nire aitaren etxea

Nire aitaren etxea
defendituko dut.
Otsoen kontra,
sikatearen kontra,
lukurreriaren kontra,
justiziaren kontra,
defenditu
eginen dut
nire aitaren etxea.
Galduko ditut
aziendak,
soloak,
pinudiak;
galduko ditut
korrituak,
errentak,
interesak,
baina nire aitaren etxea defendituko dut.
Harmak kenduko dizkidate,
eta eskuarekin defendituko dut
nire aitaren etxea;
eskuak ebakiko dizkidate,
eta besoarekin defendituko dut
nire aitaren etxea;
besorik gabe,
sorbaldik gabe,
bularrik gabe
utziko naute,
eta arimarekin defendituko dut
nire aitaren etxea.
Ni hilen naiz,
nire arima galduko da,
nire askazia galduko da,
baina nire aitaren etxeak
iraunen du
zutik.

Nire aitaren etxea
Gabriel Aresti (1963)

translation here.

I shall defend

I shall defend
the house of my father,
against wolves,
against drought,
against usury,
against the law,
I shall defend
the house of my father.
I shall lose
cattle,
orchards,
pine groves;
I shall lose
interests
income
dividends
but I shall defend the
house of my father.
They will take away my weapons
and with my hands I shall defend
the house of my father;
they will cut off my hands,
and with my arms I shall defend
the house of my father;
they will leave me armless,
without shoulders,
without chest,
and with my soul I shall defend
the house of my father.
I shall die,
my soul will be lost,
my descendents will be lost;
but the house of my father
will endure
on its feet.

Nire aitaren etxea
Gabriel Aresti (1963)

original post (in Euskera) here.

le graffiti français

was walking down Hazel street the other day and took this picture in the alley between Cedar's and the back entrance to the Paramount:



writing it out more clearly, it says...

à chaque étage un amie qui m'attend
est-ce qu'on voleur?
est-ce que moi?

Well, what does it mean?

so the grammar of this writing isn't quite right. The one weird thing about french lyrics and poetry is that they are almost always gramatically correct. But is it cool to see this painted on the wall nonetheless. In a nutshell, it says:

at every floor is a friend who waits for me.
is it a thief?
is it me?

hmmmmm . . .

Who is the mystery author? And why is this in downtown youngstown?

writings on the wall

I took a bike ride the other day to the nearby town of Leiden. They have done interesting things with the facades of some of their buildings. Stretched before me next to one storefront was an enormous three-story poem by e e cummings.









I thought this was really a simple, yet inventive way to add some art to an otherwise empty area. Here’s another one in Czech (?):


The other day outside the Mont-Royal metro stop in Montréal there was another such artwork, but this one was built into the brickwork of the building. Also very cool.


Would something like this be welcome in downtown Youngstown? Maybe in the courtyard of Cedar’s? or perhaps on the exposed brick in the parking lot next to the business incubator . . .

All we would need is a wall, some off-white paint, someone with steady hand that can cover some brickwork with two stories of words, and a poem to use.

We could hold a competition each year . . . one wall dedicated to an established poet, another to a local author, and another to a student from a local school district. Mix the young and the old. Mix poetry festivals with art downtown. The writings can change from year to year, creating an organic canvas that progresses through time.

this is just to say

Thanks to Sunny for posing for this picture . . .

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

"this is just to say"
by William Carlos Williams

one day we will meet again

France, her mystery
Her history
Around each corner
A story unfolds

En Paris ces't ma couer
En Paris ces't ma maison

One day we will meet again
One day we will meet again

Copyright ©2005 Peter B. Lebuhn

preserve the freedom of thought

Thanks to the very special V., who introduced me to Prévert when we were sleeping in the sun a few years ago.

Embauché malgré moi dans l'usine à idées
J'ai refusé de pointer
Mobilisé de même dans l'armée des idées
J'ai déserté

by Jacques Prévert from Choses et autres

the relevance of trees

In some places in downtown Youngstown, they are adding trees to the urban landscape. Plans to extend Mill Creek Park closer to the central business district are underway, and the university is pushing to install more life along the 5th avenue corridor. In other places downtown, they are removing trees. One alternative for the development of West Federal Street being considered calls for removal of the tree-lined meridians and the flowerbeds in the near future.

Regardless of how you feel about trees and their place in the downtown, here is an ode to some of the trees I have stumbled upon during my travels:



I am looking at trees
they may be one of the things I will miss
most from the earth
though many of the ones I have seen
already I cannot remember
and though I seldom embrace the ones I see
and have never been able to speak
with one
I listen to them tenderly
their names have never touched them
they have stood round my sleep
and when it was forbidden to climb them
they have carried me in their branches

"Trees" by W. S. Merwin from The Compass Flower



An even better experience is listening to this poem, as read by Garrison Keillor.

Well, after a full week's attempt at blogging, it has come time to take a short break. Even the Flying Spaghetti Monster rested on the seventh day. May god bless His Noodly Appendage.