Working a lot this week, in production, moving constantly and dealing with events and deadlines and battling sunsets and light. Not much time to update our poets section and start introducing you to the fantastic group of writers who have joined Poetician events. I promise to get to that next week.
For now, I leave you with an exhausted poem I wrote on the way home from filming in the desert yesterday.
It is inspired by a colleague and is very simple.
Written on a bus
A man I worked with
for twelve hours in heat rising
in the deserts and big cars of our gulf
takes out his homework on the endless road home
to beds and ginger tea and sanctified sleep
and studies, quiet.
Why are you learning Spanish we ask,
watching him pour his last few drops of power into curling lines
new language life rhythm music and spirit
my wife is from Argentina he says
simply, answer enough
I am silent, envision a faceless woman he
will hope to hold forever.
I had a lover once who learnt Arabic for me.
He asked for coffee and spelled it kahwa
never wanted sukkar
he learnt to put the correct h in habibti
he learnt to say help me, ana mareed
he chose to call my eyes small almonds
to make love
dirty words in Arabic breathless new found intimacy and patience
I call him lover because he loved me
repeating words from countries alien to embrace closer the woman he pronounced
out of millions of bright eyed strangers in New York city
he took on a language a life music rhythm and spirit
and I cannot get you to even take on our possibility.