it really looked like this artist has captured it, it is really very sad to see the ruins that it is now.
The picture on the right shows a lot of the symbolism represented in the poem. Laure is represented by the laurel tree in the background, cupid (aka Love) has fired his arrow at Petrarch and it has struck him in the heart. Laure is presenting him with the laurel wreath that represents his literary success. (He was crowned Rome’s Poet Laureate in 1341). Petrarch himself frequently played with Laure/laurel the woman/fame metaphor. What is interesting in this painting is that Petrarch is shown as an old man, while Laure is shown as a young woman. In fact there are only 6 years between them. (He was born in 1304, she in 1310). Perhaps it represents them at their deaths? She was 38, and he was 70.
Here I am in the ruins of St. Claire convent, standing pretty close to where the artist set the scene on the left, by the looks of things. I just found the painting this morning, and this similarity kind of gives me chills. There is no roof. It is an open space garden and performance area now.
Shawn at Ste Claire Convent (Theatre des Halles) Avignon France
Canzoniere 61 – process July 11, 2011
Here’s a picture of my day. Today’s project was translating a sonnet from Petrarch’s original Italian into English. I had received permission from Penguin to use a translation by Anthony Mortimer of Canzoniere 13 for Grace Awakening, but after the publisher went out of business, I let the deadline to pay for the use go past. I still wanted a Petrarchan Canzoniere in that particular section of the novel though, and that meant I had to do my own translation. I also wanted it to rhyme following Petrarch’s strict scheme, and I wanted it to be in iambic pentameter.
I started with the public domain version of the original Italian sonnet 61:
Benedetto sia ‘l giorno, et ‘l mese, et l’anno,
et la stagione, e ‘l tempo, et l’ora, e ‘l punto,
e ‘l bel paese, e ‘l loco ov’io fui giunto
da’duo begli occhi che legato m’ànno;
et benedetto il primo dolce affanno
ch’i’ ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
et l’arco, et le saette ond’i’ fui punto,
et le piaghe che ‘nfin al cor mi vanno.
Benedette le voci tante ch’io
chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,
e i sospiri, et le lagrime, e ‘l desio;
et benedette sian tutte le carte
ov’io fama l’acquisto, e ‘l pensier mio,
ch’è sol di lei, sí ch’altra non v’à parte.
My next step was to plug the poem into the Google translator to get the basics. The result was this:
Blessed be ‘the day, et’ the month, year et,
et the season, and ‘the time, et the time, and’ the point,
and ‘the beautiful country, and’ the spot where I arrived I was
da’duo beautiful eyes that tied m’ànno;
et blessed is the first sweet breath
ch’i ‘I had to be combined with Amor,
et l’arc, et Whence the arrows’ point was,
et the wounds’ Nfiniti go to my heart.
Blessed are the many voices that I
calling the name of my wife or esparto,
and the sighs, the tears et, and ‘the desire;
Blessed are all the cards et
known where I buy, and ‘s my thought,
which is only about her, yes that another party does not v’à.
Writing draft- false start and then the better flow
As you can see, while not perfect, it’s certainly good enough to know where he was going, and to catch the Italian words I wasn’t familiar with. I could fill in the blanks from there. I spent some time on http://www.Rhymezone.com, which is my go-to site when I’m creating a complex rhyming poem, and played with various options. I baked a cake. I instant messaged a friend in France. I went to a farewell party. I watched Star Wars Episode IV (which is really still Episode one, to me). I had a bath. I read the editor’s most recent comments on Awakening Dreams. I wrote lines. I re-wrote lines.
As of this moment, I am satisfied with this result, although it may not be the final version. I finished it at 2 a.m. so it’s allowed to not quite be perfect yet. I have my iambic pentameter. I have Petrarca’s ABBA ABBA CDCDCD rhyme scheme. I have stayed true to Petrarch’s intent in this poem, I think, and that’s the most important thing.
Most blesséd be the day, the month, the year
And blesséd be the hour and the moment
When I arrived to find my own torment.
Her lovely eyes completely tied me here;
So blesséd was her breath as I came near,
That Love entangled me within her scent,
Against the arrows left me impotent,
And bound my heart to hers, so thus endeared.
Dear blesséd voices call my lady’s name
And weave her glorious beauty in my verse.
My sighs, my tears, and my desires contained,
Most blesséd are the papers I disperse,
To share my thoughts that bring me fame,
The thoughts of her that are my joyful curse.
.
See the FINAL TRANSLATION here.
.
Translation (c) Shawn Bird 2011
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Poem-Fire of you July 10, 2011
This poem was written as a submission to the Burnaby Writers Society Poetry contest. The theme was fire, and poets were encouraged to interpret the theme. Still 2 months before winners will be announced.
September 2011: This one was a contest finalist! Yay!
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You reached
into the flames
and plucked an ember
that glowed with
happiness and hope
upon your palm.
.
In the
wavering sphere
of gold and crimson
light, I glimpsed our
future in flickering
depths.
.
But when I reached to take it in my grasp
you clasped
your fist closed,
so the glow
of my hope
spilled
from
your
fingers.
.
“No,” you said.
“It will burn you.”
.
Truth scorched through
the kindness in your eyes, but could not
extinguish my anguish,
even as you wrapped me in your arms
and murmured worthless words of consolation.
.
I didn’t want your wisdom.
I wanted fire.
Bird in the hand… July 8, 2011
Do you ever watch Deal or No Deal? As the competitors decide whether to accept the offer that the bank makes for their suitcase, or to keep raising (or lowering) the stakes by choosing other cases to open, the tension in the studio rises.
Today I ignored the bird in my hand, and I have chosen to wait in a bush for the bird hiding there. There is no guarantee that the bird will wait around in the bush for me, or that someone else won’t come along and snatch it away from me. It’s a very nice bird though, and so I’m gambling a bit. In the last few years most of my gambles have worked out.
So, No Deal! I’ll ramp up the tension just a little more.
How about you? Do you like to stick with the bird in your hand, or do you risk waiting for a bird fluttering out of reach in a bush?
Summer haiku July 6, 2011
Pine trees dance with wind
waving their limbs and swirling
to a summer song.
Baby boy July 2, 2011
I was a little surprised when a little boy arrived in my household on this day in history, many moons ago. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had 9 months warning of the arrival, it’s just that I was expecting another girl. I didn’t quite know how to wrap my head around this foreign creature with the strange anatomy. But a baby is a baby, and he managed to wiggle into my heart without too much effort. He was pretty cute and he was a charmer from the very beginning. Who could resist a grin like this? Happy Birthday, baby boy. 
rain storm tanka June 26, 2011
Heavenly percussion
is punctuating
piano melodies
rising up stairs to
the rhythm of rain.
Shawn L. Bird 
choose a fighting spirit June 29, 2011
Tags: choices, George Allen, postaday2011
It’s all down to choices again, isn’t it? We choose our attitude. We choose whether something is an obstacle or a challenge. We choose to find the alternate way of seeing things that provides a solution to the problem, a way out of the situation. We choose to be the masters of our own fates, or to float helplessly along in life, complaining.
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