week 172 ~ swing out over the vast expanse

swing out over the vast expanse
of new life far below the rope
taunt in your nervous hands with hope
trailing behind at a distance
admire the outstretched brilliance
as you reach the end of the arc
and slip slowly backward the dark
waiting to catch you when you fall
to earth and you’re home as if all
the mystery should leave no mark

January 25, 2012

Classes begin, and surprisingly everything appears to be in order. I do notice there is a perplexing warning light on in my car when I jump in to drive to school, but that will have to wait for later. I walk through the crowds of returning students, my brain somehow surprised to be distracted by remnants of their chit-chat. When one is in a foreign country without full language fluency superfluous conversation blends in with the background noises of birds, and the sea. In the evening Enigmatica, my octet, meets for rehearsal. The music is strong and the laughter of friends revives me, blasting the cobwebs from my mind like trumpeting heralds welcoming me home. I am tired but calm, holding stress at a distance. Darkness falls so early here, so I leave some of the prep for tomorrow’s classes until tomorrow, hoping my jet-lag will allow me to wake early.

January 24, 2012

I slam back into the world I left behind as waiting tasks shake me out of bed and I find myself peering quizzically at my here-and-now responsibilities. Syllabus prep for classes that start tomorrow, a pile of mail and bills, but most important, the music projects for events soon to unfold. Yes, I am back, though still in the transition phase, a dreamy in-between where my mind is attached to two realities and it’s not clear which is the right one. And so I yawn, stretch, and step forward into the new year at home, leaving the dream of Rio to fall ever further backward until it reaches the past.

January 23, 2012

And I arrive home, with no major delays or boarding problems w/ my 2-instruments plus carry-on. I do discover upon arrival that one of my checked suitcases is temporarily missing, but it appears at my door 10 hours later, having for some reason decided to linger longer than its companion in Washington D.C. At least it wasn’t me this time! The angel pictured is not from the Ricoleta cemetery, but merely the cupid in my backyard standing guard over a few inches of new snow. It’s cold and I’m beat, having been up for 28 hours already by time I arrive at my door, so not much of use is accomplished today. And it’s still Christmas at my house– I’d forgotten that I left everything up when I departed– so the pink artificial tree and decorated mantel add to my sense of surreality, having so recently left summer behind. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough to reconnect with my out-of-sync life, to put the finishing touches on my syllabi and get ready for the new semester. With some effort I stay up until a reasonable hour for bedtime hoping to get back on schedule soon, and then sink into my comfortable bed for the best sleep I’ve had since leaving home.

January 22, 2012

I will leave today. I finish packing in the morning and head out just before noon to Praca Sao Salvador to listen to the roda there and meet Romulo, Cecilia and Bia for lunch. I’m not playing– issues with amplification– but it’s fun just to be there to soak up the atmosphere and bask in the beautiful sunny day. It’s a long holiday week-end in Rio– Friday was the patron saint’s day for the city, Sao Sebastiao– so many people have gone away to seaside or mountain resorts, and those who are left are in a festive mood. The circle of musicians is surrounded by stalls for crafts, food, and drink, and a large crowd idylls in the square, chatting, listening to the music. We eat at the delicious BiBi– home of the best salads and apparently the original juice bar in Rio. I catch a bus back to Urca, a taxi to the airport, and wait the requisite number of hours until my plane takes off. I’m glad to be heading home, although the trip itself never gets any easier– around 20 hours door-to-door if there are no glitches. I’ve learned alot, accomplished alot, and had some delight R&R in warm sunny weather, a welcome break from New England’s winter cold. But a new semester awaits, there are new syllabi to write, new students to teach, new music to be made, new adventures to be had, and so despite the prospect of snow and bitter cold, my thoughts turn homeward happily.

