"aita" poems
I didn’t toss the ball
With Pop at six
I didn’t hunt or fish
At green sixteen
I didn’t learn
To fix my car
At twenty
I didn’t grow up
Knowing how to fight
I taught my father
How to shoot a basketball
I taught him
What a balk is
From a walk
I showed him
Greenwich Village
And to fight without fighting
And the chili that makes
The loudest ****
And he taught me whiskey
And the best tobacco
How to shave
My face
And not appear so young
He showed me Spain,
Bullfighting,
And Picasso,
And the cheapest food
In Mexico
We shared our pride
Our books
And being always stubborn
About the things
We cared
The most about
We shared a car
Sometimes
And all our music
And the way we hoard things
That we buy
We fought
And fiercely
Over his prejudice;
His hurting mom;
My attitude;
The way he always worshipped
Reagan
And whether Olga
Was an ugly name.
Sometimes I’d write things
And he wouldn’t get them
Sometimes I’d write things
That he didn’t like
And then he’d tell me
They were ok, but
On his face was anguish
At what I had done
My father taught me
How to be a real man
He showed me laughter,
How to be a friend;
He made me realize
How to mold my values
From the things I learned
And not the things
He said
My father told me
When I was a baby
To call him Aita
Because he was Basque
And to this day
That’s still his name
To me
My sisters
And my dad
Now, Aita’s sick
Sometimes
Sometimes he’s wrong
Sometimes he’s flawed
A child—
One more of Mom’s
But every day
We spend
Together
I am more proud
To be
His son.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 2:08 PM UTC
Pace non trovo e non ** da far guerra,
e temo e spero; ed ardo e son un ghiaccio;
e volo sopra 'l cielo e giaccio in terra;
e nulla stringo, e tutto 'l mondo abbraccio.
Tal m'ha in pregion, che non m'apre né serra,
né per suo mi riten né scioglie il laccio;
e non m'ancide Amore e non mi sferra,
né mi vuol vivo né mi trae d'impaccio.
Veggio senza occhi e non ** lingua e grido;
e bramo di perir e cheggio aita;
ed ** in odio me stesso ed amo altrui.
Pascomi di dolor, piangendo rido;
egualmente mi spiace morte e vita;
iin questo stato son, Donna, per voi.
892
State a sentì, ve voglio dì na cosa,
ma nun m'aita chiammà po' scustumato;
chello ca v'aggia dì è na quaccosa
ca i' penso che vvuje ggià nn'ite parlato.
Sta cusarella è ccosa ca sta a cuore
a tuttequante nuje napulitane:
sentennela 'e struppià, ma che dulore,
p'arraggia 'e vvote me magnasse 'e mmane!
Ma nun è proprio chisto l'argomento,
si 'a 'nguaiano o no la povera canzone...
Sanno parlà sultanto 'e tradimento!
'A verità, stu fatto m'indispone.
Na vota se cantava " 'O sole mio ",
"Pusilleco... Surriento... Marechiaro",
" 'O Vommero nce stà na tratturia "...
"A purpe vanno a ppesca cu 'e llampare"...
Chelli parole 'e sti canzone antiche,
mettevano int' 'o core n'allerezza;
chesti pparole 'e mo?... Che ffà... V' 'o ddico?
Nun è pe criticà: sò na schifezza!
"Torna cu mme... nun 'mporta chi t'ha avuta"
" 'O ssaccio ca tu ggià staje 'mbraccio a n'ato"...
"Stongo chiagnenno 'a che te ne si gghiuta"...
"Che pozzo fà s'io songo 'nnammurato"...
Mettimmece na pezza, amici cari,
e nun cantammo cchiù: "Tu m'he traduto".
Sentenno sti ccanzone, a mme me pare,
'e sta' a sentì 'o lamiento d' 'e curnute!
725
In the quiet of night, I wrestle with fate,
The heart’s heavy burden, the crushing weight.
Does love wear a price tag, a gilded façade,
Or linger in shadows, where truth is defraud?
I see him, the one who stirs not my soul,
Yet offers a life where ambition takes toll.
Could I turn my back on the warmth that I crave,
And barter my heart for the riches he gave?
What if all men wear masks, their hearts locked away?
What if true love is just a game they all play?
Why should I cling to a hope that might shatter,
When gold glints so brightly, and love seems a scatter?
Am I less if I choose, a puppet of gold?
A villainous figure, a story retold?
Yet in whispers of night, when I’m lost in my dreams,
What if peace lies in silence, in the still of my screams?
Can a woman be free, can she rise and defy?
Can she shatter the chains, spread her wings, and learn to fly?
To seek not just comfort but solace within,
To love fiercely, wildly, and still learn to sin.
I long for a choice that ignites the deep fire,
Not just a cold bargain, a life to conspire.
In the dance of the heart, let the echoes be heard,
For a woman can choose, can love without words.
So let them all label, let the world play its part,
For I’ll walk my own path, with a fierce, unbound heart.
I’ll weave through the pain, let my passions ignite,
For in darkness, I’ll shine, a relentless, brave light.
In the depths of desire, I’ll carve out my throne,
Not just for the riches, but the strength I’ve outgrown.
I’ll gather my fragments, each piece tells my story,
A mosaic of scars, of struggle, of glory.
For life is a canvas, and I’m the bold brush,
I’ll paint my own destiny in a vibrant rush.
No longer a pawn in a game meant to bind,
I’ll chase what fulfills me, leave the empty behind.
So watch me rise higher as I follow my heart,
Embracing the journey, each moment a start.
For in every decision, in the choices I make,
A woman finds freedom and a world she can shape.
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 3:35 PM UTC