Precious moments

 

Often times at the dinner table, my son and I talk about our day and we like to share one thing that happened that marked us because of its beauty, preciousness or simply because it touched us in a nice way.

So here is what my son, nine years old, has been telling me over the past eight days. It is in no order of importance, and none is more precious than another, they were equally precious at the moment in which they happened.

I wanted to share them because they speak of simple beauty, something we often forget about as we move along our days.

The sunset and the gold colors of the clouds.

That I answered my friend’s email.

The hot chocolate with the cappuccino milk you made me.

The music of Chopin I heard. — Chopin’s Piano Concerto No.2, Rubinstein at the piano.

When I saw your face as I came out of school on the first day back at school.

The rainbow.

The scent of Jasmine at night that we placed in a glass in the kitchen.

The rain, especially during the afternoon downpour and the noise it made as it hit the windows’ panes with the wind.

Deconstruction

[Instructions: Read … or cut in little pieces and put back together as you wish … or don’t read at all.]

The old man
reading the telephone book
at the beach.
Deconstructing the population,
re-ordering it in alphabetical order.
Page three onwards,
it gets as boring as reading Derrida.
But telephone books don’t exist anymore!
Which reminds me that
you can’t make prank calls anymore either!
Remember them?

But now you can voice an opinion
even if you know nothing
five thousand kilometers
away from the blasphemous dictator
… it helps and shields
and allows you to say
whatever you want.
Just like a prank call.
And yet…
Have you thought
of the consequences
for the ones trapped
five thousand kilometers away?
If drones visit them,
well you know…
it’s complicated!
Certainly more complicated
than laughing at the butcher
after he told you he had pigs’ feet.

Oh and that zit on the nose
and the wrinkles
and the sad face
all of them erased
by computer magic.
Is that de-construction
or re-construction?

[I always get them mixed up.]

Now everyone shows up
so so happy!
Hiding the tears – what tears?
Hiding the loneliness – I’m not lonely!
Speak for yourself!

Oh and we still have that capacity
you know
of blowing up the earth
forty times over!
Just like that!
Without even moving our toes.

Tell that to the old man
reading the phonebook
attached to a web of tubes
sustaining his breathing.
But his life?
Oh who cares!
He gets to live long so
do not complain!

Everyone wants that
you know …
a loooong life
and to be young
and to stay young.
What happened to that
growing old gracefully?
Remember the ad?
Now no one wants that.
They want a loooong life.
Don’t they realize how empty it will become?

[Additional instructions: there are four “o” in long. That’s Shi in Japanese. Do you know what else it means? No? Here is a hint: ]

Oh but science my friends!
Science!

A table is basically made
of a gazillion particles
where 99.99999% of each particle
is made of emptiness space.
Yes!
But when you tell them
that we are all larger
than the sum of our parts,
they all chant in unison
and out of tune:
“Nonsense! Irrational! Preposterous!”

Ok then.
I have no idea why I am writing all this.
Oh well just… You know…
Tangents….
I have always loved mathematics
almost as much as language
Wait hold on…
Language!

They also messed with that!
Didn’t you know?
Now he and she and it
and me and you
must all be used
ap-pro-pri-a-te-ly
and if possible all at the same time
so as to offend no one.
Hum…
So if I understand correctly,
it is back to the phonebook method.
De Saussure

[Ha! “de chaussure!”]

and Derrida must be pleased;
but not Plato, the master of ideas,
nor Russell, the one of logic.

[Even more instructions: if you have no clue what I am talking about, cut in little pieces, mix well and make a puzzle.]

So I decided:
he is all of you,
and she is just me!

And the plays and the operas!
Now they take away
the plots and replace them
with stupidity…

[It is the first time I use this word, kindly note my restraint.]

A gentle lady Macbeth,
an Ophelia that remains alive,
a Sisyphus that makes it up the mountain,
an Oedipus without love tangles,
and Carmen Oh! Carmen!
No longer selling cigarettes
nor her body…
“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle
que nul ne peut apprivoiser…”
No more…
They placed it in a cage
with a label
and a responsible attitude.
So adjust your tie please.

As for me well…
This year I will turn an absolute number!
I love it and it gets
rarer with age.

[I told you I liked mathematics.]

I will take full advantage of it
since it can only be divided by one and itself.
So I will be renewed
just as I am.
My heart will not be fractioned
and no one will be able
to deconstruct me!
Ha!

Kenza.


Music: Julia Migenes-Johnson sings “L’amour est un oiseau rebel” from the Opera Carmen. 

The offering

The wrinkles at the corner of my eyes
can tell many stories.
I am old you see, very old,
older than the faded carpet I sit on.
My eyes are deep.
They contain the secrets of alchemists
and infinite horizons of dazzling colours.
Salaam
I come in peace, always in peace.
I am wrapped in green
and offer a cup of saffron tea
to the ones who visit me.
When it touches their lips,
it turns into wine.
I speak the universal language of the reed,
the one of a thousand smiles.
And I like to wrap each smile
very carefully in words of poetry.
I then offer them to the ones
who have embraced roses.
I know the thorns penetrated their skin,
I have my own scares.
Please accept my offering.

Kenza.


Music: Ney by Ostad Hassan Kasaie استاد حسن کسایی (Iran, 1928-2012).