January 21, 2012

I spend the morning sorting and packing and then set out by bus for a late lunch and a long walk through Ipanema. I am storing images and sun for the cold winter ahead, that I know is waiting for me when I get back home. This is the most surreal month to visit Rio. Their seasons are opposite of ours, so here it is the start of alto-verao, high summer, while a snowstorm settles in over my New England home. When I left the US it was dark outside by 4:00 PM; here it stays light until almost 9:00 PM. I think I will miss those 5 extra hours of after-work daylight most of all. And, of course, the colors of the landscape, that back home this season are reduced to light and shadow. Today is perhaps the most gorgeous day of my trip– I even leave my umbrella at home for the skies are too blue to allow for dark clouds. As I reach the bottom of my hill the beach is packed and teeming with the noises of fun. You can see it in the picture taken while I waited for the bus, in front of the famous casino, now restored, where Carmen Miranda used to perform. Ipanema is its usual cheery self, and I eat a delicious lunch and then stroll with no particular destination in mind. Back home I continue the process of closing up shop in Rio for this visit. The percussionists above are from the samba band I went to see last night w/ Romulo and Cecilia, in our old favorite bar, Trapiche.

January 20, 2012

It is transition days here, as I will leave soon. Time to return everything to bags, to rightful owners, and stow memories and photos, poems and ideas away until they are called for again. Marcilio sends back the final versions of our work, after receiving my second thoughts, so I have actually completed 3 compositions of my series of 6 during this two+ week stay. Not bad at all! Accomplishing this also punches a hole in my composition trepidation that I can now step through and continue to write. The first is always the hardest. As it was when I started this blog. The first post– what tone? what verb tense? how abstract? how personal? am I really a photographer? The first sonnet (I wrote weekly sonnets for my first year, and added villanelle, rondeau, decima and pantoum to my palette after that) how can I put my words into the form of the greats? But every time the action is repeated one’s voice gets stronger, and so it will be with my music writing. I have been playing other people’s notes for so long, it is time to see what’s been brewing in the back recesses of my own mind. Leaving Rio this time will be harder physically than emotionally– a switch from the past. I have bought too many things, all for very good reasons, but my luggage will be heavy and awkward. And unlike the goddess pictured, and many beach vendors here in Rio, I have not learned to carry my goods on my head. But my soul is ready to fly home to the comforts and friends and family of my real life, to fold up the cloak of time-out and bring my realizations back to where I live the rest of the year. Even if 6 inches of snow is predicted to fall there tonight.

January 19, 2012

And I wake feeling more or less recovered. Thankfully, as I’d promised myself that I’d seek medical intervention if this didn’t subside in 48 hours. I work at home until the afternoon and then take myself downtown to go to 2 art shows. The first is a small documentary photography exhibit of the work of Jean Solari from the 60s and 70s– he of the famous Os Mutantes photo. His pictures show 60s news journalism focusing on issues of national interest, giving a look at a slice of Brazilian life from half a century ago. I then head over to the blockbuster show called “India! Lado a Lado,” (India! Side by Side), just ending its run, that contrasts the old with the modern in India’s art, culture, and politics. Interesting in and of itself, I’m also fascinated at how it shows the Brazilian perspective, as another country rising to economic prominence in the world while still struggling to reconcile a 3rd-world infrastructure with a new globally-aware sophistication. As I sit in the bus going home, my landlady Miriam boards, and we travel together. When we arrive she suggests we climb the stairs above the floor where I live, and the floor where she lives, to a rooftop tiny grassy lawn 5 stories about the street that she has created since my last stay. She pulls out folding canvas chairs and we sit chatting, surveying the vastness of Guanabara Bay as evening falls.

week 171 ~ I shake the snow globe a cyclone

I shake the snow globe a cyclone
of light whirls past and easily
falls my dreams enveloping me
in a cloak I will never own
but sometimes wear reasons unknown
anyone could see me if they’d
look but they don’t a pact I’ve made
with fate giving me time away
from scrutiny so here I stay
hoping the future’s been mislaid

January 18, 2011

Still not fit, but opportunity calls, appointments have been made, and so I go. Paulo and I meet at the Carioca Station, and take the metro north to Tijuica for a delicious fish meal with rice, and rice is what I have been craving, and I manage to enjoy a bit of it. We have many things to plan, and many projects together going forward, so there is lots to discuss. Back “no centro” I buy a bigger bag, to put my small bag into as I have bought too many percussion instruments and other things to make everything fit into my current luggage. Then it’s on to my last portuguese lesson, on prepositions– much more useful than the mais-que-perfeito. I’m supposed to go hear Marcilio play tonight, but Romulo, who is to meet me there, cancels, and I just don’t have the energy to go out alone. Still have stomach cramps, hoping tomorrow dawns brighter.